8 comments/  28090 views/  37 favorites

The Witch's Want Ch. 01

By: TaLtos6



I'm a little torn here. I suppose that this ought to go into the Non-Human category, but then... I dunno. All this guy wants is to finish the life that he started as. That's not possible, so now he'd just like to HAVE a life. I guess that makes him just like a lot of folks, no? ~grin~

-------------

The glare of the headlight danced along the pavement and flickered off the leaves of the trees, bushes and roadsigns up ahead as the mechanical horse thundered steadily through the darkness.

Bart was tired. Bone-tired, beat, and just plain road-weary on the way to another nondescript job in another featureless town. He reached over to the handheld GPS that he'd mounted on the handlebars and squeezed the button to turn on the red night-lighting for a second and grunted to himself.

Maybe another half-hour to the motel and a bed.

He listened to the rumble and took a bit of comfort from it. Most days, he felt just like that, even and steady, as though he could go on forever. 

Well, he surmised, he'd already been going on pretty much forever, considering. But he was getting to the end of a long day in the saddle and decided that the bike was the stronger of them for now. And that was fine with him. He'd been riding toward this job interview for two and a half days now.

He smirked to himself. He'd already be there, warm and fed if he hadn't given in to the desire to just spend the afternoon sitting on his ass in the roadhouse two hundred miles back, chewing the fat with the waitress and daydreaming about chewing a few other things. 

It had been pleasant and he'd been careful to stay on the polite side of civil, and the friendly side of polite, but the truth was that he'd just been wasting the afternoon when he should have been motoring.

It served him right, he admitted. Now he was here, long after dark, and the night air was beginning to chill him. A large moth turned into his high beam and died against his left knee. He hoped that the motel had a Laundromat.

He'd been a dreamer once, a strong young man with hopes and aspirations. That felt like three of four hundred lifetimes ago at the least. But he'd learned a thing or five in the time since and he was still learning, still feeling things out here in this long hoped-for second chance that he'd found for himself. 

Bart wasn't his name. It was only his name now. It came with this second chance.

----------------------- 

He'd been born the bastard son of a serving girl slave and a fighter who had no wealth himself. His father had been given the slave as a gift from his general for saving the man's life in battle when the general had gotten separated in the swirling masses of the crash between two armies. 

Along with the girl, the fighter had been given duties as a trainer, and along with that came a place to live when the general's armies weren't on the move. But the gift of her wasn't more than a hope that he might be successful in killing her since no one else had been able to accomplish it.

His mother had been born a high priestess among her own people. She carried herself proudly even after there were few left to worship the gods of her people since there no longer was a temple, other than a ruin on a hill, and there no longer was a people, other than several hundred thousand surviving as conquered peasants now.

She'd come to the fighter in chains, glaring and seething with her hatred for what his kind had done. The trouble was that she wasn't defenseless, and no matter what had been attempted to break her spirit, those who'd tried had most often ended up dead before her. They'd tried to beat her, whip her, rape her and worse, but though she was chained, she always remained standing there triumphant and laughing. Her gods hadn't forgotten her.

Their son knew only a little of what had transpired between his parents, but he knew enough. 

She'd stood before the fighter, covered in the filth of her neglect at the hands of the frightened jailers. They hadn't fed her for a week, just hoping that she'd begin to starve quietly. All that they'd accomplished was to make her angrier. They were overjoyed at the chance to be rid of this one.

She sneered at her new owner. She knew enough of their speech, and she was more than prepared to taunt him.

"And?" she glared as she stood before him, "what is your first wish, the first of the commands from my..."

Her nose wrinkled in derision and her voice dripped with her scorn, "master."

She spit on the floor between them.

He'd looked up from where he sat at the table in his new home, still wondering how he was going to manage all of this -- and just how even he was going to be able to eat all of this food here. 

He didn't much like what he saw. The girl was beautiful to him, despite her obvious hatred, and it shamed him to see what his countrymen had done to her -- or tried to.

He asked her name, and before she could spit again, he added that it would be fine with him if she lied to him -- he only wanted a name by which he could talk with her. To her own amazement, she told it to him truthfully.

"Well," he said, "that is the first thing out of the way." He gave her his name then and told her that he never wanted to hear her call him her master again. "You have much pride in you still, and it is good to see. I have no plan to break your pride and I cannot think that it would do either of us any good."

He said, "We are both here due to circumstance. I did not ask to be given a slave, and I did not ask that it be you. Until just now, I knew nothing of you at all, but I will say this; we both are as slaves here and I have my own master, though I wear no chains that you might see. What I see on you there are nothing more than reminders of the ones which I wear, though they cannot be seen." 

He nodded, "On one so beautiful and proud, they are as sins to me."

He gestured toward the feast on his table, "Please do not spit on my floor again. I think that I need the help of my new companion with this problem before me. Food such as this goes wasted everywhere here, and I see it as wrong -- just as I see those chains in the same way."

"Be glad of these chains," she growled, "for they are all that prevent me from tearing your heart from you." She began to curse him and revile him in an unending torrent of insults.

He listened for a time, and then stood to step closer. She was surprised, but it didn't cause her to miss a beat in her invective tirade. He reached out and took her lead -- the single chain attached to her bound hands and walked away slowly, leading her -- still cursing - to another chamber. It took little effort on his part, but she knew that she had to follow or he would drag her and still use little of his strength to do it.

He noticed that she paused as she looked around her, and he held up one finger.

"No spitting" he said. "None. Not once anymore in my presence. I do not know you, and I do not know why you are a slave. But I can see that it does not befit one such as you. Something like this is far beneath one like you, and I will not suffer it."

She spit in his face.

She began then to ask him what he planned to do about it, but her vitriol was cut short when he picked her up bodily and dropped her into the deep bath. Before she could even move to reach the surface, she found herself staring at his face from very close up. He'd taken hold of her chains and pulled her half out of the bath and she hung in his grip. His voice remained calm.

"If you can calm yourself here and stop the rise of your indignation for but a moment or two, you may see that I mean you no harm at all. I have no need or want of a slave. I will not harm you. You stink, and it is not your fault, but I mean to have you sit at my table and eat with me -- and not as the slave that I have no use for, but as one who is as imprisoned as I am."

His face came even closer, "Until now, I have never kept a slave, but you have been given to me and I cannot change this, no matter what I might want. I will need to care for you when I am one who had only had to care for myself and the fighters around me. Use the mind behind those lovely and hate-filled eyes for a moment. I am trying to make the best of this for us both."

She began to draw herself together for another blast, but he pulled her even closer to his face -- to the point where almost all that she could see were his eyes.

What she saw then were the burning eyes of one imprisoned, just as she was though in a different way. She saw the scars of his battles even from this close up, and she felt his obvious might.

"Stop this, if you have anything in your mind but your rage. Whatever you have suffered, I have done none of it to you. I fought in the army that vanquished your land, that is all, and I had no choice in it."

He shook her once then and his strength surprised her when she noticed that his other hand was on the rim of the bath. He was holding her up with only one hand.

"I am trying here to offer the poor friendship of a trained and tired killer to a queen or a princess or, ... whatever you once were. You can howl at me all that you like, but it changes nothing here. We are trapped and shackled together no matter what we would like. Think. You might kill me, and I might kill you, and for what? I try here to offer you some kind of life, and though you will get no dignity from my kind, you will get much from me, if you would only allow it."

He pulled back a little, "You are fine, and none of this befits you. I seek only to make this a little better for you. I want to share the little bounty that I am given, that is all."

The priestess shook her head slowly before him, keeping her eyes on his. "And then what, my conqueror?" The sneer was gone and she spoke quietly, still showing her proud nature. 

"Am I to cower at your kind feet and service you in your bed at night like any good slave girl does, whether she wants it or not?"

He shook his head, looking down for a moment. He looked at her face, "No. That is beneath you as well. We eat together and we talk between us so that I can come to an idea for what I need from you, since we are together here no matter what we may wish. You may sleep in my bed, and I will sleep on the floor, since between us, I am the one who most often must sleep where I can. It comes with the life I have. You are only my slave because someone above me wills it to be. For my part, this is all far beneath one such as you. Stand up ... please."

He helped her to her feet and she stood compliant and followed his directions as he bathed her carefully, cursing the sores and the chains on her the entire time. When she was clean, he helped her out of the bath and she stood in shock as he dried her very carefully before asking her to come back to the table in the other room where she stood beside him.

"I cannot feed myself like this," she said.

"I know it," he nodded, looking at her, "I am considering. I need to know if any of my words have gotten into your head. I would hate more than anything to have to feed you, and I will not allow you to eat like an animal from a plate on the floor. Can you not find a little trust in your heart?"

She sighed, "I can. I see what you would do for me here." She hung her head.

He lifted her chin, "None of this," he growled low in his throat quietly, "Never again before me. I think that you are such a proud one for a reason, though I do not know what it might be. But I can see that it is not only because of high birth. I see that there is more to you. But I will have none of this head-hanging between us. I think that I would rather have you spit on me again than to see this. Please wait."

He walked off and returned with a large dry towel. "I was given the keys for these insults that you wear. I know of what you have done to the jailers. I heard them talk among themselves outside my door as they brought you. I am pleased that you have ways to protect yourself, but these things must come off for I cannot look at them much longer myself. I will remove your chains and shackles, and you may use this to cover yourself, and then, please, may we finally eat together?"

The young priestess finally found a thin smile for him then and she nodded. As the signs of her new and very low status lay in a heap on his floor, she sat and looked at him.

"You did not wrap yourself in the towel," he said, "why? I will try tomorrow to find some clothing for you, but this is all that I could do for you this night. I could give you a singlet of mine, but you would be lost in such a thing. Still, it would offer you some dignity."

She shook her head, "No. I am not cold, and I come at last to know the kind of warrior that you are. I feel no shame in front of you for you have already seen all of me that there is to see and you have washed and cared for me better than any of my own slaves have ever done all of my life. For one such as you, it must have been hard with those hands much used to gripping a sword and smashing skulls to show me such care as you have. Also, I am so hungry now that my dignity matters little, and anyway, I am a slave myself now. I see more than enough dignity now for myself in your eyes."

He grabbed his wooden plate and heaped food on it until it could hold no more and he placed it before her, "Then please, eat."

He filled one goblet with water and one with wine and set them both in front of her. "We will need more of these things," he said, "but for now, use these."

She shook her head, looking at his arms and the tendons and veins there, along with his scars. Now that she took the time for it, there was much more to him than his hard fighter's face showed and she knew that he couldn't help the way that he looked. He was a hard man -- it was plain -- but he hadn't chosen the way that he looked. It was how his life and the horrors of his warrior's existence had shaped him. He hadn't chosen this any more than she had chosen her life.

And neither of them had chosen this.

"We will share," she said softly." "You are very fearsome to look at, but I have seen some of your heart here. If we must be together, I see that you want no slave, but you would try to find something for me to do so that I might help you. I understand these things."

By the time that their meal had ended, they'd indeed found some things where she could help him, and though she remained a slave to him, she was no slave to him between them, and he took her wherever his duties carried him. She was his servant and armorer, learning anything very quickly. She was his guide in his rise among the officers, planning every political move for him to the finest detail. He very seldom knew of it, but she had found plots and intrigues going on behind his back as he rose through the ranks. The priestess was very quiet about it, but she'd murdered many by the time that he was in a position to declare that she was now free and could go where she would. 

But where she would go was wherever her warrior was.

She used her abilities to protect him in battle, and in the quiet times between them, she taught him of her gods, and showed him how to protect himself in many ways.

She'd wanted to kill him as soon as look at him when they'd met, but by the time that the meal and their long talk was over, she'd forced herself to revise her opinion. 

As he showed her where she would sleep, she grasped his hand as he'd turned to go, and asked him to sleep with her. Somewhere in the dark of his bed chamber, it came to her that they were a very unlikely pair, the powerful priestess and the mighty fighter, but it didn't change anything. They tamed each other from the first night and a very strong love grew between them.

-----------------------

The one now known as Bart was born late in their second year together. He spent his childhood among the wagons and the horses of a conquering army most often. He grew and with the teachings of his parents learned much that helped him in his own rise to be a general in his father's armies. 

Along the way, he'd had his own slaves, but the women who cared for his tired and scarred body had all asked meekly to be his when he'd walked by them all in their chains. They knew that this was the one, having heard about the mighty young general who was riding down the soldiers of their own armies as he conquered more and more in the name of his now-ruling parents.

Most often, he only looked and smiled, telling their handlers that he wished to hear nothing of ill-treatment of any slave, for to be vanquished was as much the luck of the draw as a lowly birth. 

But once in a while, he chose one for himself, always asking them why they wished for the invisible chains of his house. He always paid well for them, and always told them that he would pay them as well, and that if they had a brain, he advised them to save what he gave them against the day that they wished to leave him as freed slaves and citizens of the kingdom.

But that had all ended on a battlefield as he rode the crush of his winning tide. As he took the life of the enemy king, he suffered the pain and the instant knowledge that there was a sorcerer here as well. Both the general and the king lay dead, but his spirit hung before a necromancer who sneered at him that he as now a dead servant who would make the sorcerer a king in his own right. 

It had been a huge assumption on the necromancer's part, and the gods of his mother tore the male witch's flesh from his bones, taking him into eternal torment.

None of that helped the dead bastard general. His spirit wandered for thousands of years, seeing what humans such as he was once had accomplished for themselves. But there was the one chance that fate had offered...

He'd seen the policeman lying in the pool of his own blood in the alley. The killers stood laughing, high as anything nearby and almost twitching nervously. But the general watched as the spirit of the policeman named Bart left him, and took the one chance that he'd seen for this in all of the thousands of years of his wandering and eased himself into the body -- and hopefully, into the life as well.

He'd had only seconds, but he used his strength to close the tear in his throat until there was only the mark of it. What coursed through his veins and arteries then was more his will than what blood remained, but he commanded this body to produce more blood and as fast as it could. It took him only three minutes to remember where his mind could control the synapses, and then he was in firm control of a body once more -- and it lived.

Unseen in the dark, he sat up, and by the time that any of them bothered to turn and look to where he'd lain, he was gone. He was careful to leave some of his blood seeping and collapsed against the fender of the backup unit on this call. He spent six days in hospital recovering, but he recovered far more than that. As the doctors filled him with bags of the blood of others, he relinquished the space for it and drew back on his own will until he was whole again.

Then he sought answers in the residual memories of his new brain, learning everything there was to know about this Bart. 

The man that he now was. 

The knowledge was useful. It told him where he lived and what he'd done, so many things.

Seven nights after his release from hospital, he was on his recovery leave, walking the same part of town. He had a debt to repay to the one whose spirit had left him this body at just the right instant. He wore track shoes, track pants and a black T-shirt.

He found the same fools in the same alley, but they didn't recognize him. He let some of his other features show through, the ones that the necromancer had given him - like the razor sharp teeth which filled his mouth. Like the featureless blackness where his irises should have shown in his eyes. The muscles had come from Bart, but he added his own build to that.


The Witch's Want Ch. 01



He'd once been a general in a day when that rank was awarded to the ones who led from the front, and one didn't become a general without leaving a long line of dead in the dust. He took Bart's form and shape generally, but for this, he looked far more as he once had.

It had lasted less than a minute, this payment of the debt that he'd felt, but it freed him. He got on with Bart's life, since that was who he was now. As he left the department in his search for a place to live which suited him better, he looked like Bart. He was Bart - but with none around him who knew the old Bart, his body was as it once was when he'd led his army. Only the scars were missing.

Back on the bike motoring through the cold night, he reflected on things. Well, not things, specifically, other people in Bart's life. He felt some of the sadness that the man had carried there over the years. He looked at some of the things from the long past.

You can be as in love as you want, but if you're not there for a while, things just cool off and then you get the kiss-off letter one day while you're doing your country's good work dodging bullets and trying really hard to keep all the bits that your folks gave you in the same small space at least a little close to your tiny mind. Well, that's if she thought enough about you to send the letter.

In the case of the old Bart, Becky had just been too darned busy, he figured. He'd had to read about it from his mom. She didn't necessarily look down on Becky too hard for it, but since it involved her son, she'd thought to let him know as gently as she could. Bart had written to a few friends and asked, and the answers concurred with his mother's letter. 

He'd even run into Becky on a stopover at home two tours later. She'd made noises about them starting over and it had sounded pretty good to Bart at first blush, but the ring on her hand and the cute little face covered in Happy Meal there in the car seat was all the warning he needed. He could have handled the Happy Meal face easily, but the ring told him something about his old flame that he was finally wise enough to see for himself. That had been almost fifteen years ago. He hoped little Happy Meal face made out alright.

The lesson? Well, he admitted, if there was blame to be placed, it was his to bear. From the time he was fifteen, Becky had been his world, all that he'd ever wanted. From the vantage point of some age on him, he saw that it was a foolish thing. Nobody lived their lives that way anymore. The trouble was that he'd never found anyone after that who had made him want to stick around.

The rest of the dream had gone to Hell when he'd tried to find work with a long leave coming to him after rotating back to base in the states. He wrote letters and sent emails to everyone he knew long before, but there was no work. Bart had spent weeks on the net, sent a ton of resumes and ended up doing exactly what he hadn't wanted to be doing when he got home -- looking for work with no leads and with his leave time running out like a large egg timer.

So he'd cross-trained into military police work and on the outside now, he hired out as a cop, mostly to small town sheriff's offices. He'd been at it a decade now and finally realized that he was looking for something, a life in a small place where he could settle in, grow old and die. Well it seemed to be about all that he could ask out of life.

That had run the tape of the man's life to the end. He now fit perfectly into that life, but he wondered what it would bring him. He had a bit of a hope that this little place might be the one. If it worked out, he'd ride home in a few months, load up his pickup, and trailer the bike along with his few possessions and just...

The road curved left and then doubled back into a long uphill sweep to the right, straightening out just as he crested the top. He could just make out the lights of the place that he was headed for -- and what looked like a bit of a fire a ways back in the trees off to the right, much closer than the town. Bart turned on the GPS light again and noted that there was a graveyard there. By the blue glow of the moon, he could see the gates of the cemetery at the end of the drive. He hadn't seen a soul on the road for an hour.

When he got to the turnoff to the gates, Bart couldn't say why, but seeing that the gates were wide open, he rolled off the throttle, pulled the clutch, shut off the ignition and killed the lights with the ignition switch. After a second, the security system on the bike armed itself with a double chirp as he rolled. The rumble was gone, and all that came to his ears was a bit of the night breeze and the soft crunch of his fat tires on the packed gravel.

He still had to use the brakes when he got as close to the light as the road through the cemetery would take him. Rolling to a stop, he extended the sidestand and let the beast rest on it gently as he unfastened the chin strap on his helmet and took it off. He could just see the flicker of the fire in the distance over the slight rise of the ground as a pale glow on the leaves of the trees overhead. He got off and began to walk. He needed to check on something as the professional lawman that he was, but more than that, he felt himself drawn to the one who had lit this small blaze.

-------------

She had anticipated the chill and had lain some wood there earlier to be sure that there was enough just in case things went a little long. What she hadn't considered was the quality of the wood. When the evening had gotten cool, she'd found that she wasn't ready to close off just then and had tossed two pieces on the fire when one would have been all that she'd have needed and the when the wood caught, the fire was much larger than she wanted.

She was finishing up when a thought came to her. Searching her memory, she'd only just been aware of what she thought had been the sound of a motorcycle a bit earlier, but she hadn't wanted to let her attention wander just then. Now that she thought about it, she could remember the sound coming over the hill, but she couldn't recall that it had faded as it passed.

-------------

Bart found that most of the graveyard extended to his left. It was really rather narrow at this end, and not deep at all. Once he'd gotten over the rise and down the gentle slope, he could just see the fence that marked the edge of the cemetery property. The fire was in a small clearing in the forest behind that perhaps 20 yards further. He walked to the fence.

It took him a minute, but he saw a single hooded figure kneeling at what looked to him to be a small and rustic altar and knew that he was drawn to her, though it wasn't something that she'd have ever thought of. 

If the fire had been a bit smaller, he'd never have made out the details which now flooded his trained mind. The figure rose and stood for a second or two and Bart was transfixed. He made out the profile and noted that the individual appeared to be unclothed under the cloak that she wore. Her head turned toward him and there was an instant where neither of them moved. And then the figure turned to face him across the twenty yards.

With her standing and peering toward him now, he saw nothing but darkness under the hood. He only saw the cloak, but even though he stood far from where the light of the fire could possible illuminate him, he knew that she was aware of him there. He knew that she could feel him. Bart saw the motion of her arm beginning.

Every instinct of the modern-day lawman told him to watch and observe. But the older instincts of the marine he'd once been along with those of his forebears told him to shield his night vision and he closed his eyes to look away from the scene.

The thin flesh of his eyelids passed enough information to his retinas to tell him that the fire now flared brightly. Then there was nothing. When he opened his eyes, the fire was out and he couldn't see a thing.

He vaulted the fence and moved as quickly as he could at a forty-five degree angle to where his memory told him that the fire had been, careful to feel for his footing until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He swung back following his nose and found himself standing wreathed in smoke inside the small glade. He could feel the residual heat from the firepit, but the blaze was definitely out. The only sound came from the softly hissing and whistling wood in the pit. Reaching for the small LED flashlight in his pocket, he covered the end with his hand and switched it on. He only wanted a sliver of light.

The little altar was a fairly plain-looking affair, not that he knew much about what should or shouldn't have been there. He was only looking to satisfy himself that whoever worshiped here wasn't one of the nut-bars he'd heard about who did things to helpless creatures. When he'd seen enough to tell that this was only heartfelt worship, he switched off the light. 

He had another thought which seemed a touch out of the ordinary for him. He knew that he'd intruded upon something. He looked around in the thin smoke and wondered briefly if he ought to apologize, since he knew that he'd disrupted something which was none of his affair, but gave it up and turned to walk back.

It might have not been what anyone else might have believed, but he'd spent enough time in tense nighttime confrontations in combat and as a law officer to know one thing here.

He was not alone.

The individual might not now be visible in the darkness, but he could feel her presence, and not from very far off, either.

He made no effort to hurry and walked back to the fence. Once on the other side of it, he stopped, still facing away as he fumbled in his pockets for what he wanted. The old Zippo scratched once and flared as he lit a cigarette. Taking a draw, he looked toward the dim tombstones in front of him and exhaled. He waited several seconds, listening. Nothing came to his ears but the cry of an owl from far off as it hunted.

He turned, but not too quickly and looked back.

There was a patch of inky blackness just a little bit darker than the night in that direction on the other side of the wrought iron fence. He suppressed the urge to smirk, since he'd known that she'd be there and just kept his face straight in case her eyes were better than his own here in the night. He was still getting used to them. 

At first he felt nothing, but thinking carefully, he got nothing antagonistic. Only her caution came to him and it made him wonder why she'd chosen to follow if she was this unsure. Wasn't there enough risk in this for her? In her place, he'd have been long gone before now. His earlier thought returned to him and this time he used his opportunity.

"I'm sorry," he said, making the effort not to peer, "I meant no harm, and I hope that I didn't disturb anything in that place back there. I don't live here. I won't mention anything to anyone and I won't disturb you again."

He felt his face pull into the slight smile that he wanted it to show, and he nodded, "You have a good night."

Then he turned to walk away.

The voice which came to him was quiet. It carried a hint of a soft accent, and it trembled a little in surprise. "Why did you come? No one called to you."

He didn't turn back, "I was drawn here. No harm to you."

He kept walking.

-----------------

The feeling which came to her as she'd turned was a mixture of several emotions. For one thing, she found herself a little annoyed at having been disturbed, but in truth, she'd finished the closing prayer of the ritual, so there hadn't been any harm done. There was the dismayed shock of being discovered mixed with a thrill of fear -- the age-old fear of her kind. Things were a lot better today, but still, there were more than a few idiots on the other side of superstition and she had it rough enough living here and being scorned by a fairly large number of the locals.

She looked to see who it had been who might have seen her. She couldn't make anyone out in the darkness, she just knew that it was a male, and the feeling which came to her was calm and rational. She sighed quietly and put out the fire and the candles with a wave. 

With a bit of luck, she'd lose him easily in the dark and he'd have a tale to tell over his beer to his buddies. She didn't like it, but it couldn't be helped now.

But something held her back. She knew that her best course would have been to just melt away, but then she saw that he'd actually approached from another angle and stood with his light looking around. She wanted to groan at the thought of having to find another place to worship now. But from behind the large oak, all that she got from him was more of that calmness and, ... a touch of regret. Even a slight feeling of longing.

Then he turned away and against all of her better judgment, she found herself following him to the fence, her lips moving in the invocation of prayers for remaining cloaked and unseen in the dark of the night. And she mouthed the beginnings of a spell to cast if she found that she had the need of it after all as she clutched her old wand.

She watched the glow of the lighter over his shoulder and closed her own eyes to slits to keep out the light. The smell of the tobacco came to her and she prepared to draw back. But he turned then and she found herself rooted to the spot, knowing that if she moved now, he'd know her position with certainty. As it was, he couldn't be sure. She knew that he couldn't possibly ...

But he was looking right at where she stood, as though he knew exactly where she was and then he astounded her with his quiet words as he apologized.

Her mouth fell open in amazement. Given the circumstances, it baffled her that she could feel that he had absolutely no fear in him. Only that calmness. But she did know that there was more here than only a man who had bumbled onto the place where she worshiped. She didn't know how she felt about that at all.

She peered at his back as his figure receded into the darkness after her question. When he was on the far side of the rise, she moved to the small gate a few yards off to one side and slipped through to follow.

At the top, she knelt by a large monument and watched as he sat sideways on the seat, leaning against the machine as he smoked. He didn't look toward her once. She watched him flick the ash off the end a few times and then root in his pocket for something. She was prepared to pull behind the stone, thinking that he'd use the flashlight again, but he seemed to have a small ashtray of some sort that he used to place the butt in. Closing it, he put it back into his pocket and now sat facing her on the motorcycle.

There was a long minute of silence between them and then he astonished her again as he spoke.

"Ma'am," he said, "you might want to hide yourself a bit right about now. I'll have to turn the ignition on to start my bike here, and when I do that, the headlight will come on. I can't tell for sure, but if that cloak is open, the headlight is going to give me more of a thrill than I surely deserve."

She withdrew from the stone and stood behind a tree. She wasn't sure now if she was more surprised than upset, and damned is she didn't have to fight off the grin which came to her.

His left hand found the ignition switch, and paused there while his right thumb rested on the starter. He hesitated for a moment longer as her faint musical laugh came to him, and then he turned the switch to the right. 

The instrument panel lit up and the slope was bathed in the glow of the high beam. He quickly reached for the beam selector and flicked it to low and then pulled the clutch as his thumb pressed the starter. The glow dimmed for a moment as the engine cranked and then came back to its former brilliance when the engine started. He put on his helmet and tied the strap before pulling his gloves back on. The sidestand clanged up and from her hiding spot on the other side of the rise, she heard the heavy clunk as he put it in first gear and slowly pulled out.

She had to step away from the tree to watch him backtrack down the drive, and then turn right to accelerate toward the town. She stood there alone for several minutes as she watched him go, before she turned to walk back to collect her things and head through the dark woods toward her home.

---------------

It didn't take long to find the motel and rouse the night clerk behind the desk from her novel. With his gear in the room, he climbed back onto his bike and went off in search of someplace that stayed open this late, serving food to the insomniacs of the nation. Thirty-seven minutes later, he was in the shower, easing the kinks of the road out and then he was in bed. He replayed the scene over in his mind and drifted off hearing her little laugh in his mind.

He's been smiling a little wistfully ever since. 



The Witch's Want Ch. 02



I've held this off for a little while and I'm glad that I did now since it needed a major fix. Also, I see from a comment that there is a possibility of confusing people with this one, so I'll explain something.

The person who was Bart isn't even in this story.

That spirit left his body. There is no shift in point of view between Bart and the general. It's all the general. This is just like you looking around from the driver's seat of a used car that you've just bought. You might find some maps and personal things from the previous owner in the glove box. You might find strangers waving at you as you drive down the street because they recognize the car, but don't know that it's been sold. 

I call him Bart since that's the identity that he's now inside of, the life that he's trying to fit into. The general has his own memories, and he also has access to the ones that Bart lived, since they're resident in the brain that he commands.

He does have trouble with speech patterns sometimes, but other than that, he's doing ok in the new body.

-------------------

The little town of Dairydale turned out to be a pleasant little place for the most part. True to its name, it was situated in a group of gently undulating hills in the middle of fine dairy and grazing country. The inhabitants were a peaceful lot – mostly. Like any small farming community in the Midwest, there were people and then there were other people. It wasn't often, but there were drunks to be taken in so that they could sleep off the effects of the elixir which helped them to forget their troubles, and now and then, there was the occasional, nasty bar fight which needed to be broken up. The rest of the time, life went on.

About the only thing that Bart was mildly unhappy about was the fact that he hadn't really found a place to live that suited him and his needs. It wasn't as though he was looking to build a Bat-cave or anything, but what he really wanted was a room to rent in a nice enough neighborhood and access to a place where he could park his vehicles out of the weather. He'd have thought that wouldn't be too difficult to find in a place like this, but it was becoming a bit of a challenge.

Bart had gone through the thin Rooms to Rent section of the local paper for weeks and checked out the odd ad which appeared there, but he found nothing that appealed to him. It was beginning to look to him as though he was going to have to rent a house and it wasn't what he really wanted to do. He'd be living in an empty box for the sake of renting a bedroom with a garage and that would just be a waste of money.

He wasn't even thinking about the "room" problem the next time that he drew the night shift. He'd actually been thinking back to the incident at the cemetery a few weeks earlier and what had happened after that. He hadn't been back to disturb her and didn't plan to unless there was a police matter. So far, the only one had been to run escort duty for one funeral, but that only took him nearby and in the daytime.

Well, that wasn't quite true, he'd admitted to himself. He hadn't said anything to anyone, and he hadn't been back to disturb her. That was true.

But he had been back.

One of the things that had bothered him a little about all of this – this being in a body that had been repaired and now lived under his control was just how little there was to do for people these days. He'd lived as nothingness for most of his existence, but the way that he remembered it, you had to strive for things back in his day – even if it was to survive. 

The trouble for him here was that there was considerably little to strive for now. He was happy just to be alive inside a body again, though it was older than he'd been when he'd been wrenched out of his, and he was even thrilled that the original owner had gone to some lengths to keep it fit and trim – even muscular, he admitted. But it wasn't the same thing as what he'd been used to, not by a long shot. That was why he'd pushed his memory of his old body to the fore. But now that he had this, he wanted to keep it like this.

He joined the local mixed martial arts school for the work of it to his body. For the fighting, well, he was learning to hold himself in check. It wasn't all that hard to do since what passed for sparring didn't really get his blood up, not like the brutal combat of his past. He just had to remind himself to keep it top of mind not to kill anybody. 

For the things that he knew they had little or no knowledge about, he'd sent off for a short, ninja-style sword. He'd wanted one for the weight and had ordered one with no edge, but the maker had sent an edged one, stating that he was out of stock. Bart didn't care that much. He didn't particularly give much of a damn about what most people did with these, he had his to keep certain of his muscles worked, particularly the ones under his arms, over his ribs, and the ones along his forearms and around his wrists. He probably looked silly, swinging the thing around in his motel room, but he didn't care. All that he knew was that he now felt the heat from working muscles in those places once more. 

Then he began to run.

He'd run south out of town one night for miles and then turned around to run back. But by the time that he'd gotten near the cemetery, he looked and there was the light of that fire again. He wondered how he should try to tell her that she ought to find a better place for it. You could see that thing easily from the top of the hill that overlooked it. His original intent had been to run on past the cemetery and right back into town.

But as he ran, he began to feel more and more certain that he ought to make sure that she was alright. At first, it was just a vague feeling, but as he drew nearer, the sense became much more defined.

He'd spent a few minutes just watching her, this lone worshiper in the trees. It certainly was a bit different from what the people here did to worship their god. He never got within maybe twenty feet from where she was. He didn't want to frighten her and he was also mindful not to disturb her worship. But he loved to see her so much. She was so wondrous to look at. He couldn't understand how she put up with the mosquitoes, the way that she was nude under that robe. It didn't matter, he guessed, he was thankful all the same.

He wondered if she could sense him at all, the way that she'd seemed to that first night. He got his answer when she'd started to look up as he sat on the heavy limb of the oak. But he was gone before she actually did look up, and on his way down the tree on the other side. Whatever he'd noticed was not present then and so he ran home

He'd been back a few times since. A few times, as in, every night. He knew that he was drawn to her and he didn't really know why. He just knew that he was and it wasn't really much of anything to do with not having had the ability to enjoy a woman in seven thousand years or so. 

He smirked and supposed that it made him a peeping tom or some other sort of pervert in the modern age. He didn't really care. He sought her out because he liked to see her and he felt as though he ought to look in on her to be sure that she was alright. He didn't do it out of any prurient sort of interest, he told himself. Not much, anyway, beyond just looking at her and feeling wonder and just a little happiness that someone like her was alive on this otherwise cold world.

It made him a little sad that he knew nothing about her and now he longed to know everything about her. He took to watching her from the other side of the cemetery fence most nights that he saw her there.

That was how she caught him.

He saw her walk off away from him and stood waiting for her to come back into his field of view. 

But she didn't. 

The overcast evening was still warm from the heat of the day, threatening thunderstorms vaguely with distant rumbles and he'd been running with his T-shirt off and tucked into the elastic waistband of his track pants. He wondered about where she'd gone, but then felt her approach from a different direction as he stood with his arm on the cemetery fence.

Here, like this, he had no time for anything. Bart didn't know what to do – but he knew that he'd better think of something quickly and with absolutely no thought to any possible repercussions, he put his forehead on top of his forearm, feeling the changes. He almost wanted to groan then, feeling what he'd done , but there was no time now to turn anything back.

He knew what he looked like now. He no longer wore the face of Bart the sheriff's deputy. He still had the body, added to by the mental image of himself as he'd once been. Every day in the past two months the body that had once belonged to Bart had been shifting to what it looked like now. He'd had to eat like a horse to fuel the changes in his muscle mass, and there had been some pain and discomfort to the building of it, but now, two months later, he looked like himself again at least in his body. He'd also had to buy a ton of new clothes.

One huge difference now was to the texture and color of his skin. Bart's skin was normal in every respect for a man of mixed Caucasian and Ojibwa heritage, since that was what it was. But not if he let himself shift like this. 

Like this, his skin was a much deeper olive-tone and he now wore the general's scars and markings. It was what he now was. If he wanted to make this all go away, he'd turn a bit lighter, his face would become like Bart's, and the markings would disappear. But to look as he'd looked so long ago, there were other changes which came to it.

Bart had collected the few and small scars which might come during any man's life in this age. But he'd never fought using a sword or an axe, or a pike. He'd never drawn back a heavy war bow in his life, where the general had done that all day long if he'd had the need of it, his long and thick arrows punching through all but the thickest plate over leather armor at a good distance. Bart had never suffered the wounds which even the most successful fighter suffered during his rise from fighter to fighting general, and Bart had never broken skulls or crushed throats in his life, but the young general had and often.

Even during his time as a marine, Bart had never killed another man with his bare hands where the general had killed many. It just came with the life, and there had rarely been anything personal about it. You either died or you won and it went on until you didn't. That was the warrior's life. Every scar, every healed tear or rip that his skin had borne now showed clearly and he knew it. The welts which were added to mark his successes as a fighter now rose on him. The pale and faded tattoos came with them and so did the general's long black hair, tied high in a topknot and still spilling down over his shoulders. He knew that his face was now very different.

But there were other features that came whether he wanted them or not, and these came from the necromancer who had torn his spirit from that powerful body. His mouth looked the same as it once did – with fuller rather sensuous lips, but his eyes – they weren't like Bart's or the fearless general's at all. 

They were black. Black irises sitting on black eyeballs, the whole thing looking like twin deep liquid pools of onyx-colored fluid.

It was too late now and there wasn't a thing that he could do about it, other than perhaps try to remember to smile carefully. He lifted his head and stood with his arm along the top of the fence with only his eyes looking over at the moving spot of inky darkness that came near to him across the fence.

If he'd hadn't just faced his own struggle now, Bart might have laughed. She held up a charm and whispered that he be bound to the spot. To her credit, he felt the effect.

He didn't move a muscle. 

They stood in silence looking at each other for five minutes. She wasn't sure, but to her mind, you have to trust in your ability sometime. And so she reached out slowly and carefully to him until he felt the tips of her fingers touch his large shoulder lightly. Bart thought the feel of it was wonderful, but she pulled her fingers back with a gasp, as though she'd thought that her fingers might pass right on through him or something.

"Why do you come here?" the small voice asked.

He whispered his answer, "I come because you draw me."

It sounded a little melodramatic to him, but it was better than anything else that came to his mind at the moment. Besides, it was true. He might have been able to resist the pull with a lot of effort, but for the past few days here, he'd come every night, a little hopeful to only see her, just like a lovesick schoolboy. And though he might have chided himself that he was now little more than a semi-stalker, he also knew that it wasn't quite correct. He was growing infatuated with her but he did have a sense that she'd need someone to look out for her - though he couldn't put his finger on the reason just yet. As they stood looking across the fence at each other, his vague feeling of warning returned and rapidly became one of some danger for her.

"But I do not," she said.

"But you do," he whispered, "not with your effort or by your will, but you draw me nonetheless."

"I do not practice anything of the sort that would summon anything," she said, "All that I do is only – "

"Earth magick," he interrupted in his whispered way, "kind-hearted and well-meant Earth magick. I see this. I know this," he nodded very slightly over his forearm, "but I am drawn to you regardless. I am not one who is summoned. I cannot be summoned."

Believing that her charm held him and remembering that his shoulder felt warm, she reached out and touched him again. His flesh felt warm, just as before, and when she pressed a little, she felt that there was substance to him in the form of a very muscled shoulder. Without thinking of it, she left her fingers there, but her eyes opened a little wider when the eyes in the face that she really couldn't see well at all closed and he groaned softly.

"Why did you make that sound, "she asked, "are you in pain?"

"No," he whispered, but added nothing to it. How can you explain to someone what it feels like to have a beautiful woman touch you when you haven't felt that for seventy centuries? How can you tell of having been touched every day of your life then and to feel nothing for so long only to be living now in an age where people hardly ever even looked at one another?

He'd felt her light touch on him and it had made him ache. Somewhere inside him, he felt surprise at himself as he fought back a strong desire to beg her never to lift her hand from him again.

The evening breeze stirred the edge of her hood slightly and he saw a little of her hair move. His nostrils flared then as an age-old scent came to him and he thought that he had a clue about her seeming immunity to the mosquitoes. He smelled a faint hint of a scent made from henna. It explained the light tone of her long hair as well. Even in the dark here, he knew that someone with features such as the one that he thought he could barely make out here ought to have dark brown or black hair. He appreciated the ancient beauty secret and was pleased that this lived still, coming down as it had through the ages.

The clouds overhead were moving, blown by the wind of the approaching rain. It moved her hair, and she saw his move as well, so she knew that he really was there with her. Her eye was drawn to his long black hair and she wondered just how long it might be, since it was plainly held in that topknot. She glanced at the way that some of it spilled past the sides of his neck to lie over his shoulders. It wasn't quite straight, she saw. There were very long waves to it.

At first, she'd thought that he was some bodybuilder type who came to watch her here. It wasn't a type that she felt any interest for. Not that she'd felt that sort of interest much in the last dozen years, since the man she'd married at twenty had spent whatever money of hers that he'd been able to lay his hands on and then beaten her to a pulp when that had run out. She'd often joked about how she ought to have thanked him for curing her foolish notions about love.

She didn't know just how close this one had come to her in the darkness or she would have been frightened. The way that she felt now told her a lot more. This was not just some man here. This was something else. She was very nervous, but she felt that she had to know.

But this close, she was amazed. She could feel the heat of him from where she stood and what she saw of his body, well, there couldn't have been much gym time involved in the making of this one somehow, from the scars on him. If she'd have known how and where those scars and markings had come from, she'd have run for her life, but she felt nothing aggressive here at all. She felt a great deal of interest in him like this - but she was still confused and nervous. Men like this just don't pop up out of the grass - or do they? This was a cemetery, after all.

She looked at his hair again and, giving in to her impulse, she moved her hand then and touched it.

"I wish to ask things of you," she said, trying to sound at least a little in charge.

"Ask them then." he replied.

She asked him if he was a malevolent spirit, and he replied that one couldn't feel a spirit's shoulder, but that he had no dark intent. She listened as she still held a little of his hair.

"I wish to see your face," she said, "show it to me."

"I do not want to show you my face, "he answered her, "there is no curse or binding upon me, but I have no wish to frighten you, witch. I am not fair to look at."

She couldn't think of another way to say it, "I command it," she said, "show your face to me."

He tried not to smile. He tried not to laugh, either, but did his best to hold it to a soft enigmatic smile behind his arm. 

The sudden realization came to him that if she was as gifted as he felt her to be from what he sensed, then there really hadn't been a mistake on his part when he'd let his features show like this. It likely wouldn't have mattered anyway. He couldn't hide himself from this close no matter what, if she was looking the right way.

She'd have the Witch's Sight and would see him as he was regardless. He sighed, hoping very much that she wouldn't lose her mind from the way that he looked.

"As you wish, witch."

He raised his head and she let go of his hair. Though she couldn't make out much more, she thought that he was pleasing to look at – for a demon – if there could be such a thing.

"Must I command you? Are you here out of a need to do my bidding?" she asked, "What is this here?"

He shook his head, "I am here because you draw me to you," he said, "I have no need to obey you, and you cannot command me, unless I choose to do something for you out of my good will, or out of kindness or friendship to you."

The light from the full moon far above came through a passing thin spot in the clouds, and they saw each other only a little better for a long moment. Bart couldn't breathe, and neither could the witch, though the moment passed along with the brightness as the clouds filled in and just then, he smiled a little.

She had a thought that if he were trying to charm or enchant her in some way, he wouldn't need to do much of anything. She was partway there already. He looked rather fierce to her, but everything about him gave her a deep sense of peace.

"What do you want?" she asked, holding out the charm.

"Oh please," he chuckled softly, "I am held here by nothing more than your presence."

"Then, ... this has no effect or power over you?" she asked nervously.

"It does," he said, "I can feel it. But I think that I am not what it was prepared against, and also, I have much power myself. If not for this, I think it would work. What you have there is small to me, witch, though I feel it. Do not think that you have failed in its making. It may work against other things. I wish you no harm. If you think that I'd eat you or harm you, I would have done it while your hand was on me, but I didn't, did I? And thank you."




The Witch's Want Ch. 02



"For what?" she stared.

"For only speaking with me," he said, "For being brave enough to come this close to me, and for your soft touch." He nodded, "The truth be told, you would get farther with commands if your hand was on me than trying to move me with only your shaking voice."

"Indeed," he whispered, "I come because I am drawn and if I am guilty of anything unwanted by you, it is a desire to see that you are safe. I enjoy your worship, though it means nothing to me. It only reminds me of the worship of others long ago in temples far away. Temples lying now long-ruined and forgotten. I see that you practice nothing dark here and I would wish that it remains so. Despite what I feel from you, I am nothing of what you may think. I have no dark intent either. I am only happy to see you."

He saw her reach for something in her robe.

"Please," he whispered, "You need no more of your symbols here for they have no effect. I do not wish for you to be frightened, it would cause you to worship elsewhere, and then I could not see you until I found you again by the way that you call me to you. You would then waste much time, thought and energy praying that I might never find you - that I would never come to you again, and it would be a waste for I would. I would find you no matter what you do or where you would go. I cannot help it. I speak the truth. I will you no harm. There is no evil to me, if that is what you think. I am only drawn, and, if you would spare me a kind thought, you might see that I would protect you out of it all."

He tilted his head, but she still couldn't see much of his face now that the clouds had darkened again, "I am not hunting you, witch. I only care about you and I cannot help it."

He sighed, "I wanted to find a way to speak to you in any case. You should move your altar deeper into the trees. The light of your fire can be seen easily from the top of the hill there. Please move it out of sight and worship there. I will find you and never harm you, but I do not know about any others."

Her small voice took on a ragged edge, sounding a bit fearful. "What are you? I see only blackness in your eyes."

He tried to smile in hopefully a warm way, and reached out himself. He paused when she appeared to start in fright, but when she forced herself to hold still, he touched her hand there on the top of the fence. 

"I cannot help my eyes, or I would make them pretty for you to look at. You have the sight to see them anyway. At the least, they are not empty holes. I do have eyes with which to see your beauty, witch, black on black eyes. If you have a bit of trust in you, come but a little closer and see. I have no magick to hold you against your will. I hold my heart open to you that you might see me as I am. I must often hide this from the world, but I would let you see."

She leaned forward a bit and looked at him as the first of the summer storm's lightning bolts flickered from cloud to cloud. The Wiccan jumped a little, looking at him, "Is this something that you do here?"

She saw more of his smile then as he shook his head, looking much less fierce now. She did move closer to him and she saw his face well then. It surprised her that she wasn't filled with quite as much fear. Despite what she saw there - and it was plain that he was trying hard to not seem threatening - she liked the way that he looked. He seemed human and also very far from human at the same time. She even liked his eyes, now that she could see them more clearly. They didn't repulse her, they only fascinated her and she wished that there was a bit more light to see them better by.

"No," he smiled, "I think that between us, it would be your doing if it lies between us at all. I listened to your prayers for rain for the crops a little earlier. This has nothing to do with me," he shrugged, "though I guess that it will make me a little wet soon."

She watched him look at her hand and then lift it to his mouth. The witch felt a little thrill of fear then.

"Do not be afraid, witch. You see me better than most, I grant you. But your fear is misplaced, that's all. If you see me as I am, then you should also know that you hear me plainly as well. I have told you three times that I wish you no harm. I grow tired of repeating myself. Do you believe me or not?"

While she thought about it, searching for a reply, she stopped suddenly and stared as he kissed her hand and bowed his head to her.

She nodded, "I feel that you are true with your words. But now I'm left to wonder about whether I wish to be seen by you as I pray."

He looked up, showing a little sadness then, "I can tell that you are still afraid, and that is something that I do not want," he said, "I would wish you a goodnight and leave you now, but for a few things which trouble me."

"I wish to be left alone here, demon," she said, trying to sound firm while wondering why it was that she almost wanted him to defy her in this.

"That is one of the things which trouble me," he said sadly, "for you still mistake my intent."

Guessing that he would refuse to leave, the Wiccan began to turn away. She found herself a little restrained when he laid his hand onto her shoulder.

"Priestess," he began.

"I'm not a priestess," she answered, trying to sound as cold as she could for the effect. She was almost fighting herself as well now.

She heard his heavy sigh and looked at his face. The face had started out fierce and it had softened, trying to appear friendly. Now it looked concerned.

"But you are," he said, "You are a witch, and in many cases, it is the same thing" he said, "You deal in Earth magick and I can say that from what I feel, you do it well, but I see no difference between a solitary witch in a wood and a priestess with followers who says much the same words in a temple on a mountain. It is only a matter of the surroundings."

He leaned a little closer to her, "Again, I wish you no harm, but besides being drawn to you, I am here for another reason - the other things which trouble me. I am not hunting you," he whispered as he extended his arm past her face to point in the direction of her fire in the clearing a ways off. 

"But I think that you are being hunted here nonetheless, Priestess."

She stepped back against the fence and let a small gasp escape her as she caught sight of the men peering around in the clearing. The briefest look told her that they'd been drinking to get up their courage, and a slightly longer look with the Sight told her of their intent.

She felt his head almost beside hers as he looked over her shoulder at the scene. "I was running a few nights ago and I had a sense come to me that I should stop here to see you. I saw you, but I found no cause for the feeling - other than I wanted to see you. I have come back every night to watch for I do feel drawn to you, but also there was this," he whispered, "this is another reason why I am here. I have no answer myself, but I believe that you need me here." 

She didn't know what to think, but his head was gone an instant later as he jumped over the fence and she saw his face as he whispered to her over his shoulder, "Try not to look at me here," he said, "if you had fear of me before, this will help nothing now."

He walked toward the fire and as he went, she saw that in a very short time, he wasn't dressed in trackpants anymore, he looked to be wearing leather armor.

He walked up behind the men and they found themselves lying in the dirt and tree roots where he'd thrown them.

He drew a sword as he walked around the back of the fire and she saw that what he was wearing was wet with blood and the blade of his sword dripped steadily with it. There were spatters of it on his face and his onyx eyes shone with reflected light from the fire. She wondered for a moment at the few stubby sticks here and there on him but she knew with a start that they were arrows which had gotten through his armor. He'd just snapped them off so that they wouldn't impede his movements. 

The men stared dumbfounded as he pulled out one of the broken arrows with a grunt and tossed it into the fire.

"I give one chance only," he said in a low and menacing tone, "it is more than I often give." 

He muttered a short and incomprehensible sentence and held up one palm, "You cannot tell a falsehood now while I hold you. Speak quietly and tell me how you came to find this place. You were sent. I know this. I feel it. Even try to lie and I will know and you lose your chance. Speak."

He listened carefully as the two men chattered mechanically against their will very quietly. As he listened, he turned his head once to look back and noticed that she still stood by the fence and was thankful. He closed his hand and the men fell silent, shaking before him. 

He nodded, showing his teeth, "You have not said what it was that you had in your foul minds to do at the outset but I saw this also. Be glad that she is near though not in your sight. Her presence is all that keeps me from feeding you your own skins before you die. Do not ever come here again or I will do as I must. Leave and tell no one," he growled, "if I feel it that you have told this to even one other, I will find you by the beat of your hearts, I swear it on your lives."

"Your ... lives."

"Wh-who the hell are y-you?", one of them stammered.

The warrior threw his empty arm downward in a motion toward the fire. With a roar, it leapt up thirty feet and the man jumped back, his hair and eyebrows singed.

"Who the hell," the warrior laughed. "Very good, fool." He looked down at himself and picked a wet and bloody piece of flesh from where it was stuck to his leather armor to toss it at the man. It landed glistening in the dirt between them. The other man tried not to retch when he recognized the hair and knew that it was a piece of a human head.

He nodded at the scrap, "One of the last who defied me. Twenty thousand I slew that day. Are you thirsty, fool?" 

He held out his wet sword. "Come, drink. Not as good as your wine perhaps but ..."

He raised his empty hand again and a flame grew out of his palm. He held it up to them as he walked toward them, "Or are you cold? I can share some of my fire..."

He tilted his head and they saw his very cold smile under those black orbs.

"This is your chance," he said quietly, though the menace in his voice was clear. "You should run."

Three seconds later, he stood alone as he laughed quietly.

The witch had begun to approach, but was now already backing away behind him.

"You have no reason to fear me," he whispered over his shoulder. "This is all illusion, made from my memory of the most grim day of my life long ago." When he'd turned around, it was all gone, and he stood once more in trackpants.

Her voice quavered a little, "Are you a ghost?"

He shrugged, "Are we back to where I said that you cannot lay your hand on the shoulder of a spirit or am I still a demon to you? No, I think that I must have been a ghost until recently, but now I am a man again."

He looked a bit disgusted, "What you saw was me as I once was, though I was never quite so filled with joy as I slaughtered then. I led a great conquering host then, making an empire grow for my mother and my father."

He looked at her, no longer bloody or injured. "I don't think you can understand, but I was a man once, and then I had no body for a long time. I saw a dying man's spirit leave him and I took this body for myself and undid the mortal wound." He pointed to the jagged scar on his throat. 

"Now I live in the life of a man who knew others and I must do what he did for an occupation and pretend that I know them when only the brain in my head knows them. I was a general once and a king's son, but now I must buy gasoline like everyone else to drive and I must work to buy my food."

"Please," he said, "listen for a moment. I came these nights to see you for I am drawn as I've said. But I also know somehow that someone hunts you and I had a thought that you would need help and so that set my mind for me to come these nights. I've told you that I will not harm you several times, but I know how I must seem to you, and now I've made it even worse. I know that." 

"Go now to your home. I will not follow you, and please, move your place of worship. Go now. I will put out the fire."

She whispered her thanks and was gone, walking as quickly as she could. She stopped once to see if he was behind her. All that she saw was that the fire was out. Coming to her home, she was inside and throwing the bolt as quickly as she could.

In the morning, she thought to go back to move her altar, but found it by her door instead.

She found another place on her property for her prayers after that, a far better one, much more secluded and far from prying eyes. She spent half a day seeking the knowledge that she'd need, and the other half setting charms, placing wards and enchantments around her new glade in layers.

But he found her the next night anyway.

She even saw him coming. He stopped several times as he approached, looking carefully for the things which she'd set, seeking traps. Each time, he seemed to come to a decision and walked right through whatever she'd set for him as though it wasn't even there. She stepped quickly through the door of her home in fear and then she watched him. 

He looked at the small fire for a time and then looked right at her with a sad nod, before making the fire three times its size and kneeling before her altar. It took her a little while to see that he made his own invocations and said his own prayers. After that, he let the fire ease to its own size again and sat on on the ground staring into it with his arms around his knees, a very quiet and muscular man with long hair in a topknot, covered in the scars of his combat, sitting quietly in trackpants.

After a time, he stood up and walked off to stand in the trees. She thougfht about what he'd done the night before and came to her own courage then. She stepped out to do what she'd intended and knelt in her robe as she she performed the ancient Wiccan ritual as though he wasn't there. When she was finished, he was gone.

But he returned every night.

She knew it as soon as he came every time. He never bothered her and she was a little thankful for that - and for his presence. She felt much more secure, though she still felt a little nervous about him being there. She had no idea what he was, but at last she believed that he had no desire to harm her. Now and then she looked for him and saw him there, not far off, watching.

She felt safer with him there, but she admitted that she felt something else as well.

The way that he looked, and the way that he felt to her - even across that distance between them, even though they never spoke much, well ...

It aroused the hell out of her.

She wanted to ask him. She longed in her way to know a name by which she could call him to her if she came to that place for her observances and she couldn't see him at first.

She wanted to know more of him. She searched through every book she had, and went on-line as well, seeking anything that might give her an idea about his kind and what sort of nastiness that he might possess. Though she learned a lot in general, she found nothing specific or even anything which pointed to him in any way at all. She felt nothing bad about him, though she did feel a little of his longing – and her own. That by itself cost her lot of sleep as she looked for anything bad in this attraction which seemed to hang between them.

It took her a while, but she also came to the conclusion that he fascinated her, everything about him, every detail which she noticed enthralled, captivated, mesmerized – she stopped the list short with a mental shrug one time and smiled to herself that he just charmed and attracted her. But that was only good for a little while.

Her old fears would rise again. 'Trust issues' her old therapist had called them, though she thought that she could understand how the doctor might see it that way in a clinical sense, in the clean and pleasant office, in the light of day.

"Try to see it from my perspective," she'd told the woman who sat taking notes and toying with her own pearl necklace. "If the man who'd told you that he loved you came home every night with his eyeballs twitching, demanding money that you didn't have because he'd already spent it on making his eyes twitch beat the shit out of you and raped you - when he could get it up - and kicked you in the ribs when he couldn't as a pleasant pastime and hobby, you might have trust issues. That is, between crying so hard that no tears would come anymore and hoping that there wouldn't be any more blood the next time that you pissed yourself."

She'd stood up then and wished out loud that just once, a therapist might know just a little of what she felt like as she'd walked out.

But each time that these thoughts had run their course, she noticed that she felt a little better, all these years later, and not for anything that the idiot with the alphabet soup after her name had done for her. She felt a little bit better every time as she remembered that the man - or whatever he was - had kissed her hand with obvious care and had bowed his head to her. She remembered how she'd felt when he'd smiled and thanked her.

He always looked pleased and happy to see her. She had no idea what he was doing hanging around her, but she liked his attention. When he passed by her closely as her head was bent in her prayers, she thrilled to feel him pass by her, and she loved his smell.

She knew that much about him, at any rate, that he smelled so good to her, and that he wouldn't harm her.

She thought about the reality here. She knew that she'd had such trouble believing even one thing that any man - any man had said to her all of this time. Whatever he was, she now found that she'd believe him after what he'd done.

She thought about how he made her feel, not that she could exactly prevent her mind from going there unbidden. She had a thought come to her and wondered if it were even possible to have any sort of relationship with him. 

Well, in that light, she thought, they'd be outside the range of what usually happened. True, he might not be able to take her out to dinner, but did that really matter to her?

She'd never even had a thought about being with really muscular men. If the wiry rat that she'd been married to could do the things that he'd done, a human tank could do even worse.

She thought about his black eyes and saw his face in her mind. At first glance he'd seemed to be a brute from another dimension, but not if you really looked. You'd see then that he wasn't that way at all, though he'd looked like a walking death machine under that illusion that he'd shown.

She shook her head and faced it. He attracted her like nobody's business - in spite of her fears. She finally smiled to herself when she admitted it to herself. The man with the scars and those black eyes was the hottest thing she'd seen walking in her whole life.

The slightly shy witch admitted that she was lonely. Until now, it had just been the price for her sense of secluded safety.

Now?

Well now, the witch had a want for herself.

She prayed for protection and she prayed even more that she had the right thing in her mind.

It might be the strangest one on the planet, but she now wished for some kind of relationship between them.

On the fourth visit, he stepped a little closer and cleared his throat. "I wish to tell you that I must be gone from here for seven nights. Do not look to see me until after."

"Why, demon?" she asked with a shy smile as she stepped closer to him in the darkness that hid much of their features in the enchantment she'd laid in these woods to hide her, though each could see well most times in the dark, "do you have another witch-girl who needs you?"




The Witch's Want Ch. 02



He shook his head, staring just a little at her body inside her open cloak, "No. There is no one who needs me."

She felt her heart in her throat then, but she closed the distance to put her hand on his shoulder. "I have never worshiped so much as I have since we met, demon. I suppose that I can pray inside my home for the time that you are gone. I feel a little silly to say it, but I now feel much better if you are near me here."

She tried to stand on her toes then, but she leaned past her balance point and found herself against his hard chest with a gasp that came from them both as his arms closed around her gently. She looked up and kissed him once softly. He returned it, and the next while was spent as both of them drifted in each other's sighs.

She stepped back finally with a bit of effort, "If you are charming me, demon, I admit to you that it is working so well that I feel nothing of the enchantment."

He shook his head, "Other than the force of my will – and I do not use it here – there is no enchantment on you from me. I could say the same words as you."

She nodded and smiled softly, "Then I guess that we charm each other somehow. I will wait for you, and I have some things to decide."

"What do you have to decide, witch?"

She looked down, troubled for a second, "I need to decide how much I am willing to hear your offer to me."

He looked confused, "Offer? What do you mean?"

"It's a fear that I feel," she said, "I've been able to push aside any fear that I had of you but one. I am afraid to go much farther in this because I have read that a demon always makes an offer. It might be covered in gold or honey, but there is always a price. I have felt a longing for your touch from the first night that we talked, and it has done nothing but grow stronger. I find that you are in my thoughts the whole day and night. I care for you, demon, but ..." 

She reached to touch his face. "I fear to lose my soul."

He held her to him then, knowing the why of her hesitation at last. 

"Listen, witch. Your soul does not hang in any balance that I know of. I do not try to charm you or enslave you. I want your will to remain your own. I came to you because I was drawn as I said, and then out of my want for your friendship, and I feel that I have some small measure of that."

He sighed, "I know what I look like, and you may not wish to believe me, but I cannot say in truth that I am what you call me for I do not know this myself. But I have no wish for anything between us to cost you your soul. I do not even know how it might be done."

He looked down then, searching for words. He saw the sign of his own arousal. "I wish to thank you," he said, looking at the dirt, "for your touch and the feel of you against me. It makes me feel what I was once, and am again. You can't know how much it's worth to me."

"Then show me your body," she said, "so that I might know that you are honest and not some beast. Show me all of you so that you can hide nothing from this witch-girl here, as you have seen some of me and, ..."

She faltered then, but only for a moment as she looked him in the eye. "Let me hold you. Then tell me your name after that," she said, "for I have heard that a demon will not tell a true name unless forced. I don't know about much of this, but I believe now that you wouldn't hurt me."

He looked at her and tilted his head, looking at her with those dark eyes, "Why? Why do you do this now, when I could talk until I had no breath before and you couldn't believe me?"

She looked at the place where his collarbones came together, "That was before," she said.

"I've always had reasons not to trust anyone outside my small group of friends." She looked up at him, "But you have to trust somebody sometime, or you become smaller as a person, living inside your own walls. I don't understand a lot of things about you, but I think that I can trust that you don't have any horrible intent now and I think that from what you said, that you have no friends and don't really know anyone. I've been there before, so I guess that I can find something in me for a confused man or demon or whatever you are. I don't feel anything bad about you and I think that if you meant to harm me, you'd have done it before this."

She drew a breath and let it out. "So, if you really aren't a demon, then show me what you look like and let me feel your heart so I'll know for myself."

He smiled a bit shyly, and for someone like him it looked a little out of place for a second, but the Wiccan thought it looked very sweet on his face.

"You will not have to force me." He turned his hand and stood naked with her as he reached into her robe and ran his hands along her back. The Wiccan shuddered and sighed, fighting herself until she reached to hold herself against him.

"You feel so ... good," she sighed, laying her head against his chest to listen for a moment. Satisfied that she was listening to a man's heart, she smiled up at him.

"Tell me then. If you aren't a demon, then tell me who you are, or were, at least. I'll try to learn what I can of you. If you have a name now that's what you go by, save it for when you return, and I'll give you my own name then."

He kissed her forehead then and bowed his head for a moment. "I will give you what I remember, so listen well, witch-friend. I am not now who or what I once was, and much of this is muddy in my own memory. Some of what I have to tell you is not as your history tells of it, written as it was by hopeful scratchers in the dust of my lands."

"I am from a land called Sumer. My people are known to you as Sumerians. My father was Lugalbanda, second king of Uruk. He was a soldier once in the army of Enmerkar, the first king of Uruk. It is written in texts left by my brother that our father's consort was the goddess Ninsun. But it was told to be written thusly to make us seem to have been birthed by gods. It was written after my death, or I would have flayed my brother's skin off him myself over the insult to our lovely mother."

"Our mother was Nisi-ini-su, the high eresh-dingir priestess, proud and powerful daughter of Sin-kashid. She was beautiful to all. Beautiful she was, but neither of my parents were of the gods. I was first born and rose to be the youngest and most successful general in their armies. I conquered many lands in their names and razed the great city of Lagash to the ground."

I am called by many names, two of them true and all the rest false, and I am said to be a king, though I never was. One name is new to me and the other is very old. I died at the hands of a sorcerer and necromancer on the field of battle against the Gutian nation. My name is Ur-Nammu."

She felt his hands stroking her skin in the moment of silence while he thought, "I was dead, it is true, but I am dead no longer. By blind luck and chance, I found a dying body. As the spirit left it, I tried for the only chance that I saw for myself in so many thousands of years. I learned much of the lore of my sweet mother's cult - the eresh-dingir, and I have my own power which has only grown stronger. By my will, the body lived until the healers helped me. Now I live again here, with the gift of this chance and this life."

"But I must now live as a man in this age. I know a lot from the memories of the man, but I still have much to learn. I am no general anymore. I am no demon, at least I think not, though I like the way that you make it sound when you say it to me. I don't even know what I really am - but I promise you that I will not harm you. I have been living in a sort of game until now, pretending to know the ones that the man knew. Now with you, I have found one who I can know for myself and not need to search for what the man knew of himself and how he related to others - that is, if you would allow it from your side of this."

He kissed the side of her throat and it made her whimper and press her face against his neck to breathe in his scent.

"What is, ... what is , ... what I smell on you? You smell so good."

He shrugged a little, "my memory of the spiced oils that I always bathed in. I have found nothing like them here, but when I am like this, I remember them. I don't even mean to do it." 

"Now, can you remember my name, witch?"

He felt her nod, "Yes," she sighed, "Ur-Nammu. I'll try to find out what I can."

"Have a care what you believe," he said, "most of it is false or just wrong. Ur-Nammu the builder, they called me." He remembered something else a little sadly, "And Ur-Nammu, ... The Destroyer, as well, though likely not together in the same breath."

He released her then, "I will come to you when I can and we can talk further. But for now, I can say that I do not know what I am, though I live, obviously. I will tell more of me then if you like."

She felt a small whine of complaint in her throat when he pulled away, but she thought that she could understand it. If he felt only half of what she did, it was likely all that he could do to step back, and now was plainly not the time for this between them.

Though she really ached for it to be.

She looked at him, her view sliding down the power that his body spoke of to her own until her gaze stopped at the part of him that lit the hunger that she hadn't felt in quite a while and she knew.

He really ached for it to be the time for this too.

"So," she said as she forced her gaze higher,"are you saying that you are the reincarnation of Ur-Nammu?"

He knew the word, or at least his mind knew it. He shook his head. "If I understand it, you ask if I am a person born now believing that I am someone from the past? No. I was not born into this body. I took it just as it died without an owner." 

"I am Ur-Nammu, son of the fighter and the priestess, and I live now in another body. This is how I looked then but for my eyes. What you see here is what the sorcerer gave to me. These marks are what I did, told in the lines on me. I can tell you all of this, but I have no time or trust in myself, this night so close to you, witch. Learn what you can, I will tell more, and it is for you to decide what you want then."

He stepped forward and kissed her softly. "Remember also, witch-friend, that I make no offers here. If you wish later, we might make offers to each other in a quiet moment, but I have no need or want to rob you of anything, much less your soul."

"Kiss me, beautiful witch. Give me something to think of while I must be away doing things which I now do not want to do."

She kissed him then for long minutes before she pulled back reluctantly.

"You should know," he said, "since we seem to draw together here, the worst side of me. There is no danger to you since it is from my memory, but I what I showed that night to those men and to you was me as I looked while I ruined a city that sent killers for ones that I cared for in their hate of me."

"You should know, so that anything else will seem warmer now that you have seen the worst way that I ever looked on the day that earned me the title of Destroyer for we slew thousands of soldiers along with all of the priests and advisers and their king for what had been attempted before I rebuilt that place for the ones who were left. After that, no one tried to harm any that I loved again."

"Would you show that to me again, Ur-Nammu? I didn't get much of a chance to really see you then. I don't think I'd like to see the blood and gore again, but I think I'd like to see what somebody like you looks like if you did that to protect someone."

In the blink of an eye, she saw that his face was human, proud and cold. He was clothed in armor again, though it was clean and there was no blood on him or broken arrows. He held no dripping sword. He only smiled after a second. 

The next time that she blinked, he was in his track pants again and it made her smile since it looked just a little funny. 

"And now? What are you now?" she asked with a smile.

He shrugged, "A confused man who can look two ways, and hopes to never look like that again and mean the intent of it." He smiled a little sheepishly, "A man who looks a little different and hides his eyes so that he can go to his job and pay his bills."

"Goodnight, demon," she said softly, "I know a little more now and I'm thankful to you for it, but ... please come back to me soon."

He nodded to her, smiling at the hopeful sound of it. "Seven nights you should worship behind your locked door," he said softly, "Look for me on the eighth. I will come to you then. Sleep well, witch-friend."

He turned to walk off then. The Wiccan wondered about a lot of things and knew that she had even more than this to think about, but she was sure of a few of them even now, she thought.

She was also much less afraid now, though things were still at least a little unclear. She thought back to the men there in the clearing. Things something like that had happened before, but she'd always sensed it and been gone into the shadows in a heartbeat. That time she'd missed picking up on it, and from what she'd read in them, she thought that she ought to be terrified now. But she found that she was only nervous.

She would be more attentive, she decided, and of course, she was not completely defenseless. But she did feel a lot less of the unease that she thought would normally have come to her.

She found that she had quite a bit of feeling for him.

And a lot of it had to do with another thing that she knew was bound to happen.

She watched him as he walked off into the night, and she now had every intention to walk to her house and go to her bed and try hard to lay all of this down for examination in the morning.

And do her very best to keep her hands from her own body. With him in her mind like this, it was just a joke.

She'd already tried this every night.

She failed at it every time.

He walked out to the main road with a small smile on his face, feeling better now that he'd gotten to speak with her. He chuckled a little as he began to run north toward the town. The only dark thoughts that he had was when he thought about the men and what they'd told him when he'd forced them to tell it.

-----------------

As he drove the quiet night time streets in his cruiser the next night, Bart noted that he hadn't had a break in a few hours and headed for the local donut shop.

Mindful of the stereotypical way that some citizens tend to look at a police officer in a cruiser parked at a donut shop, he only stayed long enough to buy his coffee before driving on. The staff always tried to load him up with their pastry, but he always declined as politely as he could. He never told them that he hated the stuff, and would rather find a place to pull over on a street in the middle of the village to drink his coffee.

As he rolled down one of the main streets, his attention was drawn to the storefronts. Like a lot of little places, the merchants here fought a hard fight, trying to keep the inhabitants from going to the nearest 'Superstore' for their needs, trying just to stay alive. As he chewed on the vagarities of local enterprise, his eye caught the sign for the briefest moment through the passenger window as it slid past. He drove down another block and turned around to come back.

Rolling to a stop across the street, he shut off the ignition and opened his coffee. Making sure that he didn't spill during the always-hazardous first sip, he considered the sign and wondered how he could have worked here for the past month and not seen the New Age bookstore in the middle of town. He shook his head with a rueful smile. Brilliant police work.

His eyes swept the line of stores. Most had one light on so that the interior could be seen into by a passing cop. The bookstore had one on too, but it was fairly dim and far back from the window. He was just thinking on how it managed to look quaint and a touch Victorian without falling too deeply into junky and run-down when he noticed the shadows of the pair of people inside. The door opened, and an elderly man exited the place, walking quickly to a pickup truck to drive off. Bart waited and slurped his coffee.

A few minutes later the door opened again and a woman stepped out. She looked up and down the street and then turned to lock the door. In the quarter of a second when her face showed her profile, he recognized her. He set his cup into the cupholder and tried not to stare, since she'd likely feel his gaze. He felt a little thrill that she might recognize him, but knew that it likely wouldn't do them both any good here. 

Tonight, she was dressed in a peasant blouse over a pair of jeans and walked in sneakers which reminded him of old running shoe commercials from his body's childhood. She stepped down the two steps onto the sidewalk and with a glance over her shoulder, she nodded politely without looking too hard at what to her was one of the town deputies. Bart lifted his hand from where it was on the top edge of the door to return a wave that he hoped would appear to be half-interested. 

Where he was parked, the glare from the light standard behind him would make it about impossible to see his face and anyway, it was about showing the flag right then, letting the people know that there was a cop around, tax dollars at work and all that.

Then she was around the corner and gone. Bart took another sip, but put the cup down again when an old car backed out of the alley and headed off down the street, trailing a cloud of smoke.

He waited until it had turned the corner down the block before he started the cruiser. He counted to ten slowly and then pulled away from the curb to follow. It wasn't hard, hers was the only car leaving a noxious cloud behind it. Bart tried not to think about that. He decided to call it just the only car on the road ahead.

He briefly considered running the plate, but he had no reason to, and under these circumstances, it would have been invasive. Besides, he smirked, to see the plate clearly, he'd have to get a lot closer than his nose would prefer, given what was coming out of the tailpipe. She turned out of town and Bart was not surprised when she turned in at the driveway of the nearest house to the cemetery - the only house near the cemetery, for that matter. He drove on past, turning around in the cemetery driveway to shut the car off.

He got out of the cruiser and lit a cigarette out of consideration for the non-smokers who had to use this cruiser on the opposite shift. He wasn't thinking about much. A brief memory of her in the open cloak lit by the fire came to him and then mostly he was remembering how her soft laughter had drifted to him that evening from among the headstones. Before he could stop himself, he remembered the feel of her skin under his hands as he'd stroked her back. 

In his previous life, he could - and did - have just about any woman he'd wanted at any given moment. After so long as nothing more than his disembodied spirit and will, he wasn't the same man in that regard anymore. He chuckled quietly as he reminded himself that he really wasn't the same man in any event. 

The general he'd been long ago had been in love before, but not anything like this might promise - if it actually happened. If anything came of this, he hoped that it might be the kind of thing that he could lose himself in, because that had never happened to him before and that was what he felt here. Bart hadn't thought of it, but now he wondered what he might have been able to expect from anybody else in this time and place. 

The witch could see him as he was - if she was close enough - and she had seen him. It amazed him to no end that she obviously liked him anyway. He said a quiet prayer of hope and thanks to the gods which he knew for the gift of this life and his good fortune at finding this witch. The general was going to do it differently this time. If there was a hope here, it wouldn't be women adoring him for who he was and him in the middle of the pile trying to decide. He only wanted one woman to hopefully adore him a little, he wanted the chance to love his own priestess. 




The Witch's Want Ch. 02



He finished his cigarette and the coffee and drove back into town.

Pulling up across the street from the shop again, he got out and walked to the opposite end of the block and began to do the old cop-on-the-beat thing, peering into store windows and checking the doors to make sure they were locked. A good thing, too, he found one door unlocked and checked hard for signs of tampering or a break-in. He called it in to his dispatch and stood for a moment to look around. Back on the sidewalk, dispatch came back and told him that the store owner had been contacted and would be on the scene in about ten minutes.

Bart used the time to stroll down a few more stores and looked at the bookstore. The hours were posted there, but said nothing about being open until one in the morning. He saw what he would expect to see in the window. Books. Well, books and little statuettes of a fantastic nature, such as old wizards and dragons. 

It made him smile to look at them and that caused him to wonder about the exact second when he had grown too old to like things of this nature. In spite of the places that he'd been and some of the horrific scenes that he'd witnessed in both lives, he decided that it hadn't happened yet and was thankful.

A car came around the corner and pulled up at the curb. A man stepped out and Bart turned to walk to him. But there was one detail that he picked up on in that bookstore window. He filed it away for the moment and doubted that it would interest him, but one ever knew.

Back at the unlocked door, he spoke to the storeowner and after finding that there was no alarm system, he told the man that it would be wise to invest in one. He watched as the owner checked for anything missing or broken and then accepted the man's thanks as he got into his car to drive back to his bed.

Bart knew that he could have likely scored a 'warning' on the breathalyzer in his cruiser if he'd asked the man to provide a breath sample, but that wouldn't have accomplished anything positive. The man appeared to be in command of his faculties and showed no signs of inebriation other than what Bart got from the hint of wine on his breath. He watched the man drive off and then walked back to the cruiser, smiling to himself over the detail in the window of the bookstore.

----------------------

It was getting near nine as she drove in to her shop. She noticed the speedtrap close to the entrance of the town and her eyes flicked down to the speedometer just to make sure. Then she studiously looked away, pretending to check her rear-view mirror and the fields off to her left as she drove past, hoping that her old car wouldn't choose this moment to fart too heavily as she went past.

Bart was just walking back to his cruiser after handing the driver of another car his citation for speeding. He was tired now, but had taken the two hours of overtime to stand the radar picket into town. Every time that he blinked now, he could see the bed in his motel room and thought that it had gotten pretty bad if he was thinking of that as a restful place.

He saw her coming, of course. He just didn't really look up, and purposely turned to look back over his shoulder at the car leaving to make sure that he signaled and drove off safely. If the disgusted old man threw the ticket out of the window now, he'd really enjoy writing him another one for littering.

Bart also wanted to be looking anywhere other than at the smoking old wreck as it went by. He'd have to do something about it then. He was sure that within about fifteen seconds, he'd find enough wrong to pull the plates off it for being unroadworthy. There are enough cops in the world who do their best to maintain a stupid "us and them" mentality. Bart wasn't like that. The man he'd once been had owned a car like that on more than one occasion himself and while he knew that there were drivers who didn't give a damn about the state of their vehicles, most wouldn't be driving them like that if they could afford not to be.

Besides, he thought, it was a small enough place that he was pretty well guaranteed to see the clunker again. He just didn't want to see it while he was in uniform right now, and especially not while he had those three words in his heart from the little sign in the bookstore window. He'd felt at least a little bit hopeful ever since he'd seen them. They made a lovely little sentence which he now repeated as his mantra of the morning.

Room for Rent.



The Witch's Want Ch. 03



Often when I write, I struggle to find the perfect image of a character in my mind. Once in a while, I'm already partly into the beginning of a tale when I stumble upon an image that makes me sit back and grin, knowing that I've found the character. Once I have that, I keep that image open in a window as I write so that I can refer to it and pick out details and qualities about them.

I had to re-write some of this because the female lead was of mostly Caucasian background originally. She would have worked well, but I found a shot that nailed me to my chair and I knew that I had to make changes to accommodate her. I had her backstory in a flash and even a name from that, once I'd made up the backstory. I needed somebody who would appeal to the male lead in a very powerful way in one instant. I hope you enjoy this.

------------------

The little brass chime sang its note as the door opened and Farah glanced up from the onerous task of checking the largest of her monthly shipments against the bill. She looked and was at least a little thankful that the person there was not one of the kids from the high school. One could expect most semi-interested adults to be able to keep themselves amused for a minute or two as they browsed. It wasn't fair, but you had to watch the teenagers a lot more. It was a bit too early for them anyway. Mostly, she enjoyed the ones who stopped in during their lunch, and mostly they were good kids, but there were always the one or two with sticky fingers who needed watching.

They came for different reasons, most out of curiosity and a need to kill their lunch hour with their friends away from the school. Every week or so, one or two of them would ask how to learn "witchcraft". Some of the girls wanted to learn because of some romantic nonsense they carried in their heads and some of the boys wanted to learn because they hoped to find power and to summon ancient demons out of dusty legends for their own foolishness. It often amused her to ask them why. She always told those ones the same thing – that she sold books. Once in a while, one would ask her about herself and mostly she'd remind them gently that it wasn't polite to pry. And if the one who'd asked was really very earnest, with the shiny eyes that told her of an impulsive desire – the sort that one sees in young adults to pursue something only to drop it in favour of the next impulse to cross their minds, she might admit it and that happened very seldom, but she always told them that she didn't take students, she sold books.

It was a little sad to her, but none of them had yet told her that they wished to learn out of a desire to live a rather simple life based on a very old and natural religion. She thought that she might have a different answer then. She got back to work and plunged, reaching for the bottom of the box.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she called from where she stood with her head inside the large shipping carton. Bart didn't get enough from that to understand the words or the tone – but he understood what she'd meant when he heard it.

Bart looked around the shop with interest and his gaze settled on the business license framed on the wall. He couldn't know if the name there belonged to the woman he'd seen darkness, but he thought it was a nice name. He inhaled the scents of the many candles and flavors of incense offered for sale and found himself in front of a collection of books on witchcraft. There was another display which related specifically to Wicca and other forms from around the world. He looked from one to the other and smiled to himself. One was a little historical and the books were arranged a bit dryly as though in a library. The way that the other was laid out told him more, since some imagination and flair had been used. His eye was drawn to the display of figurines.

Finding the one book in the shipment that had been eluding her, she checked it off on the bill and stepped forward quietly. She didn't get many customers like this one, she thought.

He was six feet at the minimum, she thought, and maybe a bit taller, though he appeared to be put together extremely well. She almost chided herself for the way that her eyes darted to several places on the back of him, searching for details which weren't there beside the general shape and size of him. It was maybe just possible, she told herself dryly, for there to be other men in the world who looked like this – maybe even in this town. She rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. She was acting like some of the schoolgirls from the high school now.

Three nights to go, she told herself.

It had been days since she'd seen the one who'd watched her as she worshiped, the one who made her heart rate begin to approach the speed of a jackhammer on a New York City sidewalk on sight. She almost groaned, finding that thoughts of him had come to her unbidden – yet again.

For the hundredth time – this morning - she reminded herself that she'd put men as a category of interest to her into the trash bin years ago. Right beside the foolish notion that real love was possible for her – whatever the hell that might be outside of the romantic novels that she read occasionally.

Right beside the smoking remains of her heart.

Right beside the concept that sex was a natural form of expression between two human beings as opposed to her personal version of it. To her, sex was like a game of bridge.

Without a good partner, you needed to have a really good hand.

She shrugged to herself. Apparently wherever that trash bin was, there was no roadside pickup. But she had a thought then which brightened her thoughts. Maybe that was a good thing now. Other than the slightly hair-raising way that they'd met and seemed to be drawn to each other, it was looking like after all of this time after the crash and burn which had caused her to reach for the trash can in the first place; her poor heart still had some fire left in it. She looked at the man again.

His clothes were casual, but neat, and maybe a little upscale for the neighborhood. She placed him at no older than forty years old, but that was pushing it, since he could have been maybe thirty-two at a stretch from what she could see. She couldn't get a sense of his hair color because of the light but she liked the style of it. She only knew that it was dark. She felt that she ought to ask what he was interested in, but she found herself wanting to look at him for another few seconds first.

His hand reached for a book and he read a little, looking thoughtful and interested. She let him browse for a little longer and wondered why he was here. If there was a demographic for her business – other than the ones from the high school, he didn't really fit it. She wondered if he was here for something else.

Knowing the book that he held, she stepped forward, "That one is a good overview and introduction if you have an interest," she said pleasantly in her faintly accented tone, "but you won't find anything dramatic or sinister there if that is what you seek."

She was looking at him from the rear profile and the smile that she saw beginning was endearing, somehow. She thought that he must have been a real charmer as a young boy.

"I might have an interest," he said pleasantly, still facing away, "I always like to learn. I have a bit of a hungry mind sometimes. I don't need sinister, and there's more than enough drama outside of books for my taste."

Farah paused then, thinking that she knew the voice, or some quality of it, and wondered now if the feeling of mild alarm that came to her was justified.

He turned, thinking about her voice and how it seemed to draw him. But when they faced each other, any thought that he might have planned to voice about the sign in the window or the book in his hand left him and he stood immobile.

Though they were twenty feet apart, Farah wasn't faring much better. Her breath caught in her throat and she found herself torn between the attraction that she felt, and that sense of alarm as her mind searched for clues to where she might have met him before. She automatically discounted the cemetery.

It wasn't until she noticed the deep stillness which came from him that she knew – or thought that she did. Something like that was so uncommon. Not sure if he recognized her from those dark evenings, she decided to be a little evasive, though really, she felt a great deal of confusion. He had a nice face and heavens, he sure was pleasing to look at, she admitted. But he had the palest blue eyes that she'd ever seen in her life, an almost white-blue and they lent him something of a strange air, though he didn't seem to be trying to affect one.

To Farah, his gaze seemed piercing, though his face was completely relaxed and held an open, friendly, almost 'aw shucks' sort of expression which threatened to charm her on the spot.

Bart was a little stunned as he took in the long, reddish hair which hung far down in what looked to be natural ringlets to him, and her soft brown eyes held his gaze easily over her high cheekbones. Her high forehead and full lips spoke to him in memories of long ago. He was looking at a lovely woman in her early thirties, but he only knew that because of his occupation and natural ability to read people fairly well.

Many things came to him in an instant about her. The realization of it arrived as a shock. He could see well in the dark now, but not for details and subtleties such as these. The milk chocolate color of her skin spoke to him of women who had come to his home as part of tributes once from a land near the Red Sea, he just hadn't gotten everything that there was by the light of her small fire.

She wasn't thin, he decided, - and yet she was - and again, if he lacked his skill at watching people, he'd have guessed her to be one of those women who is always dieting while trying to keep her weight within a narrow range, keeping a hammer near the scale in case it thought to lie to her. Instead, he would have bet money on the spot that she thought it better to eat well and sensibly and probably never gave a thought about her weight out of some sense of vanity. She was obviously too comfortable in her skin to care very much – and that meant that she didn't need to care either. Her beauty was breathtaking. He even had a term for it. He was sure that if she ever spent any time in a nice one-piece, she could more than stop any clock.

It crossed his mind that in the right bikini, she he could very likely break them.

He searched his memory, going back to the lands near the Tigris and the Euphrates rivers. He'd known many women such as this one. All the ones that he'd known were lovely. In this body – in this age – he was filled with wonder at the many combinations of feminine loveliness all around him. But none of them spoke to him in this way.

His thoughts raced back to those women, going over details and features at lightning speed. Many of them had elements about them which related to his own unspoken and often unthought-of personal ideal. Without even most of the features visible to him here, and going by only what he'd seen of her and what his hands and his body had felt of her...

She was that ideal come to life and standing before him now.

He noted these things even though she was showing nothing of these attributes as she stood before him. The Druid girl from the woods, he tagged her in his mind with just a touch of good-natured humor, and no disrespect or even the slightest sarcasm. He was just drawn thin from a 14 hour shift. In that blouse and the long skirt, the physical aspects of her body were somewhat less than well-defined. He didn't care. She hadn't really said a thing yet, and he could already tell from her eyes that he would have given a lot to get to know much more of the intellect which she'd shown to him there in the dark.

"How much interest do you have?" she asked, "I cannot help you in the best way if I do not know."

He smiled, "Well, from the quick look I had of it, and by what you say, I'd think that it would be a good place to start my education."

She was surprised. His reply hadn't been what she was expecting. "Now I think that I have an interest," she said. "What do you know of Wicca, and more importantly, what do you wish to know?"

He shrugged, "I know very little of the words. But I do like to read things which can engage and enlighten me. I can't say that I have a burning need – I'm just interested, and I can't even tell you why. Who knows? Maybe I'll discover enough to want to read and know more. It's happened to me before. Besides," he grinned as he gestured at the book, "it's got pictures."

That smile flashed at her again. This time she got the full effect of it from the front and admitted to herself that he was a rather charming and attractive man. She had no idea of the effect of her laugh on him.

"Another plus is that I've found your store," he said. "I can come back and buy more to read when I've finished this, if it peaks my interest. I'd probably do that anyway, and work up to getting enough courage to buy one of those figurines."

Her soft laugh thrilled him again as though the tone and frequency of it resonated in a little spot inside of him that he hadn't known about until very recently.

"Well I can speak as a shopkeeper then, and only encourage you to buy." She looked at him a bit thoughtfully for a moment, "Why would you need to gather courage to buy one of my little statues? I don't think that a man such as you would need to gather very much for that."

"You're right," he smiled, "I don't, really. I'm just not in the right mood for it right now. If I looked at them too hard, I'd probably want to buy them all and what then? I think I'd prefer to buy one at a time, and begin a collection which I can appreciate."

He wondered about her very slight accent and began to step forward to pay for the book. He knew that at some point, she'd see him as he was on the inside and he watched for this in her face as he came.

From six feet away, even though she wasn't thinking actively of it, he watched her surprised expression when it came to her. From her side of it, she'd even been expecting this, even hoping that it might be him. But it seemed to her that as he got close enough, the hair that she'd noticed was a very dark brown changed to black and was spilled down over his shoulders and she was looking at those eyes again set in a slightly different face. It changed nothing when it came to her. Her smile widened for an instant and then he watched as her head tilted back a little as she laughed that soft laugh.

He'd have given a lot at that second to have the feel of that throat against his lips right then.

"I want to call you demon," she said, "and I long to hear it the way that you call me witch. But really, I am so happy that there seems to be something here that might even be normal for most people – and I would much rather keep our names for each other as a secret between us for other times and places."

When he nodded, she said, "Let's keep up the game then, my friend. My day has just improved, and I can see that yours has as well." She decided to let the Sight slip so that she could admire him in the way that others saw him for a few minutes.

She rang in the sale and after the transaction had been completed, she smiled and placed her hands on the counter in an open sort of way. "I cannot help this feeling that I have that you have other questions to ask of me."

"Well I do," he nodded, "one or two, actually. One of them is an easy one to ask, and the other, ... well, it may be a bit more difficult, but I'll try."

The laughter came to him again, as though she knew that he was willing to play along with her now, and she was deciding on how much she wanted to play.

"I can try to guess," she said. "You wish to know whether I only sell these things or if I myself believe." She already knew the answer of course, but she was feeling playful and surprisingly happy now.

She found herself a little surprised when he shook his head and said no.

"I think that if you only sold books of this nature and did not have at least a measure of belief, that you would be rather hypocritical – and I know that you're not like that at all," he said honestly. Then he leveled those pale eyes at her. She wondered how such a cool color could convey such warmth.

"Then you have listened to some of the talk in this town and have heard that I am a witch myself and so you have now come to ask me if this is so." 

He shook his head again, "I've heard nothing about you one way or the other," he said candidly, "and if I had, I would have put it down as baseless gossip. Small towns run on it like the oil in a car engine. It gives the idle tongues something to say when there is nothing worth talking about. Looking at the store and at how thoughtfully you've displayed your books about Wicca, I already know that you're likely a witch, and of course, I knew that before."

Farah loved it when he grinned and continued, "So, nope, you're wrong there too, I'm afraid." He smiled that smile of his and it made her chuckle.

"Then you know that I am a witch and you have a need of some help? Perhaps you need to know what lies ahead for you, or, ... I know," she said with a gleam in her eye, "You wish to purchase a love potion," she joked with a grin.

"Ok, now we're getting somewhere," he said and they both laughed before she mentioned that things of that nature were actually contradictory to the faith, though she admitted that she could likely make a good deal more money if she let people think otherwise.

"Actually," he shrugged, "I came because I saw the place and I did want to see if there were any books which interested me," he said, holding up his purchase, "and I'm also here about the sign in the window. I'm interested in the room."

Her face lost just a little of the smile, "I was thinking of taking it down. I've had it up for half a year and no one has even asked until you. I need some extra money, but I am still a little nervous. I hope that you can understand."

"Alright," he said, "then I have my other question – the one that really requires courage, but not the potion. Would it be alright if I went to the coffee shop across the street and brought us each back a coffee? We could talk about anything, maybe even the room. I'd much rather just go with you to the coffee shop and talk there, but it'll be lunchtime soon at the school. If you need money, you'll need to be here, I think. I don't know for certain, but I think that the kids must be at least a part of your sales. Or I could come back later if that's more convenient for you."

Farah looked at him for a long moment and threw up her hands with a helpless chuckle. "Why not? Let's go then. You're right about them, but I can never tell what they have in their minds or in their pockets when they're in a group. Some days they buy like fiends, and other days, they do not buy a thing. Sometimes my shop is full and I must watch for the thieves among them. Other days not one of them comes. At least this way, I'll get to have a coffee and be able to sit down." She looked at him, "Mr. ..."

Bart took the cue and held out his hand, "Are you ready? This name is harder. My name is Talon Bartholomew Turner. Please call me Bart before the rest of my name makes you dizzy with laughter."

She took his hand, shaking her head with a smile and loving the feel of his skin again, "It's so good to know a regular name for you, one that goes with your light eyes and your short hair. I think that you have a fine name, Bart. The first name, Talon – it is the word for an eagle's..."

He nodded, "Yes, a hunting bird's claw. How dramatic. She's never told me, but I've always wondered what my mother had been reading when she came up with that one." He rolled his eyes, and noticed the rings on every finger of her hand but one. "And forgive me, but ..."




The Witch's Want Ch. 03



"Farah," she said with a smile which threatened to make him forget those names of his, "just plain Farah."

His eyes opened wide, "So it really is you? You're Farah LaMontagne?" His pronunciation was absolutely perfect.

It surprised the hell out of her.

"Yes," she said with a small bit of shock. "Why? Have you heard of me or something? I cannot imagine that you would."

He grinned, "Actually, I've never heard of you, but I wish that I had. I just read it from your business license there on the wall, Farah. Would you like to go?"

"Yes," Farah said with a laugh at being taken in so easily, "I love the coffee there and they will not sell me anything at the other store in town."

He waited for her to lock up and said, "You're not missing much, but are you serious? They refuse to sell you anything? Why?"

She sighed, "Because they shout at me that I am a witch and think that I must be trying to ruin the children of the town or something. I can't even complain because the store is private property and like any store, the owners can refuse to sell to whomever they like. I have been told that if I go there again, I will be charged with trespassing. Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I prefer to go to this one. It is a little bit fancier, and they charge a little more for that, I guess, but it reminds me of a bistro. Well that is because it is a bistro, I suppose. But I can have a croissant with my coffee there and it actually tastes a little like they do in Europe."

Waiting in the shop to order, she looked at his very dark brown hair and said, "Thank you for saying my name correctly. I cannot remember the last time that I have heard it spoken like that. I have learned that most Americans could not pronounce French if their lives hung in the balance, though it's not their fault. It makes me wonder how you learned to speak French because I don't think that you could say it correctly without knowing how."

He smiled self-consciously and shrugged, "My mother is American, but my father was a Canadian Ojibwa. I was born in the US, but lived in Canada until we moved back to the states when I was 12 after he died. We lived in a town with a fairly large French-speaking population, so I speak English, French, Ojibwemowin and I can manage a little Chippewean, which is related but a bit different. But the French isn't quite the same as European French, though it's close enough, I guess. I do hear some big differences, though."

They stopped their conversation while they were served, but after, he said, "I have the sense that you feel a little bit sentimental about Europe. If you're French, I think I can understand that, living here. But it makes me wonder why you're living here in the first place."

She smiled at him over her croissant, "Is it that obvious? I am a citizen and I really like it here, but I do always feel a little bit, ... wishful for something which I can't seem to have." She took a bite and he waited until she finished it. Touching the corner of her mouth with her napkin, she continued. "I am what you might call a piece of collateral damage from several dreams of others – and even my own."

"The short version of a complicated story is that my grandparents were Bejawi – most people in the Sudan call them the Beja – they traveled to Iran to work and escape the never-ending civil wars. My mother was born in Iran and grew up there. She met and married my father, who was a young Azeri Iranian officer in the army. He was sent to France to attend the military academy at St. Cyr."

She paused to sip her coffee. She had a thought flit through her mind and as a result, she laid her hand on the table and touched his hand with her fingers lightly to rest them there.

"Anyway, there was a great deal of unrest in Iran at the time, and with a lot of effort, my father was able to get my mother to France before the revolution which removed the Shah from power. They changed their name to LaMontagne, and I was born in France, far from the lands of either of my sets of ancestors," she smiled. "There were attempts by the revolutionaries to track down and kill some of the Iranian expatriates and though my parents didn't think that they'd have been of interest, they tried to hide anyway. I was named after Farah Pahlavi, the Shahbanu, queen and empress of Iran."

"But my father had his dream," she said, "his American Dream. He always wanted to come here, and so he left when I was small. He worked like a dog for the money, and my mother and I came some years after him. I was ten, and did not want to come at all anymore by then. We were strangers to each other. I felt bitter because his dream cost me my father, but it would cost me even more very soon. We came here to this town then."

"So I grew up here in this place, never quite fitting in because of my name and the way that I look. I got very little of the way that I look from my father. My mother always said that she and I ought to go to visit the place where our people come from. She said that we could probably walk right in and fit, but I never believed that."

"The people here are mostly Baptist, and they assume that I'm Muslim. Even the Muslims think that and all of them are wrong, since nobody asks me. My father was Muslim, but if you want to go by the book, I am a Coptic Christian, though I practice it seldom. Other than a few friends, nobody knows much about me and they all make mistakes in judging me. I don't fit anywhere. Most of my few friends are white and I thank the stars for them or I'd never have made it through school here and I have an East Indian friend who came here with her family two years ago. They run the convenience store and gas station on the other side of town."

She looked off across the street, but he could see that her eyes were focused on something thousands of miles farther away and her voice sounded distant as well. "My mother's family has followed the religion forever, but my father forbade her to teach anything to me. That lasted only a few months after he was gone, because I asked her even as a small child, and so she taught me. The women of our family, she told me, have always had ability. Most of what I practice is Wicca, though I add elements of my mother's teachings to it. I immediately felt more at ease, as though I knew where I belonged. I was always uncomfortable in any church or mosque for example," she shrugged. "I think that a faith lives in one's heart, and not in a building. My church is me, wherever I go. Of course I see that you already know what I am."

"My parents loved each other with a great deal of passion. The other side of that is how they fought almost continuously. Anyway, my parents died in an automobile accident while I was visiting their friends in France when I was eighteen. I only learned of it when I returned, and then I had to deal with everything. When it was all over, I sold everything; the house, furniture, all of it, and I guess that I should have just gone back to France, but I didn't."

"Why not, Farah?" Bart found himself holding her hand as though his own had just decided on it. He was a bit embarrassed, but Farah didn't seem to notice.

She sighed, "Because I already felt like something of a stranger there, and my parents had to renounce our French citizenship to become American. How could I then go back and say that I now wished to change my mind? I grew up pledging allegiance to the flag, just like everybody else. I meant it when I said it too. I felt more of a stranger here, but it was done, ..."

She looked at him, "Sometimes you have to stand for something. I chose America, to try to be an American. But America has never chosen me."

She shrugged, "What could I do to earn my way? I was supposed to go off to university, but with the upheaval and grief, I just needed to live quietly and get over everything, so that is what I did. I thought to open my bookstore, but I couldn't afford to do that in New York where I wanted to."

He watched her thoughtful little smile, "The trouble with that – and I didn't know it at the time, was that my best market was in New York City or Chicago. The farther west that one goes in this country, the more rigid the theology and beliefs of the people, until you get to the west coast. But there I would have the same problem – huge costs to rent a store. So I stay here."

"I did leave once for two years. I married a man that I'd met in New York."

"Well, that is the short and easy way to say it," she said, "I met and married him at twenty. He was too quick with his hands when he was angry or drunk or wasted– and all of those conditions were almost always in evidence. I left him and ran for my life. It cured any notions that I may have had about romance." She shrugged. "I am thankful that I lived, and also that I didn't bring all of what money I had. I left about half in the care of friends here, or he would have burned his way through that as well and left me with nothing if I survived."

"It's too expensive to live in New York and so I came back here. I find that I am not welcome anywhere, really. I never tell anyone what I am. I never bother anybody and always try to be friendly to everyone. But it buys me nothing. I have found that America's heartland is a very cold place. There is no warmth here for me. I find the irony of it a little hard to bear sometimes. I thought that this land was founded by people who came here looking to find freedom from the religious oppression that they had suffered. They left it behind to make their own. It is all around me here."

"Even the pilgrims had to look down on somebody, I guess," Bart said gently, "and not that it makes the slightest difference, but I can relate to how you might feel left out of the dream. Farah."

She came back to herself and felt a little self-conscious, "But you wanted to know about the room, I think. It's not here. You wouldn't want a room here anyway. I have a house on some land outside of town. It was the strangest thing to me. I was thinking about coming back here when I received a letter asking for confirmation and proof of who I am. I thought it to be very strange and the only thing which kept me from throwing it out was the address of the lawyer's office in the letter, and so I called them. It was about some land here that I knew nothing about. The owner had been an old army friend of my father's. I even remembered the name, and when he died, the will left the property to my father or his descendants. I am the only one of those. So I brought them the proof that they asked for. I had to pay some small fees, but I then had a place here to live in the same town where I grew up. And so I came back."

She squeezed his hand lightly and then sat back with a smile, "And that is how a brown-skinned Beja girl whose genes came all the way from the Sudan and Iran came to be here by way of France."

She looked at him, "I hope that you can understand, Bart. I wanted to rent the room to a woman. I would feel a little strange to have a man living there. I think that you can see that a person such as I am is more used to living very privately."

"Of course," he nodded, "I understand completely, Farah. I'm new in town here. The thought of living at the motel much longer is driving me insane, and though I don't have much, I do have to find a place to live, and before winter if that's possible. I need garage space as well. I make enough money to rent a house, but that would be a waste, since there's just me, though it looks like that's what I'll have to do soon."

Farah leaned forward, "I might be able to rent you some space for a garage, at least, Bart. I do have a barn. The place where I live was once a Christmas tree farm, but it hasn't been run for years now, since I know nothing about that. But if you wouldn't mind cleaning it out to make the space that you need, I could rent that to you."

"Is the roof solid and the building not in danger of falling down?" He asked.

"Of course it is," she said, "It is only maybe forty years old and the roof has been replaced with tin. It is a little loud in there when it pours rain, but it is dry. There is not much to move out of your way, either. It even has a small insulated loft there and the owner was using part of it as the office for the farm, it seems. There is water from the well there, and electricity, even a toilet, but no heat. There is a wood stove there, but most would not know how to work that, and so I cannot try to rent it out."

He looked at her thoughtfully, "How big is the office?"

Farah wondered why he'd even ask, but she told him, "About fourteen feet by twelve with one very dirty window. It must get very hot there in summer, you couldn't possibly want to live – "

"It sounds like a palace," he said, "I have no trouble with woodstoves. How much would you want for rent?"

Farah sat back from the table and laughed, "I think that you must be crazy to want to live there. You have not even seen it yet."

"Maybe not," he said, "but I wasn't joking about losing my mind in the motel. It's getting warmer now and there are more and more people now who use the pool outside the back of my room. I like children, but the laughter and the squeals and the splashing drive me nuts. About half of the time, I really need the sleep. Besides, you wouldn't have to worry about a strange man living in your house then, would you? You probably wouldn't even know I'm there, since I don't know anybody around here and I don't throw parties or anything like that. Well, ok, I know you now, I suppose..."

He looked at her a little hopefully, "Look, I don't know what you were going to ask for the room, but if I like the office and the barn and can clean it up to live in there, would you accept eight hundred a month?"

Farah's eye's went wide and for a moment he thought that he might have insulted her. But she laughed again and offered her hand, "D'accord!" she said, "Providing that you think that you could even live there. It may work out for us as neighbors if we respect each other's privacy."

"Alright," he smiled, taking her hand and loving the feel of it in his own. He grabbed his napkin and scribbled on it, "I've got to get at least a little sleep today, before I have a week off. This is my cell number. Please call me any time after about nine tomorrow morning, and I'll be happy to come and look at the place. I assume that you'd want first and last month's rent, so I'll bring that along, and I'll sign a lease if you want – again, if I like it."

She found herself thinking aloud, "If this works, maybe I can finally afford to get my poor old car fixed, if I have not hurt her beyond bringing back. She has always been good for me, but she really needs help now."

She thought his eyes were going to bore through her for a moment, but then she realized that it was how he looked if he was thinking hard. "Farah, what's in the barn now?"

"Nothing much," she replied, wondering what he was getting at, "I haven't even been in there for a while. Just some farm machinery, but it is not too close together, some other equipment that I have no idea what to do with, some tools and – "

"Bingo!" he said.

"Bingo?" she looked at him. He nodded back.

"You've just said the magic word – and I wasn't making a joke. If there are tools there, maybe I can help you with that car." He didn't finish the thought, but he actually hoped that the rolling heap wasn't past help himself, since sooner or later it just had to get pulled over and he had no desire to see her taking a bicycle to work.

"But why would you want to do that?" she asked.

Bart laughed, "Well, I think it would be wise to stay on the good side of my landlord, and I like to work on cars once in a while. Besides, I'd be helping a friend." He pointed to her, "You're the only friend I have in this town as of right now."

He looked at her, "And maybe I wasn't kidding when I told you that you might command me better with your touch."

They smiled at each other for a minute, until Farah had a thought.

"But how will you make your food? There is no oven up there and no sink upstairs."

"I'll just buy myself a little bar fridge," he said, "there's only me and that'll be plenty big enough. As for cooking, have microwave, will travel. I'll be fine, since that's how I live now. If this works, I'll finally feel as though I live here. I'm getting so tired of living out of my suitcase."

They bought two more cups of coffee in insulated cups and began to walk back to the shop. Farah looked over at the park nearby.

"Could we walk over there and sit for a little while on a bench? I have no great desire to get back just yet, and I like talking with you very much."

He nodded with a smile, "Sure. Let's go."

As they sat on the bench together sipping, she looked a bit nervous, but looking around in the bright sunshine, she found the courage that she needed.

"Bart, I think that you are an honest man. I just need to know something here." She looked at him searchingly for a moment.

"You and I have met before as we both know," she said, "I was very afraid and then less so, and after thinking about it all for a few nights, I decided that in spite of everything, I can't seem to avoid liking you very much and I know that you feel the same way – I think that we certainly made that plain between us at least in a way that I think seems to fit you and I, though I'm sure that any woman would think that I've lost my mind." She shrugged, "Sometimes when I step back from what I feel, I'm inclined to agree."

"So I find myself sitting here with a handsome man, who is a ... "

She looked at him, "Fill in the blank. I might be a shopkeeper and a witch, but I'm still a woman. I'd like to know about you when you're not Ur-Nammu the red hot hunk in my woods."

"Policeman," he smiled, "I'm a sheriff's deputy. I'm Irish and Swedish, and Ojibwa on the outside, and a Sumerian on the inside. Everybody else but the Sumerian thinks you're wonderful, and the Sumerian recognizes the beautiful descendant of the Nubian and Egyptian empires who's sitting here with him. Any way you look at it, I'm really hoping that you can get past the other things in my past. Or would it work better for me if I whisper as though I had a throatful of gravel and call you 'witch'? Please say something. I'm not going to eat you, for God's sake, I just had a bagel. I'm not even hungry now."

Farah laughed, "I'm still here, aren't I? So tell me why you can't come to me all these nights?"

"Night shift," he said flatly.

She stared at him a little and began to laugh. After a minute, she smiled at him warmly, "I see why you said some of the things that you told me in that way." She put her arm behind his and grinned, "I sit with a conqueror who works nights sometimes to pay the bills, and you're here with a misplaced desert girl. I like you more every minute."

"I found your store the other night while I was on patrol. I waved at you as you left your shop about 1:00AM."

"So that was you?" she grinned, "I wish I'd have known. I was too wide awake to get much sleep and we could have talked. Did you see the man who left before I did?"

He nodded and she smiled, "There are people here who don't like me for any of several reasons, and one of them is what I am. At the same time, there are others who seek me out for advice and for a look at their futures, and some are very loyal customers. But they rarely come in the daytime, fearing that others might know. "she shrugged, "So sometimes I help with a charm and it pays the bills."

She looked over at him and stretched to kiss him for a second, "Well, Ur-Nammu, now that it looks like we can have something of a normal thing here, I think that I'd like it very much if you'd take me out once in a while when you're not fighting crime."

She loved his smile and the way that he nodded to her. "You'll have to help me a little," he said, a bit uncomfortably, "I think that I can understand the way that this is done here from the memories of the man who lived in here before me, but I don't want to make any mistakes."




The Witch's Want Ch. 03



"I'll help, Bart," she laughed, but then she looked at him with a bit of shyness as well. Finally, she forced herself. "But for the next time that you come, please don't run all that way, and wear regular clothes. I don't wish to see you in trackpants for a while. You can sleep for the next few days, and I'll show you the barn when you come. And you should bring your hunger. I'll make something for after my ritual. Who were you praying to that night?"

He shrugged, "Some gods that I have always prayed to. I think that many of them only have different names to the power that you worship."

He walked her back to her store and then left to get some sleep – if he could. Farah thought about him for a while – every other minute, and then she picked up the phone.

Her friend Padma picked up in the convenience store on the third ring. After chatting for a bit, Farah said, "Hey, are you still doing henna tattoos?"

"Yes of course," her friend replied, "I'm making some up for tonight as a matter of fact. Sarah wants one and she's coming over with Pam. I'm going to do one for each of them to see if they like it. Maybe they'll get brave and I can make a bit of cash at this. Well, I'm hoping, anyway."

Farah laughed, "Well make up a lot more," she said, "I want some now too, and I'll pay. You'd better prepare a lot, Padma. I want some body ones, not just something on my hands. That is, if you have the time."

"Sure, her friend laughed, "But who's the lucky guy? I can't see you wanting a ton on you in places that you can't see. Or am I wrong?"

Farah thought about it. There was so little of a normal relationship here, though it pleased her now that they could turn it into one, she thought. But even so, she really liked that way that it had been going and she made up her mind right then. It had been a long time for her and then she smiled to herself, since it had been one hell of a lot longer for Ur-Nammu, the man she was falling for inside of Bart, the man she was falling for - since there wasn't a difference to her.

"No," Farah chuckled, "there's a guy. I don't want to say much of anything yet, I sure wouldn't want to jinx myself."

"Ok," Padma grinned, "Would it be ok if I did yours first, maybe give Pam and Sarah an idea?"

Farah thought about it, and decided that for the time and work that it took, she'd like to help her friend, and they all knew each other anyway. "Ok, I'll do it. What time?"

As they worked it out, Farah realized that she'd already fallen pretty hard. She'd fallen for the conqueror and she hoped to make the start of this special for them both, with elements of an old way of doing this.

Well, if he could be as nice about it as she thought that he could, she didn't think that she'd mind being conquered like that.

For the first time in years, she decided that she'd really want that.

Especially if he invaded her a few times.



The Witch's Want Ch. 04



Farah arrived at Padma's house hours early and they discussed the sort of henna tattoos that she wanted. "We don't have the time that you'd need to do a lot of what I feel like having done," she said a little sadly, "so could you maybe do a mix of complex and some more open things?"

Padma grinned, "Ok, what exactly is going on here? You look at my little portfolio and decide. If what you really want is beyond what I can do in one evening, I can always call my mother to come downstairs and between us, we can probably do a whole Hindu bridal body package for you. Are you getting married or something?"

Farah shook her head, "No. I'm not getting married, but what I have in mind is really something to celebrate a beginning. The man is worth it to me, believe me, and anyway, I've wanted to have some of your fine work ever since you first let me look at your portfolio. Now I have my excuse to go for it."

She sipped her tea and made some selections. Padma looked at Farah's body and asked about other areas. Farah answered her and after laughing between themselves, the next thing that Farah knew, Padma had her mother involved.

"I like these bridal ones very much," Farah explained to the two of them, "but it's not a wedding here." She tried to explain. "I see this man as more than what he is."

"Well, we all do that," Padma chuckled as she tossed her long raven hair back, "at first."

Farah laughed, but shook her head, "He is North American in his heritage, half from Europe and he is half Ojibwa. This doesn't matter. I can't really explain it, but let's just say that inside him, there is more of a Sumerian sort of background, well Sumerian and something else just as long-gone, but even less known."

Padma didn't really understand, but her mother got it right away. "If you see him in this way, what is it that you would want?" she asked, "If this were a game, Farah, how do you wish to play?"

"You mean like reincarnation?" Padma asked.

Farah grinned, "Not really, Padma, but let's use that as the idea. I see him as a king's son, a mighty warrior from a time long ago. Somebody like that would probably often receive tributes from other lands, either as well-wishing acknowledgments or as hopeful inducements of friendship. My people came from a place of warriors themselves where this was done ages ago. Where some of my ancestors came from tributes went back and forth to Egypt all the time. Sometimes the tributes were things like fine wood, or spices, or gold, or – "

"Women," the older woman smiled, with a knowing grin, "You wish to offer yourself as a tribute to this one."

Farah nodded, "Exactly. We already have something of a relationship, but it hasn't gone to the next step. I wish to let him know that from my side of it, we may go there."

"It changes a few things," the older woman said, "let me go upstairs to find my old books. I know that I have patterns like this, things from those regions. I have always wondered why they were included in the old books. I never saw a purpose other than the art. If you see something that you like, it would make me happy to have been able to use a few of the patterns at long last."

She laughed, "I don't know if what I have is Iranian or Iraqi, Mesopotamian, Syrian, who knows? I can't read the writing, and I assume that he can't either."

Farah shrugged, "I don't know that he can't. He's a very surprising man. I've seen that he knows more than he thinks he knows, if you can understand that."

Padma's mother grinned, "Then we may have trouble with the letters and symbols, and I think that I had better leave the writing out of any that you may choose for yourself. Some kinds of people would even do this to their cattle long ago. It wouldn't do at all if I spend a lot of time and we find out later that all that it says is 'please bless this cow' or 'most revered ass'."

That sent them into gales of laughter. "Damn," Farah chuckled, "well, I'll see if he can read anything like that. If he knows how to write the symbols, I'll have him write that one out for me. If this works, I think I'll want that one next time!"

"I meant 'donkey'," Padma's mother grinned.

"And I don't care," Farah laughed, "I'd want it."

"For some of what you want, " the older woman said, "we will need to shave you."

"Already done," Farah smiled.

---------------------

Their friends arrived three hours later and stared as they were ushered in where Padma's mother worked. Padma brought them tea and explained as they sat down.

"I'm done with my parts for now and I needed to be ready for you guys," she said. "Farah's got a heavy date or something."

"I'll bet," Pam exclaimed as she looked at the patterns swirling from Farah's shoulders to her thighs, "Look at you. Holy, ..."

"You look awesome, Farah!" Sarah exclaimed. "I'm going to sound stupid here, but is this a cultural thing?"

"Yes and no, "Farah smiled, "It doesn't have to be, it's just not done here very much, but on the other side of the world, women have been doing this forever. Some people do it in France, but I'm going back to my own roots here. This is done in Iran, and also it's common all over Africa, India, everywhere. 

My heritage is from the Sudan and Iraq. The women of both of those places have done this for thousands of years for weddings, festivals, celebrations, or just because they want to feel prettier. It's an ancient art and you don't need any reason to do it other than for fun." 

She grinned, "Though I'm a little disappointed that we couldn't find one that says something like 'Bless this most revered ass' in ancient Egyptian or something."

They laughed and Padma's mother smirked as she worked near Farah's labia, "Too late now, Farah. I could have done it in Hindu, but I have used up all the space."

"You're very beautiful," Pam said.

"I'm getting a lot of help here," Farah replied genuinely. "Padma's family have done this for generations."

"How long does it last?"

Padma shrugged, "Weeks. It will last a long time on our friend here. I made it strong because of her skin tone and it's been 'resting' all day to get strong for this. On you, it doesn't need to be so strong to get good lines, and it will last a few weeks. You can't really see it here very well, because it's mostly orange now and we've covered what we've done with a sugar and lemon paste to keep the henna paste there against her skin. Even after the paste is removed, it will darken over the next three days. I really want to add some to her lovely face, but Farah won't let me." She made an exaggerated frown.

Farah shrugged, "If we weren't here, I'd love to have it on my face, Padma, but I get enough noise as it is. By far, most of the people here are nice, but there are always some who take it as their duty to want to enforce their narrow views, and the religion of the place doesn't matter. Look what happened where my parents came from. It is the same here, only the religion is different. Some old fool will look at me and howl that I wear the devil's marks or some garbage like that. Everything that I do has some of their devil's sign to them. I wouldn't mind so much if they had a clue, but..."

"Well I have a clue," Padma laughed, "I think that I might even have met the man! He came into the store and asked about the little sign that I have in the window. He will be here for an appointment for a few things that he wishes done."

Farah stared for a second, but she recovered quickly. "Tell me, Padma, what are his eyes like, this man?"

"Very light blue," she said, "I've never seen eyes like his, he has dark brown hair, and he is – " She made a fist and reached her other hand toward her bicep.

"That's him," Farah laughed, "Very polite?"

"Yes!" Padma smiled, "Extremely polite."

"I almost want to ask what he is having done," Farah grinned a bit shyly.

Padma shook her head, laughing, "If you told him nothing about all of this," she pointed to what Farah now had adorning her body, "I don't think it is my place to ruin what he has in mind, but I can tell you two things, Farah; it will be nothing as much as this, and, "she smiled, "I think that you are a lucky girl if he has the same idea as you do for this."

"Perhaps he wishes to offer himself as a tribute to you," Padma's mother grinned as she worked, "I think it will be a happy time then."

The thought caused Farah to wonder for a moment. Padma picked up on it. "Farah, why can't that happen as well? If the man that I met is your guy, well I think that it's pretty romantic. Where we are here, it's almost all women who think of doing this. I've only done henna patterns for two men since I started here. If you've found a guy who has this notion for you, to me it means that he has the background somehow as you say and that he thinks very highly of you."

"I would just like to see it at the moment when the tributes are made," her mother said, "I saw him too, for just a moment. It is a very old way to offer one's love. I hope that it works for you both," she smiled.

"He has some old tattoos," Farah said, fishing just a little, "very old and faded. Maybe he wants them brought out a little."

Padma shook her head, "I will say nothing here of what was said, so it is no good guessing."

Pam and Sarah hung on every word, but Pam couldn't hold her curiosity. "Who's the guy. Farah? Come on, this sounds really delicious, and will these tattoos here stand up when you, ... you know."

"Of course they will, "Padma grinned.

"I won't tell you if it doesn't happen, "Farah smiled, "but if everything works out, you can try me in four days. Hey, do you know if there's a hairdresser in town who can do a good cornrow? If I'm going this far, I might as well go all the way."

"Sally's place," Pam and Sarah said together.

"Thanks," Farah said, "I have a ton of old lowry shells that I want to use instead of beads to match the ones on my mother's necklace."

-----------------------

Padma welcomed him in and guided Bart to the part of the unit that pertained to her henna work. She felt a little odd because of the conversations with Farah the evening before. With him seated, she offered him some tea, but Bart smiled and held up a large paper cup of take-out coffee, "I'm covered for now uh, Padma. Maybe later, if that's alright?"

"Of course," the diminutive woman smiled, "Now what do you think that you'd like, now that you've had the time to decide?"

"Two things – I think," he smiled, "I think that I'd like something to adorn me SOMEplace, you know, to try to make somebody like me actually look good, and I'm not really sure about this part, but I have some very old tattoos. I'm wondering if there's any way to bring them back temporarily."

Padma smiled, and shrugged, "In the first place, Bart, it might be a little bad for my business, but I don't think that you need anything to look good. I can do whatever you'd like, but don't look at it from that aspect. The old tattoos, my answer is yes, probably, but I'd need to see them."

She sat down next to him, "Tell me, Is there some occasion that I ought to be working toward, or is this just something that you might want on yourself? Either answer suits me fine, but if I can help, well, I'd certainly like to, in terms of guiding your decision. With an answer in mind for you, we can get to work faster."

He nodded, a little shyly, "Ok, I guess it's not exactly fair to just tell you to make me look wonderful without some end in mind that you could work toward." He looked and saw that Padma was nodding vigorously. So he took a breath, and then just began.

"The short version is that I've met a woman who I think a lot of, and I know that she's got a background where henna drawings are fairly commonplace. We have a date for the evening after next. I don't know where it's all headed, but I just thought that I'd want to do something along these lines. I guess that maybe I'd like to show her that I'd embrace the culture of it, I think."

Padma grinned, "There. Certainly all the reason that you 'd need, Bart."

Between them, they chose a few patterns that were attractive and not outlandish. It was the old tattoos that would cause Bart some trouble. He'd tried with some success to be able to bring out the old designs on his skin, but it took a fair amount of concentration in order to prevent the welts and the scars from making an appearance. He managed it though, but there was a bit of awkwardness when Padma asked him to remove his shirt.

She stared for a moment before she recovered, and then she just got to work.

"This woman, Bart, "she said as she began, "Dairydale is not a large place. I'm wondering if I might know her. I'd like to ask, but I have no wish to offend you by prying."

"Farah, LaMontagne," he smiled, "She runs the little bookstore down at the other end of Main Street."

"Ah," she laughed a little, "Farah is a friend of mine, but don't worry. You didn't say whether this was going to be a surprise, but I will assume that it might very well be, so your secret is safe, Bart. I will say nothing. I do think that she is a lucky girl for you to do something like this. It's a little out of the ordinary for many men, even those from cultures where this is done often. I get almost no men for this in this town. For someone like you, with no background in common for this, well, I admire that."

Bart wasn't going to elaborate any farther, so the conversation went to more mundane things such as the weather and the local sports scene, since Padma had become something of a baseball fan recently. Bart didn't know anything about the local team, but he did help Padma out with a few of her questions about the game.

"I'm a little surprised that you've got such an interest," Bart remarked, "but then, look at me here getting henna work. Can't be a bad thing, can it?"

"I'm from India," Padma said, "Over there, cricket is huge, as it is in many former British colonies. But other than the internet, there's really no way for me to maintain my connection to the scene. Baseball is only vaguely similar, though not really. I guess it's becoming close enough for me, though, so I'm becoming a displaced fan, I guess."

When she was done, and Bart was carefully doing up his shirt, Padma brought her mother in to meet Bart. After exchanging polite pleasantries, Bart was on his way, wondering a little vaguely why the two women smiled at him so much.

------------------------

Three nights after getting her henna work, Farah was worn out. She'd been shopping, cooking and baking forever, it seemed. She'd consulted all of her mother's old cookbooks and driven herself nuts figuring out substitutions for the things that just weren't available to her in this town. 

During all of it, she'd laughed to herself many times even so. It had been fun, and she'd decided that where she could, and if the cost wasn't prohibitive, she'd make a small sort of return to this style of cuisine where she could.

Finally, she'd prepared herself, thinking back to what had happened to her the evening before.

--------------------

Looking back, the only thing that looked as though it was going to be uncooperative was the weather. All of the forecasts for the area told of heavy weather during the next two days, and sure enough, as the evening shadows grew long, they disappeared entirely as the sun was covered over by towering cumulonimbus cloud formations.

Farah sighed as the first of the rain began to hiss against the roof, it was looking as though there would likely be no outside observances when they met again. She thought about that and still smiled.

So what? Her home had two fireplaces, one was a regular sort of hearth and the other was a "modern" open style unit that sat in the "family" room in the basement. It was clean and she'd only used it once. The more she thought about it, the more she liked her idea. So with a day to go, Farah had lit the open style stove, just for fun.

And she'd been frightened nearly out of her wits.

--------------------------

As the wood in the pit-style fireplace really caught and the flames settled in to crackling merrily under the overhanging hood, Farah sat and gazed into them. She wasn't thinking about much, really, only that she was about ready for what felt to her to be something that needed to happen for her and Ur-Nammu. It was unconventional as anything – and even Farah would have agreed, and yet it only seemed like the way to go. 

She tried to remain objective and tried to see if there might be something that she might have forgotten or overlooked while there was still the cushion of one more night to go before what looked like something so very promising. They'd just seemed to fit in some very strange ways. But then, Farah had never really thought of herself as a conventional kind of woman. If she were speaking her thoughts to herself out loud, she'd have just shrugged at that point.

And if she had been speaking aloud, she'd likely have missed the soft and very quiet sound that came to her ears. Even so, she was sensitive enough to know that something had changed in the atmosphere of the room.

She looked up from the roaring flames and saw nothing at first, but after a second or so, her eyes were drawn to a place directly across the fire. There was someone or something there, but she couldn't see well enough through the flames and the roiling, heated air. Farah was terror-stricken and she froze. In the same instant, she was aware that whoever was in the room with her was directly in the path of the only way out. Neither of them moved for more than a minute.

At any rate, Farah's ears still worked, even if the muscles of her body now refused her mind's commands to at least try to get to her feet and try to run. She thought that she heard a whisper. The other person seemed to be having some difficulty forming a word. A moment later and Farah knew that the word was her name. The eyes there across the flames seemed to hold no emotion, other than some sort of earnest desire to be able to communicate with her, and Farah knew then that this was some sort of specter.

The apparition held up one hand, and Farah felt completely calm and absolutely immobilized, as she watched the thing get to its feet and walk around the fireplace to come nearer to her cautiously. Farah found herself looking at a woman, badly cut, torn and half-shredded. She felt the hair at the back of her neck stiffen.

Farah had seen ghosts before, but never like this. Any that she'd noticed had always been hazy and without much substance, but her visitor seemed to be gaining that very attribute by the moment. The figure stopped and looked at herself before looking at Farah with perhaps a little embarrassment as she shook her head, and with a thought, the horrors that she wore disappeared and a very beautiful woman of very near to her own age sat down slowly next to her, still holding up one palm to her.

"For, ... forget," she said, still struggling, "I for-got... sorry."

Farah stared as the woman sat looking down at the edge of the flames in silence for perhaps five minutes. Farah's sensitivity told her that there was one hell of a lot of magical power emanating from the woman as she sat so still. She seemed to be remembering something. In that time, Farah gained some certainty that, unless her visitor was going to turn back into something horrible again, she thought that she could at least maintain some control over her bladder for the moment. The woman was really lovely, she noted, and very naked.

"I think that I can speak to you now, Farah," she said with slow caution, choosing her words, but gaining a little speed near to the end, "please forgive me for how I looked to you." 

She sighed, "It was the way that I looked as I died. I did not think before. I only thought it would be better to be seen as a human by you."




The Witch's Want Ch. 04



"I am here doing something that I have never done, and will never do again, I think." She looked at Farah at last and smiled at little. "It has been so long since I walked the earth."

"What are you?" Farah asked.

The woman smiled genuinely, "Dead. Long-dead, but I think you want to know what I was."

She shrugged slightly. "I will release you in a moment, but you must know that I have come to speak with you of many things. It is not something that I do lightly, but I must, I think. You may run, if you wish, but I have put so much into this that I would only stay with you wherever you go until you hear my words."

She lowered her hand and Farah felt herself sag a little, having gotten a little used to pressing against the way that she'd been held.

"What were you then, and what must I hear?" Farah asked very shakily.

The figure smirked slightly, "Nothing bad to you. At the least, I do not think so."

"I was a cat."

The words hung between them in a strange way. Farah was about to laugh, but the figure smiled, "Not what you have in your mind, Farah. This will take some time. Is there something that you would like to do before I begin? I see a want in you for a drink." 

Farah nodded, thinking that she'd like a really strong one, but she said, "I want my cup of tea on the table there. I think it's cold by now, but –"

The mug was there before her on the stones laid out in a ring around the hearth. It was full again and steaming.

"I think to save time," the other one said, "It is just as you made it before."

Farah lifted it cautiously and sipped once. "How?"

"Time is more important to me than anything," the woman said, "I can only do so much here and now, how long I can remain with you is what decided it for me."

"How do you know my name?" Farah asked as she sipped again. "And how were you a cat?"

"Your name is known to me easily because what you do is known by many and it is to be seen by ones like me. The many that I speak of, I have not seen in so long, but I know that they see you as well. I will tell of it, and I will show what I was, only put down the cup before."

Farah nodded and set the cup down. When she looked up, she understood the request.

The woman was gone – or at least substantially different now. Farah was sitting very near to a large feline in something of a human shape. She was covered in thin reddish brown fur. There were still human attributes, many of them, such as her breasts, two, rather than however many a female cat might have, six or eight, Farah guessed, the hands and feet were mostly feline, though she could see clawed fingers and toes. The face before her was still recognizable as the same woman that she'd been sitting with, but now she was a cat! And when she smiled a little self-consciously, she showed the long teeth of a large predatory feline. There was also a long tail which twitched a little.

Farah felt her gasp escape her.

"I believe that you call one such as me a changeling," she said, "I was born this way, and this is how I looked for most of my life as a choice when I could. This is how I looked to Ur-Nammu most often while we both lived."

Farah's jaw dropped, "You, you know –"

The cat shook her head and held up a pawed hand, "Stop, Farah. I knew him and he knew me. I am dead, as was he. We have not seen each other since before he was slain, and I died long after him."

Farah found herself struggling with so many things and questions that she had, but the cat shook her head and she stopped.

"Time," she said, "I will tell what I came for, but only listen as I tell it, or we will not get far on the road."

She reached over and laid her hand on Farah, but though she felt something, Farah felt no warmth – or coldness.

"This comes hard to one such as I was, and I hope that you might understand it from my side, but I have come here to help you and offer my best wishes for what you wish for with him, since to me, it shines from you and makes me happy in a way. He was robbed of his life, and he was stolen from me. Now, he has found a way to have a life again, and he has chosen you. It makes me happy, so I am here to help you understand him. I will get no such chance as he has."

Farah could sense the deep sadness that came to her now in a very sudden and almost palpable way.

"You, ..." she looked down for a moment, "I'm sorry. Tell me what you need to say, if time is short for you."

"Thank you," the cat smiled warmly, "To begin, I will say that my name was Dimme, and I was Ur-Nammu's woman, and the mother of his children. I am the reason that he laid an entire city to waste and ruin in his wrath, though he did rebuild it into a beautiful place after."

Farah wanted to know now, "He said something about it to me, but I didn't understand it. Why?"

The ghost shrugged, "It was known to be a wild place where one could buy anything for a piece of silver or three. Someone in that place learned of me and took it that I was some evil thing that needed killing, I suppose, but we knew that it came from there. They sent thirty killers, but between our guards and me, they failed. Our children lived. I lived. Ur-Nammu pulled the city down and killed many."

"He said twenty thousand," Farah recalled.

Dimme nodded, "At the least - the king, his wise ones, and every fighter, rogue, and thief he could find. It went harder for any assassins that were found as well. He can stand in a fight and he is not bothered by what may come, but to try to harm one that he loves, to try to kill his children, ..." She shrugged, "It goes deep in him then."

I argued against it, saying that it would bring more threats, but he said that he was raising the price to bargain. If it was seen that he did this for a failed attempt, it would be a small jump to think of what he might do if one of us was harmed. The city was planned for in the conquest, but he took it hard and very early for the plan. Instead of taking the city and installing a governor, he crushed it and then rebuilt it into many gardens and places that one might learn in." 

She smiled, "But I get ahead of what I wish to say."

"There is a place," she said, "hidden in mountains, an old place where we were both born. I was born half a year after him and we were children together. Our parents always knew somehow, that he and I would be together. It was what they wanted as well."

She smiled a little, "We were always together when we were small. He was always large, and I was not, but I was fast. In anything we did, we were as a matched pair, though we looked very different from each other. His parents came to rule two nations, and we played together and made much mischief among the soldiers, for we were almost always taken along when they went to war so that we might learn youmg, and we did.

When he grew up, Ur-Nammu became a mighty fighter and a general, and I knew that one day, he would become king himself, but I was wrong in the end. I caused him much pain and hardship out of my love for him," she said, "I knew what he was meant to be and I saw no place for myself by his side because of what I was."

She smiled a little sadly, "I was wrong in this as well. Ur-Nammu held no one so close to his heart as he held me, but I was stupid about it and would not see, so I held myself apart from him for some years."

Farah watched spellbound as the cat looked up for a moment, lost in thought and memories as she watched the sparks and smoke from the blaze rise into the hood to be taken out of the chimney on the roof above them. "I saved his life in a battle once, and then I left, but he found me. I had been wounded fighting beside him as the cat just as I am here now, but I did nothing to tend the wound. Ur-Nammu found me and then he saved my life when it was almost too late and he made me see how wrong I had been about us."

She looked at Farah. "But I was right about some things. There had been a rise of our people planned from long before and he had a part to play in it. As the mighty conqueror, he had to be seen as a single man to others from many lands and kingdoms. It would not do for it to be known that he loved one such as me. He had to be seen as one to be allied with, and not as one who slept with a cat, no?

So we lived and loved together, but I was never his formal wife for that reason. I held his heart, to be sure. There was no doubt of it to us, but he also had to take and have other women for the show of it."

She looked down for a moment, "It was a very hard thing for me to do, when I am one who is much more inclined to be murderously jealous. And yet, I knew that it had to be and so I sat in the shadows and planned things for him from the political side and told him who he must bed and when and he did it always, playing the role that had been set for him.

We fought over it every time – just in the opposite way that most women would, "she laughed.

"Ur-Nammu often refused, and then I had to argue and fight him down until he did what was needed at the last. He hated it from his heart at first, but he grew to accept it, after making me swear to him that I knew how he felt about me – and that, Farah, is the easiest thing in the world to see if one has his heart and I will teach you what to look for. I am here to make certain that if what is between you is good, that you know it. I am really here to make sure that the one that I loved so much has his chance at a good life at last."

She nodded to Farah, "This may not happen at all, but I think that it will, what you hold in your heart. I see who you are and I know, Farah. I know of your past and if it is not too close for you to hear it from one who is long-dead, it is your chance as well. I mean to give you that chance, as much as I am able."

"Why?" Farah asked, "Why would you want to help, as you say?"

"Because I cannot ever have him again," the apparition said sadly. "I cannot do as he has done. What has happened to him is a bit of fortune, a blind chance that he saw for himself and seized in a moment. He was a priest as well as a warrior, just as his father was and he has much power. I have only a little more than I had while I lived. Even if I saw the same chance for myself before me, I could never do as he did. 

Somehow, he came here, and somehow he has found one for himself – a lovely woman for him, as fine and finer still than any that he might have had while he lived. One who is not afraid of him as he is now – though I am certain that the meeting was a shock."

"If I can ask you," Fara said, "How um, how solid is he in that body? I sometimes think about what would happen if he lost his hold on it, like if he fell unconscious."

"There is nothing to fear," Dimme replied, "He owns the body now as though he was born into it. I do not know what would happen when it passes one day as everything does, but while it lives, it is his, though he struggles with speech sometimes. But he grows better at everything. That is his way. 

He wishes to know the ways that men today court their women and he knows not how to ask the men where he works, but you have no need to fear much of anything. Ur-Nammu is a man once again and very happy for it - and happy for the chance to have a life and to know you. Before he met you, he was quiet and alone, but you draw him out and I like it."

Dimme grinned at Farah, "There is more to tell you, but for now, I want you to know something. When he came here, I was awakened from my sleep. I knew not what was happening at first. I thought that for some reason, I was to be tortured to know that my man was alive again and that I could never be. But I watched everything, and I saw that I had a chance to help Ur-Nammu once again – one last time. I saw the one that he saw that night among the graves," she laughed, "and I saw so much more."

She laid her arm on Farah's shoulder. "In one instant, I saw who you are, what you are, and all of your past – far more than you know. Neither of you had the thought, but you are already close and will get closer – and neither of you really has a choice, and I have nothing to do with that, other than I can see it and I now want for it to be between you."

She looked just a little mischievous for a moment, "Why do you think it is that he feels himself to be so drawn to you? You are so beautiful, but he feels that he must know you."

"I do nothing to push you to him, Farah. You do that yourself. I only placed the thought in his mind a little that you needed to be protected, perhaps, and it was enough." She pointed at Farah, "And it was a good thing too. Those two men would have killed you. But Ur-Nammu will find what he needs to and remove the cause, I think."

She smiled, "You are kindred, the two of you. I know this."

Farah's mind reeled, "What? How? We – we're related?"

"Oh yes," the apparition nodded with a smile, "long ago. Your father's people were Azeri, but long before that, you had an ancestor who shares a little of his father's blood. His mother was the High Priestess of the faith of Jebel Bishri and she was queen of Sumer for a time. His father was the Warrior-Priest of the same faith, and King of Sumer."

"But he had two wives, Farah, and not only one. They were best friends from their own childhoods and they were lovers between themselves before Nisi-ini-su knew her man, Lugalbanda."

She smiled at the look of recognition in Farah's face," You know the names, I see. The second wife was Anat, leader of Nisi-ini-su's own fighters and she gave Lugalbanda babes as well. You are descended from one of Ur-Nammu's half-brothers."

Farah was astounded and was about to speak, but Dimme said, "It makes a good combination in you, Farah, together with the tiny bit of the blood of two Pharaohs." 

"Pull one of the cushions there to you to use as a pillow, Farah," the cat told her, "I will save some time and place the knowledge in your mind of how to love Ur-Nammu best. I think that you might believe with some pride what you know about loving with a man, but I know everything about what every one of the women that Ur-Nammu lay with knew themselves. I know what they knew, and I watched it often from a hidden place. I know what he likes and I know how he loves as well. Show me a little trust, and I can give it all to you with a touch in a moment."

Farah shook her head, "Dimme, I only had a few chances with boys while I was in high school. Not much to learn there, and my husband was a selfish, ..." she stopped, wondering how to make her point across points of view as well as points of reference. But Dimme understood.

"He was, "she thought and puzzled for a second, "the hole of an ass?"

Farah chuckled for the first time and nodded, "Yes, just like that, or close enough. I just thought that if we got there, that we'd just, you know, do it."

"Everywhere that I look here," Dimme said a little sourly, "I see people who sit looking at squares of light for half the day and more. I think that few of you even know how to just 'do it' properly. Look at you, Farah, I see through your clothes what you have done to prepare and I see your hair. You seek to make this a special time. Allow me to help, and it will be so, I promise it."

Farah felt silly and self-conscious, but she did as the cat requested. When the pawed hand came to rest on her forehead, Farah knew everything in a heartbeat and was amazed to find that she was wet only a few moments later. Dimme read her mind easily. "It comes because of the thoughts of it," she shrugged sadly, "something that I long for once more."

"You have seen now and so you know what he will like from you and what you may expect from him. He will never wish to hurt you, so he will be gentle. You will need to tell him when you are ready and find the want in you for more and only say it if you want it harder. And above all, you now know what to look for in him to know if you have his heart. You have already seen some of it."

Farah nodded with a very warm feeling inside her for the knowledge.

Dimme looked at Farah appraisingly for a moment, "From the way that you are made, I think that you would be able to take all that he can give, my friend," she nodded, "and from one who loved nothing more than to fuck with him all the night and half the next day, you may take that as a compliment, for not every woman could. But take some time to get used to the feel of him. He will surprise you often. When most men would flag and many would fall asleep, Ur-Nammu's interest climbs, because then, it is when he has had the time to think of what he has with a good woman that he will hit his stride."

She snickered a little, "And by then, my lovely Beja beauty, if it is you who flags, you need only to hang onto him and he will do the rest. What I always loved so much was when I was too tired to go on at last. I would tell him softly, and the next thing I knew, it was morning and he had loved me to sleep."

She looked at the half-cup of tea that remained a little sadly, "I would that I could drink something like that again."

Farah had a thought, "If you can read my thoughts and place things into my mind, could you taste what I taste?"

"I do not know," the ghost smiled, "Try it."

But it didn't work and they both sighed.

"You look very solid now," Farah said, "Try my tea yourself."

That went a little better, though neither one of them had an explanation, but soon, Farah had another full cup steaming before her so that they could share it with Dimme's thanks.

She smirked, "There is not much today in the way of fighting as it was once done, though he tries something to stay a little sharp. But if you want a little fun, then set him to a task and watch him work, Farah. I think that you are enough like me that it will make you a little wet to see it."

Farah understood well enough and she smiled a little shyly at the ghost.

"If you like, " the cat-girl smiled, "I can show you how he looked to me sometimes as I saw him. It is a little rough for one of this age – the way that I see it, anyway, but if you can hold it in your mind that inside, he seeks an end, always a goal, then it is little more than seeing a man that you might love as he works a farm, perhaps, only much harder, and with blinding speed. Would you try to see him as he was when he was my man?"

Farah thought that she understood the veiled warning that was implied, but to learn of Ur-Nammu in anything, well, she found that she had a hunger for it and so she nodded and felt Dimme's pawed hand on her forehead once more.

--------------------

She didn't recognize the man that she saw, but she understood him as he struggled to hold his horse steady while talking to the leader of his scouts.

"What am I looking at here? Who leads this bunch of wild men?" he roared.

"We have heard only one name, and so it seems that there is no group of leaders here, Lord." the hard-bitten scout replied with a little caution. 

What he wasn't saying yet was that most of his band of scouts had not returned to him and couldn't be found. Any that were sent to learn of what might have happened didn't return either. He'd only gotten one report back when by now he should have had plenty of information to pass to his ruler. To him, it told a tale that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle a bit. There were warnings here, but how to tell the headstrong old bull that he worked for?

"I have no word from any of my other scouts, " the man said nervously.

The other, wearing finely crafted plate-over leather armor leaned forward and grabbed the scout by the throat, "Must I wait for the moon to rise before I hear a name?" he hissed.

"I hear news that a host marches at speed against me and I send scouts for word and hear nothing. I am roused out of my bed with tidings that this host has passed my borders! I ride half the night to find this bunch of savages here, and I see nothing to merit my leaving the arms of my women! 




The Witch's Want Ch. 04



Well now I am here, and by the warm slit of the goddess, someone will die here after those over there across the field are dead if I cannot know who I face on this field. Now, GIVE ME A NAME!"

Their attention was drawn suddenly to a group of about thirty ragged-looking men on horseback who rode onto the field from the side. They seemed to be looking toward their right toward the Martu and Sumerian lines and appeared to be largely unaware that they were riding past the teeth of the Akkadian king's host. As unkempt and undisciplined as they appeared, they were the bait and they played their part well.

When one of them did look to his left, they all could see how large his eyes grew in apparent surprise. With a shout from him, they all looked and turned their horses to flee toward their own lines.

The leader of the king's scouts felt his head being turned by the grasp of the king's hand in his hair.

"A NAME!" He bellowed.

"Ur-Nammu, Lord." The leader said.

The other man spat in the dirt, "Lugalbanda's pup. What foolishness is this? His riders do not even know where they are!"

He squinted into the morning sunlight that shone into his eyes and nodded with a grin, "This might be worth the ride yet." 

He turned to his mounted troops and stood in his stirrups. "Earn your pay and ride them down!" He gave the signal to the leaders of his archers and foot-soldiers to advance.

The leader of the mounted unit bellowed his order to charge and off they went, riding hard, a hundred men and horses after the others. The king yelled his instructions as he worked his way to the front of them that if they found the leader, he was to be spared for the king's blade alone. The word was passed quickly among the riders in the thunder of hooves.

A lone arrow sailed in the direction of the approaching charge and it fell far short. No Akkadian even marked it.

But Farah saw Ur-Nammu lower his bow and turn. He hadn't shaved in a few days and it gave him a slightly darker look as he nodded, "There is your mark! Wait for them to pass." 

He looked back up the small rise at the sixty riders there and smiled as he took in the cool autumn air and let the breath out. 

There were four hundred more on horseback just over the ridge and over three thousand on foot behind them. In the long gully before him three hundred and twenty archers crouched waiting for the word. A minute later, Ur-Nammu noticed the large man on the fine-looking charger now leading the charge. 

A man who led from the front, he nodded in appreciation. He could respect that.

"The one who leads the chase – on the fine black steed, leave him be! The rest, choose your targets when they pass the mark!" He turned to the group of his own riders there on the rise behind him and waved once. Several of them turned to ride out of sight in the other direction. They joined up with their groups and filtered away quickly.

The word went down the line of archers quickly. Ur-Nammu saw one young man begin to draw back his bow near him, and he laid his hand on the archer's shoulder. "Not yet," he smiled, "How many fights have you been in?"

Ur-Nammu knew the answer from the way that the boy licked his lips nervously, but at least he had the nerve to look his general in the eye, and Ur-Nammu liked that as well.

"This is my first, Lord."

Ur-Nammu smiled, "If you wish to live long enough to have a second fight, do not throw your arrows away too soon, friend, You might wish with all your heart for just one more later. Watch me and shoot when I do. You will not have long to wait."

The boy nodded and his general clapped his hand on the young shoulder before turning to walk forward toward the charge with his bow in his left hand and a long pike in his right. He walked up the small slope out of the gully and planted the pike into the ground, before drawing an arrow.

The King saw one man appear out of nowhere far up ahead of him and wondered about it for a moment, but rather than come to the conclusion that if one man could rise out of the dust, then perhaps more could just as easily, he arrived at a different supposition. 

The man was large, and obviously a warrior, he saw. He also noted that he was dressed more in readiness for combat than the ragged crowd that his own riders were chasing. But he was obviously the leader of something, and he watched as the man drew back on a heavy war bow.

This had to be Ur-Nammu.

"That one, "he bellowed, "Spare that one for me!"

The man to his right tumbled backwards out of his saddle, speared through by a long, heavy arrow. The king gritted his teeth in grudging admiration. It might have been a lucky shot, but he doubted it. His jaw fell as he saw hundreds of archers appear out of the dirt.

The ones being chased had narrowed themselves down to a line of only two riders wide if it could be done, each rider hunched down as close to his horse as he could manage. Even so, there were losses from their own archers and a few were taken by the pursuing riders who could manage to shoot fairly well from the back of a charging horse as well. They only hoped that their comrades would allow them the moment that they needed to peel away to both side when they got close enough for it.

Ur-Nammu saw the young man standing as near to him as he could. Farah saw his warm and confident smile as he tried to offer encouragement and just plain courage in the middle of what amounted to the madness of men engaged in killing each other.

"Work at it steadily now, lad. Do not just shoot. Choose a target for your arrows and think of nothing more than trying to hit a rabbit who runs to you in confusion. The horses are fair game, but remember that with a bit of luck, you might catch one after this is over and then you can ride home and not have to walk, yes? The man on the horse is trying to kill you, so he is the best target. A horse has value afterwards, far more than the man."

He looked over and smiled as he saw the young face, not so full with fear now and working the bow methodically. "I hope that you remembered to bring your dagger with you. The fight will get too close for arrows soon."

He saw the young man nod once and grinned. Farah watched as Ur-Nammu drew one arrow after another and pulled back the bow that she doubted that most men alive today could even draw in comfort. Ur-Nammu's lips kissed the bowstring every time and he held each shot back until his breath and the target lined up in time for the release.

The young general had a hope that the king's fine horse might survive the day, but he knew that the status of the rider had something to do with the casting of the steed's fate as well. Still, he was a little sad as he saw the great horse's legs begin to fold as he caught a glimpse of the arrow that had made it just over the horse's breastplate to drive the beast down.

He sighed and set down his bow to pull the pike out of the ground. "You may stay close to me, boy, "he said, "but not too close. I will need the room to swing this now." He began to walk toward where the king was picking himself up out of the dust.

"So, the Sumerian's whelp comes to play at fighting," the king shouted, his eyes blazing in hatred as he drew his sword, "It won't be as easy as you think, pup."

Farah watched Ur-Nammu as he shrugged while beginning to set the long pike in motion. "Easy enough," the general smiled coldly.

The king began to advance, but his sword rang as it left his hand to fly off a ways. His face wore a look of sudden surprise.

"Half a moment," Ur-Nammu said, "Go and get your blade. Have no fear, I will wait." He stepped toward the heaving beast on its side and killed it mercifully before turning to see the king running at him with his sword again. 

A bladed pike in the hands of a peasant offers the advantage of keeping a swordsman out of range for a time, but if the man with the blade has some skill, the advantage wears thin quickly from the weight and effort of swinging and thrusting such a long and heavy thing. 

But the king wasn't facing a peasant and the fight was short and sharp. Within a minute, the king was dead, and within two more, the arrogant head leered from the tip of the pike where it had been jammed butt-first into the ground. Ur-Nammu walked back to retrieve his bow and found the young archer there holding it out to him.

"Your name, boy," he smiled as the archer stared at the grisly sight, "give me a name, since we find ourselves fighting together today."

"A – Amad, lord general," the voice came as a hoarse whisper.

"Don't look at him too long, Amad," Ur-Nammu smiled, "It's nothing more than show to upset his fighters. There's more to do yet. Stay alive, and learn." He waved and his foot soldiers began to stream over the rise to advance at a walk toward the opposition which was nearing them.

"There are so many," the boy said, "How ...?"

"That is my worry, Amad, "the general smiled as he drew his sword, "Yours is to stay close and alive. Can you use a sword?"

"Aye," the boy said, "but I have no money to buy one."

"Well, there are no shops or merchants here today, but there is a perfectly good one there in front of you on the ground," the general said, "it's previous owner has no need of it now."

"But it is a king's sword ..."

Farah watched the long hair fly from Ur-Nammu's face as he grinned and picked up the sword to hand it to the young man. She suddenly wished that she could hold him, since he seemed to have such confidence and resigned clarity as to what had to be done in the middle of the insanity around them.

"Then perhaps it will last you the day and not break," he said as he offered it.

They began to walk with the others. "Think of it like this," he said, "It is a bit of hard and bloody work. But once it is done, the land and people here will have a new king. They won't care much at first, as long as they are not treated badly by us, and then after. All of the lands will have one leader and then it is a nation. The people will see that as a good thing in a little time, and feel proud, as cities grow and trade settles down, instead of a pack of little lords, each one squeezing them for all they are worth. It must happen, Amad, and it already has in other places."

He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, "And if it does not happen, then the little lords will be swept away by other kings from other lands, but those kings and their armies will not be the same people and the people here will suffer for it then, because they will be crushed under the heel of fighters from outside who speak differently, and live differently and all of that."

Their conversation faded out as the two armies clashed and Farah watched as Ur-Nammu settled in to the carnage, always looking to see how the line of his fighters fared and bellowing orders and commands where it was needed. Amad was cut in a few places and bruised heavily, but he lived, since in addition to everything else, the young lord general made sure to help him stay alive as much as he could.

"I grow weary," Amad said, breathing heavily.

Ur-Nammu didn't appear to have heard him for a moment as he looked around them. He grabbed at the spear of a man and pulled it toward himself for a second. The other man's eyes widened and he pulled back, thinking that the one that he faced was trying to disarm him, but Ur-Nammu pushed at that instant and the man lost his footing, He fell to the ground backwards and writhed with a fatal slash across his middle.

"Nothing to be done about that, Amad, and it goes on long after you think that you have no strength to hold the blade up any longer." He grunted as he grabbed a man's tunic near the throat to pull him into the path of his comrade's dagger. He finished them both a moment later.

"This will not go much longer. Our riders are carving up the asses of these ones from behind. I can see them, so it will not be much longer."

Farah watched as Ur-Nammu cursed a little, having to reach farther than he'd wanted to grab someone's throat to pull him off the boy.

--------------------- 

Farah found herself lying where she'd been all along, panting and sweating, frozen with her body's tension. She looked around her and saw that she was in her own home once more and the ghostly cat was there, smiling down at her.

"That was ... I've never, ... It was so brutal, and cruel," she said, gasping a little. "I wanted to hold myself to him. I wanted to be safe under his armor."

The cat nodded, "It has always been, though today, I think they do it from farther away from each other. Your choice would have been a bad one if you were there, though it is easily understood, Farah. But Ur-Nammu never hid himself from anyone in a fight, and all could see who it was who led his host. That is where all of the arrows flew most often. He was often wounded, but the power of Jebel Bishri was with him and kept most of the wounds very shallow. 

I was there that day, and you saw some of it from my eyes. Before the start, I was one of the reasons that the Akkadians heard nothing from their scouts, and when it began, I was with him. Unless I learned something that he needed to know, we stayed close, but seldom spoke. But you saw him as he lived and fought, no?"

Farah nodded, "Yes."

The eyes above her looked down, but didn't blink. Farah realized that they never blinked, and of course, she knew why as the apparition continued, "And you saw that it was something that was done for old reasons, I think. Land, money, and the power that comes from them, and you saw that he was there to do as he had to do."

Farah thought about it and nodded. From the vantage point of where she was, it made little sense, but in that place and time, she could see it, so she nodded.

"And do you still feel love for him, this young general that was, so long ago? He might just as easily been building you a home or growing the grain that would feed you both. It just happens faster and it is more cruel for a time. It is harder, bloodier, and far closer to one's life or death. An unseen bowman, a misstep, or the loss of an instant of time as one's blade is snagged on a tunic and ..."

Farah nodded, "Yes, though I'm glad that that's over for him, and yes, I still feel the same way."

"Well that is a very good thing, Farah, that you do," she laughed, "because no matter what you wish to tell yourself, you are wet for him right now, I feel it from where I sit."

"Something else that he likes," the cat said, sending the thought to Farah's mind with a touch of one pad against her hand.

"I – I've never done that, "Farah said with a bit of shock.

"Try tonight with your bath," Dimme said, "He will never ask for it, but he favors this very much if it is offered to him, and he is always very gentle, but Farah, try this alone first. He is in another body now, and I am almost certain from when I saw you with him outside here that he is the same length as he was, but this body, ... a bit thicker, I am almost certain. Do not be afraid, he would never hurt you, but if you want to really please him, then learn this.

Not the first night, but if he ever asks you how you know these things, then you may tell him. If you tell him the first night that I came to you, he may be stuck in sadness for a time, and that would not be fair to either of you. When you tell him, he will not be able to believe it, so then, ask him to open his mouth and then quickly lick under the roof of his mouth. It tickles him, and he would only allow this from me and only as a surprise. If he looks shocked, then lick his nose quickly and as wetly as you can only once. He would always say that he hated it, but I think not. Anyway, he might believe you then."

She stretched herself out beside Farah and smiled, "Hold still once more, Farah. I will touch you again and teach you to dance for him the way that he likes. Not many know how to do this anymore." She reached to place her paw again.

A moment later they smiled at each other. "You will know that the time for dancing is over if you dance near to him and raise your arms over your head, facing away from him while you shake this," she said prodding Farah's bottom gently from the side, "That is when he likes to begin it, most often. His hands will find your hips and it will be time for the beginning of something else."

The spirit looked troubled then. "I feel like my time is coming to an end, so I must hurry now," Dimme said a little sadly, "I wish that I could know you as a friend, Farah. It would mean much to me."

"I feel the same way," Farah said, "I am grateful for everything."

"It is a little hard for me to do even still," Dimme said, "teaching another woman about my man, but Ur-Nammu should be happy, and so should you. Besides my pleasure at knowing you, I will get something from this. When I awoke, I heard my mother calling to me and Ur-Nammu's mother as well. They were great friends and my mother owed his mother very much for her kindness long ago. My mother was imprisoned by a sorcerer and turned into what you see in me. Nisi-ini-su helped with many others so that she could at least change back to a woman. My brothers and sisters were all like me, and some of our blood still shows itself, most often in girls who can change as I can.

I was not there when Ur-Nammu was slain. I was at our home with a new babe. But I knew when it happened from a feeling in my breast, and then I waited to hear. I was mad for a time, and woke a day later in chains so that I couldn't hurt myself anymore. After that, I just raised our children and held everything inside me.

One day, years later, I traveled to some of the tribes alone. The truces were being broken and we were being murdered again. Without Ur-Nammu, everyone had retreated to Jebel Bishri and the dream was over. His own brother took the throne of Sumer and turned against us. So I raised a small army on my own from the tribes, but the time for that was past. The wave had been broken. Many kings were against us and slowly we were killed off. But not before I held the brother's bleeding throat in my teeth.

When I knew that I had reached that one day when I might not be alive at the end, I threw myself into the fight and changed to a woman in the middle of it so that I would be killed more easily."

She looked down," Nothing is left now, but my bones lay at the bottom of a covered pit. I awoke and hearing what I did, I answered."

She shook her head, "For what I did, I have not been allowed to Jebel Bishri again until now, and even so, I did not see it as it really is, for it has always been hidden in illusion. It is a dry and dusty pit on the top of an old mountain, but I went. I saw no one, but I was told by a voice where I must go to dig. I have come here from there by one of the roads of the dead which ends near here. It is a small opening to a cave on your land."

Farah nodded, "I've seen it."

"Good, "Dimme nodded, as she took Farah's hand. "I have two more things to show you. For the first, I thought at first that I would need to, ... " she hesitated, and then lifted their two clasped hands. "This will work, I think. Close your eyes and try to think with what is there between your legs. Follow the things that I show you in your mind and feel what you must do and when."

Farah was confused, but closed her eyes and shuddered her way through three forced orgasms inside of seven minutes. She lay there covered in sweat, not understanding how it had happened, but knowing full well what Dimme had taught her without even touching her body.

"That is what you must do at every turn when you feel him at the right place for it."

"Thank you," Farah gasped, still somewhat amazed, "What is the last thing?" she asked, hoping that it wouldn't be another demonstration such as this.

Dimme smiled, "Nothing like this, Farah. I could not think of another way that did not have you lying with a dead thing. Here,"




The Witch's Want Ch. 04



She held up an obviously old and tattered cloth envelope. "For him, and if you choose to give it to him on the first night, then it must be at the last, and you must show him some honor, if you can, for the general that he once was. I know that he is in the body of a man from this part of the world, but, ..."

She thought about it while Farah waited.

"Try to understand," Dimme said, "He is whatever his body is, but here," she pointed at her own breast, "Here, he is Martu. I am Martu, Farah, and somewhere inside you, you are still Martu as well. We are no longer a people. We were hated and feared because we looked different from the other people in the world that we knew then. We were feared because we could fight and because we were every one of us at least a little magical and a nation of mages to the eyes of others is a fearsome thing. 

He has found the one right girl in you. Think now to what I said before. Somehow, Ur-Nammu came here and somehow he found you, likely the only woman for thousands of leagues around who is something like his kind, a female mage who carries the blood of Pharaohs, and Martu, and even a little of his own - and that is saying much, even to leave your beauty out of it," Dimme laughed softly, "I was alive then, and I have seen proud Nubian princesses. You honor that blood well too. From that way of looking at it, Ur-Nammu has surely found one who is worthy, even if he does not know it."

She indicated the pouch with her eyes. "You may open it if you wish, but it will mean nothing to you, the pieces are only small stones, though I can see by your eyes that you feel the strength of the whole. But to me, and to him, and his parents, and all of us, this is the lock of the faith, one of the centers of our religion. Tell Ur-Nammu that the lock is passed. Tell him this as soon as his hands close over it, and do not forget.

To one such as him, it would give great power, since he is now the last priest living, and it would fulfill the promise that I gave to other ghosts that I could not see in a ruined keep on a dusty mountain. Ask to learn his faith and you can share the lock with him and see what it may bring to you, since all of the misfortunes have surely been paid in your lives. The joys alone would be worth it and it would add to what you know of your own faith, since they are the same in most ways."

She looked at Farah and smirked a little. "I know what has been in your mind for a while now. You would ask me why I came here to you to pass this." 

She reached and held Farah's face with both of her pawed hands, "I do it this way because I already saw the beauty of the one that he has chosen and hopes with all of his heart to be allowed to love. I think that you deserve each other, and that is why I came to share some of the secrets of his love with you. Have no fear, my new friend. I have left plenty of the mystery that is Ur-Nammu for you to learn for yourself."

She leaned forward and kissed Farah's forehead. "If he saw me, I fear that he would be lost to us both for a long time, since I cannot have him again, and so it is better this way, I think, though it hurts me. If it is good between you, then please take care of him always.

Do this for him and you, and for me, Farah, so that I may go home to Jebel Bishri once more and see it the way that it always has been. I long to see my dead parents."

Farah took the bundle and set it down. "I promise, Dimme. Thank you."

"My thanks to you, Farah." The feline nodded once and Farah was alone.



The Witch's Want Ch. 05



**This had to happen sometime, this one love scene, but I've been trying to handle a lot of things in the world of the real, not the least of which was the passing of someone very close to me. With what's been going on in my life lately, I'm a little surprised that I'm still writing at all. 

For the few who follow what I write, I apologize for the delay. o_0 

--------------------------

Around eight, the rain began in a sudden downpour that beat heavily on everything outside as she watched. Fifteen minutes later, she heard the heavy beat of a Harley-Davidson rumbling up the long drive.

Bart was dry in his rainsuit as he rolled to a stop, looking for the best place to park. He almost laughed out loud when he saw Farah wearing a bright yellow hooded rain slicker, holding an umbrella and beckoning him to park inside the open barn door. He just got his bike parked and shut down inside, and getting off it, he found her in his arms laughing at how they were both dressed.

"I think we must look like a couple of sailors," he said, "All that's missing is the tilting deck and the huge waves."

He watched her nod with the sort of delighted smile that just thrilled him. He wondered when it was, the last time that anyone had looked so happy to see him. He didn't want to go too far into the thought, but he acknowledged that it was such a long time, so very long ago since someone had cared enough to show delight and happiness only to have him against her.

She threw her arms around his neck and she kissed him. Farah was thinking the very same thing, though the frames of her references were more recent, and anyway, she had to go back to before her ill-fated marriage to find a memory that matched what she saw in his face. She had to struggle for a second to even remember the boy's name now. Bobby Carleton came to her as his name, probably the only boy who'd really held her heart and returned what she'd given him. It didn't matter anymore. He'd married someone else afterward and they'd moved away long ago.

The memory passed and she was back, looking up at someone who was much, much more complex. A law officer, a warrior-priest, and a conquering general of long ago. A man who had been a loving and protective husband and father once.

Almost all of that was gone now, leaving only the lawman, a complicated male here with her, but it didn't matter. She could see and feel that he was just as overjoyed as she was. And the very best part to Farah was that he was really there with her, in her arms and happy to be there.

"Come," she grinned, "this rain won't stop us tonight."

"I've brought something," he smiled as he opened one of the saddlebags and drew out a plastic shopping bag that obviously held a few bottles. They walked to the house. "What did you bring?" Farah asked.

"I wasn't sure about what to bring," he said, "so I went with some red wine, and, ... well, something else as well."

"'Something else' is a wide category," Farah smiled.

"Ok," he sounded a bit uncomfortable, "I'll fess up. I had a hell of a time with this one. I couldn't decide, and so I had to buy two kinds." He held up a bottle of clear fluid and another quite oddly-shaped bottle.

Farah gasped, "Arak! How did you get these? I haven't had any of this in ... well, it is a long time."

"I had a friend ship them to me. The Syrian one is made using just anise. The other one here is from figs and the anise is added during the process. I didn't know better, but I think I was able to tell that it would be more like what you might have had before. From what I was able to find out, it's made with figs in Iraq."

"It doesn't matter, both are good" she smiled, "that you tried to learn what you could is enough. I'm sure that either one will be fine. But this isn't something that you just throw back," she warned.

"I have no intention of it, "he grinned.

----------------------

They stood inside the foyer of Farah's home. The rain gear was off and he looked at Farah with a soft smile, feeling a little foolish to be there a little ironically wearing slacks, a dress shirt and even a tie, not anything even close to matching what she was wearing. 

She stood there wearing the long hooded cloak that he'd been a little surprise to find under the rain slicker. She looked like a walking mystery to him like that with her hood over her head and drawn close.

He looked down, "I um, ... I had a feeling that you'd try to go more uh, cultural in what you'd wear tonight, but I don't really have anything, um, ..."

"That doesn't matter a bit," she grinned, "I even knew that. The culture we have in mind goes back a lot further, doesn't it? Please come," she said softly as she took his hand and led him to the family room where a CD player played low, bringing them some rather traditional Sudanese music. She turned and slid her arms around him, "It's still you and I," she said, "the demon and the witch."

She kissed him again and held herself to him tightly. When she pulled back a little, he looked at her as she stood wearing her hooded cloak. "Nothing matters here, "she smiled. "Set the arak there on that low table. I'm going to bring the food that I promised you, and I only hope that at least some of it reminds you a little of what Ur-Nammu ate once, and I hope that it's good enough."

He tilted his head at that. "Why wouldn't it be good enough, Farah? I'm sure I'll be happy with anything you've done. Are you kidding?"

She shook her head. "I made things such as I remember my mother making, plus a few more from some recipes that I found. We're probably just like any two people who are at a stage like this, but you know that we're a little different at the same time."

She pointed to a chair near the wall. "There's a cloak like mine there on that chair. I would like it very much if you could dress like me here tonight while I get the food."

She'd said it in a very quiet and hopeful way that wasn't lost on him. He knew what she was wearing under that cloak, and he understood her perfectly. He touched the beaded hair that showed from her hood and smiled. "You look so beautiful, Farah," he said, just as quietly.

She smiled her thanks and took his hand to hold it against her cheek. "Feel," she sighed, "learn."

He watched her smile widen a little as he felt her thumb caress the back of his hand for a moment and he saw her tiny nod to him as she finished the thought.

"And know me, Demon."

They stood for a moment like that, and then Ur-Nammu felt her. He felt many things about Farah as they came to him through his touch. He knew what she'd told him of her past, but now he felt what she was, much farther back that she knew herself. 

He saw nomads and early agrarian people in a land that he'd once known intimately -- every hillside orchard and meadow, every mountain and dusty depression. He saw herders and soldiers, women and children. And then it was gone.

"Sumerian," he whispered, and her eyes told him that he was correct.

"Azeri, and, ... and, "his eyes widened, "Assyrian, and, ..."

Her eyes shone in her pleasure that he was seeing something that she'd never been able to see, but it was important to her that he see it all. She nodded very slightly as he continued to stare.

He blinked, and in her eyes, he saw heat shimmering from the ground and moving blobs that turned into cattle and a different people who tended them. He felt coolness in a river as he stood with a queen in the flow of it in the evening, and she walked past him to step out onto the bank wearing little more than jeweled bands here and there and water droplets on her immaculate skin. He felt his breath taken away from him by the queen's beauty, and he knew then just what sort of ancestor the queen was to Farah.

She felt her heart swelling inside her as she saw the expression on his face. The black eyes looked into her own and his eyebrows were raised in wonder and fascination.

It said a lot of things to her. She was happy that someone like her could elicit these things from someone like him. Hell, she'd been happy that he only liked her. It wasn't as though she was nineteen anymore. But to have him here before her and be able to even have something in herself as she knew that she had -- whatever it was that he was seeing - was an honor and she felt the humblest sort of happy pride in herself.

She listened as his awed voice continued quietly.

"Beja tribeswoman with a blood tie to Hatshepsut, woman Pharaoh, worshiper of Sekhmet the lioness goddess" he said, barely moving the air out of his throat to make the sound of it.

"Kermian... "

"Nubian ... "

"Kushite, " he whispered, nodding his own head once very slightly in recognition.

"Daughter of the Candace of Meroe," he whispered, "warrior queen of Kush, who turned the armies of Alexander leading her vast hosts herself from the back of a war elephant with a war bow in her hand to face him."

He drew back a little and bowed his head slightly in recognition and deference to the ones that he felt himself in the presence of in her there.

"Pharaoh's daughter -- queen, and, -"

He gasped, and her hand went to his cheek.

"Martu."

She nodded as her smile widened, "Yes," she said, suddenly knowing a little of what he'd seen in amazement, more than a little awed herself from the knowledge of it and understanding now that Dimme had told her the truth.

"And a little of thousands of completely ordinary people as well. We are a little different, aren't we, Ur-Nammu?"

He nodded, still in a bit of shock as his hand lifted from her cheek. "Yes," he breathed, "You are from my half-brother's line as well."

"I guess that must make us cousins hundreds of times removed. So put your clothing there and please dress appropriately, Lord Ur-Nammu," she said as she took the hand that she still held and kissed it softly, "And I'll take a little time to bring our food," she smiled at him as she began to walk to the stairs. "Please throw some more wood on the fire too. I've had the fire going all day to keep it warm down here and to drive off the damp of the rain."

---------------------------

They stood facing each other and then she led him to her little altar inside the house. They knelt together and she made her abbreviated observances and listened as he made his. Farah took his hand and led him back to the fire where she served him some of the many dishes that she'd prepared before she chose something for herself and they sat together eating.

"You didn't have to serve me like that, Farah, "he said, "From what was shown to me, I think that I should serve you."

She shook her head as she looked down, "Yes I did, Ur-Nammu. I don't know what you saw in me, and I would like to know all of what it was sometime. I only knew that I have a past that stretches out behind me longer than I knew." She looked over at him, "But between the two of us here, you are the one who is to be honored. You are the lord here and I am pleased and happy to have one such as you as my friend."

He shrugged smiling and Farah wanted to fall into those black pools before her for a moment as she struggled a little against the pull that she felt as his words began. 

"All of that is gone, Farah. What I was once is past, all of it, and it means nothing here and now. What means everything to me is you. I see that many of your ancestors would have had people bow or fall to their knees to find themselves in such a presence, but it has no meaning here today, and nobody would know of it. It's the same for me," he said, sipping his arak after a bite of the Egyptian ful that she'd prepared for him.

He sighed, "I really like this," he said, indicating the dish.

Farah smiled, "I have read that the best ful recipe that I've found goes back to the Middle Ages in Cairo. There was a public bath house near the fountain of Muhammad 'Ali Pasha, a block north of the two minarets of the Mosque of Sultan Mu'ayyad Shaykh above the eleventh-century Bab Zuwaylah gate. During the day, bath-attendants stoked the fires heating the huge pots of bath water. When the baths closed, the embers of the fires kept burning. That's when the cooking started. Large pots were filled with fava beans, and the cauldrons were kept simmering all night, and eventually all day too, to provide breakfast for Cairo's population. Cookshops all over Cairo would send their people to the baths to buy their fūl.

Once it's cooked, you can eat it plain or with butter or oil and any of about a thousand sauces."

She put her hand on his wrist, "I think that you're wrong, by the way. Nobody today knows of all of these things that are in our pasts, but you're here with me right now. Yes, you're a man, just like you were then, but you're also still the same man at the same time," she smiled, "and that man was many things, of which I'm sure that I've only learned a little, but to me, you're still Lord Ur-Nammu, lord general of the Martu hosts. They might be gone, but you're not, and I still want to acknowledge you."

"Besides," she chuckled, "I'm having a lot of fun like this with you, and I have to tell you that it's a pretty romantic feeling to spend time like this here with you. I've decided that I'm going to cook like this a lot more where I can afford it."

Ur-Nammu smiled, "Then please, Witch, pull your hood back for me. I wish to see your hair now."

"As you wish, Lord," she grinned a little as she complied, watching his eyes and his smile widen. Somehow, he'd missed seeing the choker-type necklace made of three rows of cowry shells, and the longer fourth row lower down. But he saw it all now.

"Oh Farah," he sighed as he gazed at her cornrow hair, "You're amazing. I've never known anyone like you."

"Are you sure?" she smirked in a way that made him smile, "I mean, I thought that I was a pretty wide mix for a mongrel before we knew each other. After what you said a little while ago, I think I ought to be surprised that anyone might have been left out."

"Well if you're a mongrel," he grinned, "then you're a pretty noble one, I think, and I'm back to having never known anyone like you."

She leaned forward to kiss him once, "What about the many women who must surely have offered themselves to someone like you? I'm sure they must have been pretty lovely to even get in the gate."

He shook his head, "I had a group of assassins from a tribe out of the dunes as household guards. All of them were beautiful, and there were not many who would have been able to even hold their heads up next to them. And even if they could, they'd find themselves tossed right back out of the gate -- or over the wall. Each of my guards was a very dear friend to me, beside the nature of their duties, and they did not allow any hopefuls to even approach my home. They were assassins themselves and knew the danger. Most often, I didn't have the time anyway and I usually wasn't even there."

"Well what about the women who were sent to you as tributes to a mighty warrior and a king's son?" she asked quietly as he looked into her eyes.

"I have seen some rare beauties," he nodded, "tributes for far-off lands, each one a mystery to me, speaking tongues which I didn't know. Some brought exotic scents and perfumes, some played music and sang songs for me such as I had never heard as they danced." He looked at her closed eyes. Farah was trying to visualize the scenes in her head.

"I always liked it when they chattered at me in their soft and hopeful way to get me to let them bathe me and rub my body with oils. It was all very nice." 

He smirked as he remembered, "And to tell the whole truth of it, I would come home from some long ride after a hard fight, worn out from the road and the strain of having to keep thousands of fighters moving. Most often, I'd have been wounded a little, so it felt wondrous to let them soothe my tired body."

He chuckled, "And there I'd be, soothed and cared for in the midst of likely a few incredibly lovely women, snoring the house down and sleeping like a dead man. Not so romantic then, I'm afraid, but feeling well-rested the next morning, nevertheless."

Farah laughed a little, "Oh come on, Demon. You're ruining my little daydream. Surely you weren't always completely worn out. You must have enjoyed what was offered at least sometimes."

"I did," he smiled, "I would have had to be dead otherwise, and some of the purpose of receiving their tributes was to enhance the reputation of Ur-Nammu the mighty. I couldn't have just snored my way through it every time. It would be seen as an insult to the woman, her king or queen, and her country to refuse the willing offer of women like that, who had travelled so far and long."

Farah sipped her arak and set the chilled glass down, "Well that's what I'd like to do," she said, "I want to be a tribute to you. I like the idea, to be a human tribute to somebody that I've developed a lot of feeling for. I was having a lot of fun all week and I really enjoyed it every time that we spoke on the phone. 

I almost felt like I was a teenager again, but I have to say that it was better than that. I did as you asked and I found out a lot about you. That was fantastic to me as well, since I'd read about something that you did and then I could think and knowing you personally gave it all a lot of meaning, so I had the thought of doing this with you the next time that we could be together.

So, will you accept my tribute?" she asked, holding her gaze steadily.

He reached for her hand and smiled, "I would have," he said, "but after seeing more of you and who sits before me, the descendant of so many high bloodlines, I'd have to say that it would be a little unfair. I think and it would be more correct to offer my tribute to you, Witch." Farah's eyes widened a little to see him bow down to her.

"Oh no," she laughed, "It was my idea first. You may offer the second tribute between us and I'd like that -- as long as you tell me as much about what you saw in me as you can. I'd really like to hear that then."

She reached for the CD player and turned up the volume a little, hearing one of the songs that she liked. He watched as she got to her feet and began to dance just a little. A minute later, Farah looked at him in the light of the fire and sighed to herself. By likely any woman's standards today, he was just awesome, half --reclining as he watched. She gave in to an impulse and came to him, kneeling before him for a moment. 

Farah leaned forward and touched his cheek with her hand softly. "Show yourself to me, Demon," she said, "Show me the mighty lord here with me tonight." She kissed him quickly before she grabbed his cloak and pulled it down past his shoulders. She grinned at the beauty of what she saw. "This is the Ur-Nammu that I wish to see, covered with henna for only me. Thank you for this." 

It was all that she could do to tear herself away and begin to dance for him again.

She looked at him, seeing what he'd had done, the lines of his old tattoos brought forth clearly once more by the henna to rise and ripple over him. The welts and the scars were there too, lines and ridges over hard muscle. In that instant, Farah knew with certainty that what she'd planned for them would almost certainly come to pass -- barring an earthquake -- and even then she wasn't sure that it would stop anything. She turned away from him and let her own cloak fall from her shoulders.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared. The general inside the powerful body already knew how he felt about her. When she turned around to smile at him a little enigmatically, he knew everything with certainty.

He was far past wanting her and deep into need now.

He looked at the lines and patterns as she danced, quicker now in time with the next selection on the disk. He'd seen ones such as this before, but never one like her. She danced a little nearer and he saw that the artwork on her body extended to even the most intimate parts of her. The mesmerization of it locked him in, as though to look anywhere else would be heresy, or a crime of some sort. He couldn't have torn his gaze from her, ...




The Witch's Want Ch. 05



Well, if his life depended on it.

The music quickened and it took Farah along with it. She closed her eyes for a moment as she began to feel herself letting go to it and the ancient undercurrents began to carry her along. Her body slid into perfect synchronization with those undercurrents. 

It was what she wanted now, and she felt a little wonder at herself as her body seemed to know the ways to move with no conscious effort or thought from her mind.

Her mind became more of an observer in this, feeling the delight and bliss of her body's motions and deriving pleasure as the tempo increased subtly.

And it was pleasure, she decided, to do this for him this well. She glanced and saw that she had his undivided attention. Not such a great leap, to be sure, the thought came to her. 

This was what the purpose was, after all, to dance for the pleasure of a man, to make her promise to him and to receive his. Her next glance, as quick as it was as she twirled around, had given her a perfect view of his manhood.

He was spellbound, and it was a spell, after all, though only the simple one that women have always had and worked. That gorgeous rod of his stood straining straight up and to her it cast its own ancient spell.

She managed another stolen glance and despite the low light in the room, she could have sworn that she could just see the thing throb and twitch just a little, teasing her in its own way, making its answer to the promise of her dance.

When this part of their strange courtship was over, there wouldn't be any half-hearted two minute, completely forgettable and weak coital act to get back to the TV, or the bar, or the white powder as she'd had before from the useless little prick that she'd had the misfortune to fall for, the one whose name she was well on the way to forgetting.

This was going to be something.

She didn't really have the words in her mind for it as she danced. All of the ones which came to her didn't quite fit. She felt her lips pull into a smile in spite of herself.

This was going to be an event.

Yes, she thought. That was it. This was what she now felt that she was for, an act of completion for them both. Her next lustful thought almost made her grin and she had to force herself to hold it back. She could almost hear the announcer speaking to the crowds through the PA system in a packed arena.

"And in this corner, ..."

So, she decided, knowing now that it would happen. This was going to be an event. Besides the completion of them both, she knew that it would be the promise of many things -- a long series of rematches for one.

An event.

A seismic one, beyond any doubt that she might have earlier had.

Farah smiled. 

So mote it be.

Her skin felt superheated, though she wasn't sweating. As her body turned in one direction and she kept her face looking at him, surely showing her feelings as she did, she felt the heat of her own arm as it passed her face for a split second. Her legs felt perfect under her and her hips had their own repertoire of movements, tied to the motions of her lower back as they undulated for only him, making the old and timeless suggestions to them both.

She was aroused herself -- as though she'd need anything more than only the sight of that incredible body to do that. She felt the currents of the air from her movements against her breasts like the lightest possible touch that left them aching for a more palpable one. Her nipples felt to her as though they'd turned into two light but very hot stones, and the way that it felt when the skin on the inside of her own forearm grazed one of them caused her mouth to open in a gasp that neither of them heard in the music.

Farah gave in to it and slid her hands over her breasts in a slow caress for a moment. As nice as it had felt, her breasts wanted more, and as much as she knew herself and her own body, it came as something of a surprise to her just how hard her own nipples had become. 

She had no desire to test the playful little theory which came to her, but right then it wouldn't have surprised her at all to find that she could likely cut glass with them. 

As long as it wasn't cold.

The motions of her hips and legs worked their timeless magic and her lips muttered the incantations that she'd memorized in a respectfully hopeful and lusty prayer as she asked that what was to come be what they both wished for. The same motions worked on her as well, and she felt her need of him deep in her loins. Her slick lips there rubbed against each other in motions which likely couldn't be seen with a microscope, but they were there all the same.

Farah knew what this was, though she was sure that she'd never felt it like this, what she felt beginning there now. She wondered for a moment if it was something that he was doing somehow. She knew that he had some sort of abilities that she couldn't fathom.

Well, she thought, maybe he did, and maybe it was nothing more than the forces that she'd offered her prayer to giving their assent. Either way, she felt proud of herself for what she felt beginning. It hadn't happened to her in a long time, not anything like this, and the thought came to her to show him just what they'd managed to work between them to this point without even touching yet.

She slowed her motions to half of the tempo of the music, coming closer to him as she did. Farah raised her arms above her head as she stood before him, undulating her hips for him in a subtly blatant way, helping this with her thighs so that he could see it -- and she had no doubt in her mind whatsoever that he'd know what it signaled.

She just wanted to let him see what it was that she had for him now.

The last of the features of Bart's face disappeared as Ur-Nammu sat staring. His penis twitched and throbbed of its own accord as his eyes narrowed their view to her henna-painted lips as they seemed to float before him there, covered in her sweet honey. He could see it as they glistened softly.

They were a wonder to him. As far back as his mind could take his memory, he'd never seen lips like this.

They were full and plump in their way, her mound offering him a place where he could lose himself. If there was a heaven on this earthly plane, then this lovely witch was surely showing him the softly-petaled gate now. There was nothing lewd or dirty to her display of this little wonder. He could clearly see that she was showing him this view because of the way that she felt for him, her wild dance coming down to this set of gentle motions.

He began to stare after a second as he looked for her nub. It was there, peeking at him like an almost bashful little thing, but as he watched, he could see that it was becoming a little bit bolder in its own hopeful way. As he watched it bob a little before him, being carried as it was by those wonderful hips and their mysterious motions, he saw the top of that cleft widen and the hooded pearl began to come forth for him.

This was what she'd wanted for him to see, knowing that it would, but not to the extent that it had. She couldn't remember that it had ever been this pronounced, so needing of fulfillment, this small wonder of the softer sex. 

He glanced up and he saw the same slightly shy, though hope-filled emotion in the eyes which looked down at him. The music stopped between tracks, and before the next song began a second or so later, he knew that besides her obvious hope and the promise that she'd made, she was feeling proud of herself as she stood, hiding nothing from him, so that he might see just how much she meant it beyond her need.

As the next selection of music began, a slower quiet piece with a haunting melody, he came to a few little certitudes in his mind.

He knew that this was the moment during which he must make his answer, while that wetly glistening miracle was at its zenith in this show, and before any self-doubt could come to her -- even before another of his heartbeats had occurred.

There was the danger of a real crime happening here and that was that he'd allowed this instant of time to pass.

He looked up again and smiled for a moment, and then he reached out for her hips as he rose to his knees. She watched his head come to her sex, those dark eyes locked on her offering. She reached for him too, very tentatively, not knowing, but hoping that her gift would be sufficient for one such as him.

For all of this, what she'd done for him in preparing the place and the meals, it all came down to her wanting now to know if this was just a woman offering herself to a man, or whether she'd been right all along in this -- that one day, she'd be right here -- just as it looked to be coming to pass -- offering herself to this man and trying with all of the will and want and need and desire in her to give herself to him, this one strange man, risen from out of the mists of time.

Farah sighed as she felt the first soft contact of his face against her. Without even being able to see, she felt it as he licked his lips to moisten them for her. The skin of her mound told her that his tongue was reaching past, underneath that pearl, and then she felt it as he placed the tip against her lips and began to draw it back, closer to the underside of her nub.

She felt his mouth open further and then she felt the first gentle thrill as his acceptance came to her. 

She placed her hands on his head and she sighed as his lips closed over her clitoris to begin his tender worship there.

That he was doing this for her in this way settled a lot of things for her in an instant. But other than recognizing the thought, she set it aside as his mouth began to take her away.

Farah stood, her motions gone from her now as she held herself still for him, feeling the way that his hands held her so gently.

She sighed and opened her eyes for a moment to look down on his head, but her eyelids closed again in rapture at what he was doing for her with his mouth.

She wasn't even sure how it was possible, but she did manage to hold a thought in her mind, because when it came to her, it was just a little profound.

She considered how long it had been since he'd been in a position to hold a woman and perform such an intimate act for her. Thousands of years of him wanting a woman, she decided, and not having the means to find even the satisfaction of masturbation for himself, let alone have the ability to sate his need to mate. She imagined that a man in a situation such as that would want to just, ...

But he hadn't. And the thought came to her as she slipped her fingers into his long dark hair to hold him close in as tender a way as she could that he was trying to show her something. He wasn't even going at this with the desperation that she'd imagine him having inside of him for this.

He was trying to tell her something.

Farah opened her eyes again and she began to whisper slowly. So slowly and softly that she wondered if he could hear her, but she had to tell him that she knew. Considering what he was doing to her, it was a rather difficult thing for her to do, but she did it anyway, gasping a little and sighing a lot.

"In case it is not, ... obvious," she sighed, "I want, ... for you to know that I - I, ... love you, Ur-Nammu."

He stopped the slow and gentle increase that he'd been putting into this for her for a moment. The sigh that she felt was a thrill all by itself.

"I know this," the one-time warrior and conqueror said in his own hoarse whisper to her. He kissed her there for a moment, and said, "I accept your tribute and offer you my own, Witch. I love you as well."

Farah wanted to weep in happiness only to have heard it, but there were reasons going against weeping, she realized, happy or otherwise. Doing that would mean that she'd have to stop.

The dance wasn't over yet.

He felt her fingers in his hair and the motions that she made there came to him as requests, so he allowed them to direct his efforts as she began to move her sweet hips to the music once more.

She remained in contact with him though, thrusting herself to him slowly, humping herself on him gently so that he'd know that she wanted him to continue for a while yet. This dance was for them both, but to her heart, it was for him more than it was for her, no matter how much she was enjoying his attentions.

She'd had to show him that she was so aroused for him. She knew that under these circumstances, there likely wasn't a hetero human male anywhere who would have shown her any indication that what she was offering wasn't good enough. That wasn't the point.

She'd wanted him to know that she was offering herself to someone so singular here. Her offering had to be better, to her mind, for that reason alone. One doesn't have the chance to do this for someone like him more than once, because no one would ever know him well enough to want to.

She sighed, and it turned into a little moan for him when she remembered their earlier conversation about the many women who had been brought for him.

She didn't know for certain, but Farah was pretty sure that when the one who'd just told her plainly that he loved her had been a normal man so long ago, he'd only accepted the very best for himself. The cat-girl changeling that he'd taken as his wife had devoted herself to him once they'd begun, and later, when she'd chosen partners for him out of politics and diplomacy from among the no-doubt multitudes who'd been offered, ... 

Well she knew that Dimme had chosen only the very best and most beautiful for her mate. Dimme had allowed him this -- even forced him into it because it was what his legend needed for their people. She'd never have shared him lightly. Not even once.

Farah sent a silent blessing to the spirit who had come to her, and she offered her heartfelt thanks because that spirit had decided that Farah was worthy of the one who she still loved and ached for.

That placed Farah into a rather select minority of women over thousands of years of time. She'd known what this was from the outset, once she'd known who he'd been.

Even though he'd told her, Farah would do what the female in her demanded that she do to build this into a great love, if she could manage it, because right here, right now, ...

The humble witch, Farah LaMontagne, had the chance at the love of one in billions of lifetimes right here, kneeling before her with his face tightly against her, lapping softly at her sex.

She felt the music, as slow and soft as it was, and pushing him away slowly so as not to give him the wrong impression, she began to move for only him again, her hips holding his gaze more attentively than any target tracking system which man might have invented to this point.

She had no trouble now as she doubled the pace of her movements to the beat of the music. Her skin felt even hotter now and she could feel the beginnings of sweat. That didn't matter now, she'd bathed for him before this in sweetly aromatic oils, knowing that this might happen, and when this heat in her body reached the traces of those oils on her, it for damn sure wouldn't offend him.

She chose her moment, knowing that it was coming long before it arrived. The slow, sensuous beat of this song would end in a quiet crescendo and she'd be right where she wanted to be, undulating her haunches there before his face, her legs spread just enough so that he couldn't be looking at anything other than what she had for him there if he looked just past her cheeks. 

Just a little ahead of that, he'd have to see her slightly parted lips, painted so beautifully by her lovely friend, Padma just for this one moment. The next song would begin with only drums and she was counting on the moment coming to him just after that.

The song ended, and Farah stood there trembling in her want of him, her body sending its hungry signals to him for all that it was worth as she bent ever so slightly to allow her back to get into the movement of her hips as she thrust the perfect haunches that she was now so proud and thankful to have in her arsenal back at him just a little.

She felt herself smile as her first reward came to her from his soft kiss against them. She felt his tongue slip in to graze her labia in a long, quick stroke which ended with its tip against her anus. Well, she thought, that part of her had been bathed as meticulously as the rest of her for this. He could have this too if he wanted. For the amount of work that she'd put into preparing herself even there as Dimme had coached her, she now wanted him there as well, now that she knew a little of how it would feel to have him there.

That little jewel was safe for the moment anyway. Dimme had told her so. Farah knew that she had to offer it to him -- that he'd never just take her like that.

But when the drums began in the next song, Farah found that she couldn't do much more than thrust herself back a little more. His tongue was everywhere down there now.

And it felt so good, ...

She felt his hands on her hips, holding her there and allowing her only the slightest freedom to writhe for him and herself at the same time. She was a prisoner now of her need and his, able to do little more than pant and wait.

Dimme had told her that this would come too, that the time for dancing had passed.

He pulled her backwards, easily keeping her from falling as he eased her down onto his lap. He held her to him and kissed her as his hand began to caress her breast. Almost all that she could manage was to whimper for him.

The only other thing that was left for her was to try to reach for his phallus. If he gave her just half a chance here, she knew that she'd happily get to her knees and worship him there.

But he didn't.

Instead, he laid her down and moved himself over her. Farah felt his kisses as she tried in vain to meet his mouth with her own. He was just too fast, kissing her so softly in so many places that her poor brain had no chance to direct her body in her attempts to chase his mouth. It was like trying to keep up with a tiny male fairy who was bent on loving as many parts of her at he could. She just felt the most delicious fleeting kisses on her lips and cheeks, her forehead, nose, just everywhere at once.

Then he took that incredible traveling road show lower on her. She was afraid that she'd react in her normally ticklish manner, but that reflex had no time for it either. He just went to town on her. 

Her breasts rejoiced in her mind. Her nipples felt as though they were vibrating all on their own. When his mouth had gone by, she was thankful that he'd left his hands in charge of pleasing her now-aching breasts as he grazed on, lower and lower.

She felt her skin begin to tingle. 

He only slowed his incredible pace as he neared the gate to her temple once more. His worship resumed then as she gasped for breath for just a moment and then Farah sighed and groaned as she relaxed, giving herself to him like this completely.

His tongue returned to its earlier labors and over a little time, Farah found herself fighting to retain enough conscious ability to even hold her legs up with. Ur-Nammu wasn't bothered at all and moved her legs for her as he needed or desired as he kissed and licked. Sometimes, he was so low down on her that she wondered how she ought to move for him in order to offer herself to him a little better, but he managed all of this for himself. 

She felt his tongue brush her anus again and tried to lift herself, assuming that it was what he wanted, but by the time that she did, he was gone again, elsewhere on her geography and busily so. 

The only time that she was certain of what to do was when he was at her mound. She thrust it out to him then and he's slow then for a few moments as he accepted what she offered him from between those lips. But he seemed to know just how he wanted to do this, so he never stayed there for long. Somewhere during his travels, he taught her that she had nerves with which to appreciate him that she'd never really been all that aware of.




The Witch's Want Ch. 05



She loved the warm and comfortable way that he had of licking only her perineum. He used a lot of pressure when he did this and it wasn't long before Farah realized that he loved it whenever she'd made any involuntary sounds. The next time that he stabbed her anus only a little and without penetration, she'd felt her ribcage heave instantly with her loud and throaty gasp. 

She thought that he'd stay with her there, but he was gone again, chewing and gnawing so softly on the muscles which connected her thigh to her body. After what he'd been doing everywhere on the lower end of her, she was amazed that his soft bites there could make her cry out for him then.

"Please," she gasped breathlessly, "Oh please, slow down for a little while."

"As you wish," he smiled and he began to concentrate on only her sopping wet sex.

Farah's CD player played on softly, but Farah heard the quiet sounds of the fire and the louder ones which he made against her with his mouth. She had some fleeting memories flash past in her mind. The only times that she'd ever been loved orally only something like this had been by Bobby, and those times, it had always been a furtive thing, an act done between teenagers in something of a hurried manner.

The only other time had been when she'd asked her husband for it once. The look that he'd returned to her had caused her to regret her request instantly, though he'd done it.

For about thirty-eight seconds, before he'd gotten up to wash his face, pull on his clothes and toss a line over his shoulder to her that he had to meet a friend. Farah had felt so ashamed and spent the rest of the evening and the long lonely night afterward in tears feeling so ashamed of her desire and hoping that she hadn't ruined things between them.

The unpleasant memory of it passed as she listened to how he was being quite loud as he made love to her with his mouth. Farah found odd little whimpering sounds escaping from her that she hadn't intended, but after a moment, she'd just allowed them to come out. This was a natural act for two people, she told herself. She'd caught a glimpse of it between her parents once, and when she'd asked, her mother had told her that it was natural and that she'd always enjoyed it.

But now she had another reason to curse her asshole first husband for. As much as she wanted to believe that it was so, she now found herself with a nagging doubt and had to ask.

She looked at him again and the doubt evaporated. What had she been thinking? She could feel what he was telling her, and she'd heard his words. Still, a doubt in a woman's heart, once raised, ...

"Ur-Nammu," she whispered to him, "do I -- do I taste good to you? Do you like me there?"

He slowed for only a second and then she'd heard his chuckle as he kept on for a moment longer, and then he did something.

She didn't even know what it was, but he'd done something that no one had ever done for her before. Thinking on it afterwards, she doubted whether anyone else could. He'd drawn his tongue back, dragging the top of it along against her clitoris as it went by.

The really odd thing was that until that instant, he'd had it fairly deep inside her, about as far as a man could get his tongue inside a woman even in this position, she thought.

He'd kept it in there too, she remembered, but as he drew it back out, it had curved itself somehow and the top of it had, ...

She didn't think that it was possible, but as he pulled it back, the delicious sensation had gone on for a couple of seconds, and then, ...

Well then, he'd put it back in, quite simply. But that was only in the simplest terms. To be accurate, he'd teased her pearl a little more with the tip of it before he'd begun to slide his tongue forward inside of her once more, his breathing coming to her ears in a way that told her that he needed to do this for her now. If her juices were nectar to him, then he was intent on getting all that he could.

The top surface of his tongue stayed in contact with her nub as he slid it in, always there against it, dragging, pulling a little as it skipped along on his tongue. What had already passed her nub continued on, sliding inside of her just as before. It felt wonderful, but his head had been at the wrong angle for that.

But in an instant, it grew wider, fuller, and oh, so mysteriously firmer as it went until Farah was quite full, and found herself actually curling her toes, trembling along as all of his incredible tongue began to tremble -- inside her and out at the same time.

Farah turned to jelly as she held his head. He didn't seem to mind it at all, he just pushed her legs back and pressed his face against her more. Farah's head went back and her gasps turned into a long scream as she began to come, with Ur-Nammu now shifting his hands a little in slow motions over her skin to offer her his encouragement. His tongue began to press her clitoris a little more and the feeling of his trembling grew more insistent. She hadn't reached the crest of her orgasm and so it just went on.

"Ur- U-Ur-Nnnn," 

She couldn't say it. She didn't have enough time. She felt the limits of something coming to her, but she was powerless to get even a sliver of a second to even catch half of a breath.

"UUURrr-NAAAAAaaaaaa"

Farah went limp.

His breath hissed wetly against her belly for a moment, doing his very best to cherish the way that her body felt to him like this -- at least for the moment. Then he drew back his head and smiled in a little pride that he'd been able to do this. It had been a long time, after all. The difference now was that he had a tongue that made this so much easier.

He stretched out beside her for only a moment, and then he very carefully took hold of her and rolled himself onto his back, taking her body along a little awkwardly, until he had her face-down on top of him, at least a little of the top half of her was on him with her head next to his. He listened to her breathing as he waited for her then, fighting off the urge to masturbate at least a little, since he had no idea how she'd be when she woke up.

Every woman was different, he remembered, and a lot of them woke up fighting against something. He doubted that any of them really knew what or who it was when they regained consciousness. Dimme had almost taken his face right off once before he'd managed to calm her down.

When Farah came back to herself, she was surprised to be lying on him.

"What happened?" he heard her say into his ear quietly.

She felt his smile against her ear, "You have always called me demon," he said, "You seemed to enjoy my tongue, so, ..."

"I don't understand," she said, still not moving. It felt so nice here like this to her, and his hands as they softly stroked her back worked a magic all their own to her.

"I can change a few things on me," he said, as he looked at the ceiling. "The sorcerer placed this curse on me and I cannot change how my face looks. You alone do not seem to mind it. You even seem to like how I look."

He felt her nod a little. "I do," she said, "I love your face as much as I love the other one, and everything else about you."

"Well, I decided that since you seemed to like what I was doing so much, I decided to give you the tongue that goes with this face."

She was silent for a moment as she thought. "So, you can do that again?"

She began to bounce a little with the motions of his quiet laughter. "Why?" he asked, "Do you wish for me to do that again?"

"No," she chuckled, "at least not yet. But you can do that again, yes?"

"Certainly," he smiled, "but the next time, I would want to kiss more of you before I settle to the task that I enjoy so much. I promise that I will do it that way then."

She kissed his ear softly and sighed, "You could make a fortune like that, you know. Women the world over would line up for you. They would pay fantastic money if you would only do that for them."

"No," he said, "they wouldn't. Most would fall down after only one good look at me. I suppose that it would be the same thing, but they wouldn't enjoy it like that."

She felt his hands moving on her again, gliding over her skin, cupping her bottom. She felt him pull her cheek there aside a little before she felt his fingers teasing her lips again. Farah groaned in pleasure at his touch for a moment, before she reached for his penis and held it against her side so that it would stay there as she ran the tips of her fingers along it. She was pleased to feel it hardening again, growing in response to her touch.

"And anyway," he sighed, "I do not want them. I want only you. I love only you."

She pressed her face into his hair as she lifted herself do that she could place his erection underneath her gently before she eased herself down on it. He felt her move herself against it slowly. "By happy coincidence, I love you as well."

"Do you?" he asked, "It sounded so good to me when you said it, though it was said in passion. I have not heard something like that for so long."

Farah's skin felt as though it was glowing now. She had to have him. She knew it beyond any doubt that her mind might possibly raise. She knew one thing about him -- one detail that had caused her so much trouble at the outset of this during their first meeting at the cemetery fence -- one detail that Dimme knew nothing about, since she'd made no mention of it. She wondered if the apparition could see clearly as she did.

Farah had to assume that Dimme either lacked the ability to know what she did, or was so fixated on what she'd come to pass on to Farah that it had lain forgotten between them. Farah knew that he was aware of it. After a lot of careful thought, she'd concluded that it was something that he was not proud of and sought to hide from her, wishing that it didn't exist.

Farah had decided that with the way that he was and the way that all of this had come to him, well he'd just never think that it might be something that she'd want. She just had to get him to a place where he might accept what she knew to be fact.

"I meant it then," she said, "just as I mean it now. I love you, Demon. I do not give my poor love lightly. 

There are billions of men in the world, Demon, billions. Suppose that a woman is very picky and would only accept the chance to do this and lie with only one in a hundred men -- no, one in a thousand. That would still leave her three million men here on the globe for this. 

Oh, they might tell themselves and each other that they seek only one, but it is a lie of convenience. If they saw the right kind for them, no matter how picky they might wish to be, they'd accept the chance to lie with any of three million. If they could choose, and not having had one for a time, they'd likely take any of them, maybe several.

Not one of the billions of men would be the one that I would allow to have me the way that I give myself to you. Not one, now that I know what I do." 

She sighed, "That you want me is beyond understanding to me, but I know that I am the one that you want. Love me anything like what you have begun here, and I am yours forever, because I know that you are not one of the three billion men on this world. You are one. I know you now and you are what I want, no matter how you try to hide what you are from me. I love you," she said, "only you. Perhaps I am the only one who can.

It is a very humbling thought to me. I may be the only woman alive who could lie under you as you rut in me, and be completely in love with you. We must try this between us yet," she said, "but I am already sure that I could lie before you in wonder and awe while you love me, and never get enough of you."

"Forgive me, Witch," he said, "I did not doubt you. I have been given many gifts. To have a life and a body again, to have found one such as you, all while still bearing the curse of how I look. There is more than you know."

"Perhaps," she whispered into his ear, "But you forget, I am no newcomer to my art, and I am a true witch, born from a long line. I have the sight, and I know what you look like."

She kissed his ear for a moment. "I know how my lover looks," she said, as she began to lightly rub her belly against his masculinity, "I have seen you. You are a wonderful man when you need to be, and I know what lies under your disguise. I see you as others do, unless I look with the sight of my kind. I see how you are then. Your fine-looking face becomes more attractive to me then, but that is not all that I see."

She felt him stiffen under her then, holding his breath, listening and wondering what she was saying.

She reached behind herself a little awkwardly and the motion of if caused her face to press into the side of his head as she lifted herself a little. She struggled a bit until she could get the end of him lined up and then she began to sigh as she eased herself backward, a little at a time, until at last, she eased her head down onto him again, her head on the front of his shoulder and her face just under his jaw.

"I can see the wonderful body of the man, if I do not look harder. I see what everyone sees. I also see the body of the general, the mighty warrior who has fallen for me, just as I lie here under his spell in the same way. But I can also see the body which was given to you unasked for. It was why I called you 'demon' all of this time.

You may be a demon, or you may not," she said, "I know that it is not something that you wish for." She lifted herself up and began to copulate with him very slowly. "I can see all of what you are, Ur-Nammu. I love you because of who you are. What you are might be unimportant, but not to me. I love you like this as well, maybe most of all."

She smiled at him as he stared at her for a moment. Then she eased herself down a little so that her breasts could drag against that powerful chest a little before she kissed him softly.

"That face is attached to the body of a demon, and you cannot hide it from the one who loves you now. I want you, Demon. I need you, and though you hate the way that you were changed, I see what you are underneath everything. I think that you are not what you were made to look like and it is not what I would want all of the time, but right now Demon, I want you like this."

She watched him as he stopped with his mouth open, staring at her with those beautiful dark eyes. Farah giggled a little in joy and fell impossibly deeper in love with him for it. "It's true," she smiled as she pressed her hips down on him to get him as deep inside of her as she could get him, stopping just as she felt him there against her cervix. They both groaned as she moved her hips on him, never easing off or lifting herself for a long minute "I've never felt such a wonderful mixture of love and lust before. This is what I want -- just this as we are between us."

She shook her head, a little in wonder at herself, as well as the feelings that she could read in him right then. 

"Somehow, you have become what this witch wants for herself. For a long time, I had no desire to ever love again. Give me half a chance, Demon, and I'll do everything that I can for you."

Her mouth fell open and she gasped as she felt him harden more and grow, sliding into her more, now that he had no need to hide himself from her anymore. She ran her hand over the hard leather-like armor of his chest as she looked into the wetly black eyes which regarded her in wonder.

"I know that you began as a man, and I know who you were then." She reached for his face and she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "I would be happy only to have the policeman," she said, "I would be in heaven to have only the mighty general, even if he was not living inside the delicious body of the trooper, even if he was only himself, I would be the happiest woman alive, if I could only have either of them. But you are not either of them, are you? You are both of them, and even more.

You have this body as well, living hidden inside the other two -- this body that you have cursed yourself for when it had no solidness as you wandered for so long."

Farah smirked for a moment and then chuckled softly, "You do not have to curse anymore. I know that you are not a true demon by the way that you behave. But you look like one when you are like this."

She leaned down and held his face in her hands, "I love all three ways, Ur-Nammu. All three. And right now, I love you this way most of all. All that I want is your love, and you have a witch for your own."

She began to thrust against him, twisting herself and grinding down on him as she threw her head back. He watched her, sure now that he'd never seen anyone like her. Her eyes flew open and she cried out as he thickened his phallus to its maximum. They went on like that for a time.

Finally, he sat up, taking hold of her body so that she wouldn't be hurt as he moved her. He lay her down there in front of her and he looked down. Her eyes were lidded with her lust.

"Look well, Witch," he said, "Is this what you want for yourself? We were joined when you said it earlier, and I felt that it was true in you. I want for you to know that I offer myself to you in just the same way, more than this here now, more than a year from now. I have always hated this skin on me, this foul leathery skin that I wear. I am happy that I can wear the skin of a human once more, feel things as a human man again. Yet you say that you would welcome the touch of any skin that I have to show you -- especially this one?"

Farah nodded, smiling, "Especially that one, though I would be happy with the others too. Look at me, Ur-Nammu. I am a woman who loves you -- the -- woman who loves you in any of the ways that you can look."

He eased himself forward and stopped just as his rod had entered past her lips. "Like this?" he asked, "Like what I am and do not want to be?"

Her eyes widened as the rest of his appearance settled in. She saw the scales on him and her eyes went over the massive musculature on him -- the very same size and shape as before. Only the surface had changed.

"More," she moaned, "show me the rest -- all of what you are. Show it to me plainly so that I do not have to look using the Witch's Sight to see it. Stop hiding your wonderful self from me, Demon. I love you."

There, she thought, she'd said it and there was no going back now. She didn't want to go back to anything.

He looked down for a moment with his eyes squeezed shut. She was asking him to discard how he'd felt for thousands of years of emptiness. He opened them after a bit, and what he saw before him was his shaft just inside the henna-painted lips of someone who he could lose himself in love with.

He closed his eyes again and grunted as his wings and tail came in. The tail slid over her raised calf, seeking her touch and her soft warmth. He flexed his cramped wings outward so that they towered above them both.

He was about to ask her again, but when he looked, he knew that she'd already given him the words for it many times over. She moaned again and worked her hips, doing her best to draw him inside her.

"Yes," she whispered, "I want you like this so much. Show me now what you have for me. Give yourself to me." She was on fire now. She needed him so much that it just wasn't possible to her, knowing the way that she was, the way that she'd always been since she'd gathered the pieces of her trashed heart together and hidden it away.

She squirmed a little, trying to get just a little more of him inside her. "Please, Ur-Nammu, don't leave me here like this and only look at me."

He smiled then and leaned over her, doing his best to hold his eyes open as his iron-hard shaft slid into her to the hilt. The long moan that he heard caused the hair at the back of his head to twitch. He leaned down lower and he kissed her, feeling her hungry tongue slip between his lips to tease and entice his long and thick one.




The Witch's Want Ch. 05



"Then I am yours, Witch," he whispered, "I will give you one last chance after this to change your mind."

He felt her hands on his face then and he stared, seeing himself in her wet brown eyes now.

"I will not need it," she smiled, "Only please, if you care for me, please fuck me now. I have waited for days to have you inside of me.

I saw my chance at your heart and I ached in my want of it. I feared and I struggled to only make up my mind. 

I know what it is that I lie in front of now and I have made up my mind. I have even had you inside of me for this time, but now Demon, now I want this done between us. Give me your love. Fill me with seed, but please fuck me the way that I need you to now.

I want to be your witch. I will call you my master if that is what you need to hear, only please, ... please, ..."

He could just hear it as her whisper faded, "Love me."

She might have only breathed it, but he'd heard her heart scream to him. Over the thousands of years that he'd been a conscious being - even when he'd been the man that he'd been born as, he'd never heard a heart cry out to him like hers just had.

Ur-Nammu had been a lot of things, but he'd never wanted so much to be the one who could stand in the loving warmth of a heart like hers.

He nodded and then he began. Farah moaned and whimpered as she found that she just couldn't close her eyes. Everywhere she looked, she was so taken with him. She knew that in any form, he could captivate her, but like this, it was almost too much. 

She reached for his arm, then his chest, feeling the strength in him there as he worked. She slid her fingers down his sides, loving the way that his form caused her fingertips to skip over the hard, ridges of muscle. 

She reached for his wing and felt it between her thumb and fingers as though she held the finest silk in the world. His tail wouldn't stay still, and when she saw that she had the chance of it, she captured it so that she could bring it to her lips.

He stared at the way that she kissed it, and then she shifted her grip on it, sucking it as though it was the second-finest thing in the world to have there in her mouth. He'd never felt anything like it, and never know just how sensitive it could be until then. As it flicked there in her mouth, he shivered at the sensation and she opened her mouth so that he could see what was happening. He saw his tail twitch and curl there on her tongue and the sight of it pushed him toward his first release into her.

When she felt that he was nearing his orgasm, she held it in both hands and sucked it eagerly, groaning at the way that his penis filled her. She clamped down on him as much as she was able, mindful of what Dimme had told her that she must do for him now. Farah cried out around his tail, but she held on to it doggedly, sucking and licking, until he roared and she had to let his tail go. Her head went back and she stiffened as she screamed. His wondrous rod swelled even more and she threw her head back as her chest heaved for the one breath that she'd need to ride through this sensation.

Her orgasm wasn't done, but she just went limp and groaned loudly as he contracted again and again, filling her with his very warm seed and listening to the unintelligible little noises that she made as her orgasm peaked. He hadn't ever heard anything like that and he felt his heart hurt him a little as he felt his love for her grow even more in that instant. Neither of them likely know what it was that she was saying, if there were even words in it, but they both knew at once what was meant.

Thousands of years, the thought. He had no idea of the number of women that he'd bedded when he was a man. None of them had ever made him feel like this, proud of himself once more for being able to cause this in the woman that he loved.

He held himself still. He couldn't help it as he watched. It was just the way of his kind to hold himself still as he pumped into her time and again. As the last of it left him, he began to fuck her slowly again.

He watched her eyes. She was looking off into space as he saw her head moving in response to his motions. He thought that perhaps he had hurt her, but the way that her legs held him tighter after a moment told him that he'd feared for nothing. She was still looking off to the side at the flames there in the fire pit. Her lips were moving, and he asked about it.

She went on for a moment, before she turned her head to smile up at him. "I was praying," she said, "giving thanks and praying for the gift of this with you. I was also asking that if I had been good enough for your lust, that you would want to keep me."

"You were far better than that," he smiled back, "I do not think that I can ever have you very far from me again after this." He chuckled, "You hope that you are enough so that I would want to keep you?" 

He smiled softly, "Farah, I don't know anymore how I can be without you. I saw your fear in that moment, and you feared for nothing. I am the one who should beg for you to love me."

Her eyes opened a little at that. "But I do, lord."

He shook his head, "I am no lord anymore. The people who would have known me as a lord are dust now."

He found her hands holding his head again as she looked at him intently. "No," she said, "you are still a lord. I made my promise, though you likely didn't understand. I take you as my lord, Ur-Nammu. No one knows anymore but me, but I don't care. Please, do not refuse me this. I made a vow once, a long time ago, that I would never love a man again - or anyone else for the way that I felt. I have found someone - or, ... he has found me, that I now want to give myself to, and you are the one. I never give up an oath that I have made in my heart. It has to be this way for me."

He didn't really have a response. "I am to be the lord of one?" He saw her desire for this in her heart and so he smiled, making his own vow to never abuse Farah's trust. "As you wish, Witch," he smiled, "I shall be the ruler of your heart then."

He understood it, but even still, he was surprised at her when she whispered with her own soft smile, "Thank you, lord."

He rolled them onto their sides and he pulled her tightly to him. He ran his long tongue under her jaw from her ear to the middle of her chin before he lifted the tip of it to tease her lips. Farah surprised him as she began to lick his tongue. It tickled him a little and he withdrew it, but Farah held onto his head and forced her own tongue inside his mouth, past those teeth, to lick him softly under the roof of his mouth for a moment. He stared at her again, surprised at what she'd done.

"It it wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head a little, "No, Witch. It was not wrong. I am surprised at the reach of your tongue and that you would want to do that."

Farah lifted her leg around him and laid her head so that her cheek was against his. Her tongue slid out of her mouth again to tease his ear for a moment. "You are not the only one who has a curious tongue, Demon. Some of the places where I feel a wish to put it may surprise you again, later."

----------------------

After she'd gotten up to get them more arak, she'd asked him to lie back and she'd gotten on top of him then, lying down along the length of him with her legs apart. She began her own worship of her male now, loving the way that he felt in her mouth as her head bobbed up and down now and then, doing her best to tell him how she felt.

He was still for a while, lost in her attentions. But then he'd asked her to kneel above him and as soon as she did, she felt that tongue of his begin its magic all over again. Where he was licking now was barely charted territory to her, but the feeling was wonderful and it drove her mouth to a more frenzied level on him.

Finally, she stopped, and made her offer vocally to be certain that he understood what it was that she was asking of him. She knelt before him, facing away, and she raised her hips to him, making the offer in an age-old visual way.

He got to his knees, and slipped two of his fingers into her to wet them. One at a time, he rubbed them against her tight little hole, drooling carefully onto the one which was working her there. After many minutes of her groaning sighs, he drooled on the second finger again and inserted that with great care beside the first.

He felt Farah move and was careful to allow it when his fingers left her from the motion. She was on her side and he sat up a little. She reached back to grab his wrist and he understood that she now wanted his fingers again. Her confirmation to him was the way that she sought out his tongue to suck it hungrily as she whimpered to him.

Eventually, he drew his hand away from her and she knelt again so that he could replace his fingers with his shaft. It took long minutes of gentle pressure as she relaxed enough for this. When he was fully inside her, he waited a while longer before he began.

Neither of them spoke. They just fucked slowly. He listened to her gasps and her panting breaths, thrilling whenever she'd turned to look back at him with her sweet mouth open like that. They did this for most of an hour, with him slowing at last to a stop.

"Why have you stopped?" she asked, weakly, "Am I not good for you?"

He patted one of her haunches tenderly with one hand as he caressed her breast with the other. 

"Wonderful," he smiled, "Better then you know, Farah," he smiled, "but this is something which I want for you to enjoy and to get used to with me. If I began to pound you now, without anything to keep you slippery, it would only be my using you. I will not have it that way. We can do that again in a few days, and I will do my best for you then. I thank you for this. It is not easy, and I know what a gift it was that you have given me in the attempt."

She smiled thanking him as they carefully disengaged. "I wish for a bath now," she said, "please let me bathe you. I have oils."

Something like that, he thought, was almost as great an offer to him as anything else that had been offered to him this night. It had been so long.

-----------------------------

She was on him, her hips working the spell that she was coming to refine a little for him.

"Are we going to make our bargain now, my love?" she groaned as she began to ride him harder now.

"If you wish," he replied with a groan himself, "Only, please, Farah. Be careful for how you bargain, and have great care for what you might pledge. I do not know, ... " he hissed as his hips rose to meet her, "how this is done."

"I do," Farah said, thrusting her own hips down to wiggle them a little at the bottom of the stroke. "I love you and if you love me, then this will work." She stopped speaking for a little while as they gave in to what they felt and thrashed against each other for a minute before they slowed again.

"I know how, "she said, "Swear to me that you will love me, protect me, and be mine, and I will swear the same to you. Swear that you are mine, and I will give you more than you can imagine in return, now and as much as I can for as long as I am able, only swear what you can give to me in return. Hurry, please hurry."

He swore. He swore to love her and protect her and she swore the same. When she raised her hand, she could almost hear Dimme's cry of joy from somewhere far off as the worn and dusty pouch flew to Farah's hand from where it had lain hidden. She took one of his hands and set the pouch there before she closed his fingers over it.

His eyes widened, "The lock!" he said in wonder, "The lock of the faith!"

She nodded, smiling, "Passed to me by the ghost of your wonderful wife, who still loves you. She told me that I should offer to learn your faith and you might share this with me, but it is yours by right, Ur-Nammu. You are the last living priest. I think that you need all of the power for yourself. I give this to you as my bond to honor my oath." She lowered her head a little and looked down, "I still hope with all of my heart to be the one for you now, lord."

He couldn't believe it and he looked up at Farah, still in shock. "You have seen Dimme?"

Farah nodded, hoping now that he didn't want to stop what they'd begun, and praying silently that he'd be able to love her after hearing that one name. "I will tell you of it later," she said.

He gazed at his lovely witch and smiled, "You have no need to hope, Witch. I am yours. I will share the lock with you," he said, "as my bond. The faith needs a leader, and that leader needs a second voice as counsel. What do you wish for?"

Farah smiled at him softly, "I think that I have the beginning of it already, but I would want as much of the kind of love that you had with Dimme as you might still have inside you, if I could. I am already so fortunate, even with what we have. I want it to grow."

She reached to move her beaded hair behind her ears and forced herself down onto him again. "I have other hopes," she said quietly, "only small ones. I wish to lie under you on the top of a mountain as you love me. I hope to feel you slide into me, so that I can wrap myself around you in the warm rain of a summer thunderstorm, and I already ache to ride you in the middle of a field of summer wheat. You cannot know," she said, "how much I want to feel your hot seed come to me on a lovely and warm beach -- and that is after you have taken me there in the gentle surf."

She smiled down at him, leaning to kiss him softly before she lightly licked his nose once. "And all of that, I want to do with my male, looking just like this, in love just as I am, now and even a hundred years from now -- three hundred -- five hundred."

"You wish for this with me for that long?" he asked.

Farah nodded, "Only if I am still the witch who holds your demon heart to me."

He sighed and she leaned down for his kisses for a few minutes. "Then that is what I will give to you, Farah."

She sighed, "A few followers still left after all of this time wouldn't hurt either. And do not even begin to moan to me that you are too ugly when you are like this to deserve to be the warrior-priest that you have always been. You are the same man, even if you look as though you work for a different purpose now. Hide your wings and everything else, and you are the same man. You have never been evil. Not then and not now."

He placed the pouch on the comforter and before she knew it, really, he had managed to reverse their positions. She hadn't really seen how it had happened. All that she knew was that one minute, she was on top, and the next, she was under him, and he spread her arms out wide as he fucked her slowly.

He opened the pouch and with a wave, the small stones there transformed into gleaming gems, and he began to place them on their bodies where they disappeared with a small flash of light each time.

When it was done, they loved for hours.

----------------

The rain had stopped and the clock on the mantle showed that it was after 4AM. Farah kissed Ur-Nammu softly. "Aren't you going to ask me about when I saw Dimme?"

He thought for a moment. "Please understand, Witch. Dimme was my wife once for a long time. That love is a memory which I cherish. I cannot have that love again, even if Dimme was here in this room, there is nothing that can be changed. I will always love Dimme, but I am in love with Farah LaMontagne, my witch who must now learn of what she carries of the lock. Tomorrow, I will want to hear of how you met Dimme. Tonight, I need to hold you close to me, nothing more."

Farah chuckled softly, "So, this cannot be, can it? That I have worn you out and all that you crave now is to sleep?" 

She began to reach between them, but after an instant, she knew that she didn't need to continue to reach. She could feel the press of him as he swelled.

He pushed her onto her back, loving the slightly squealing giggle that came from her, since he'd tickled her accidentally. Farah flinched and tried to curl up into a ball reflexively, but he stopped her and as her ticklishness passed and she looked up at him, she noticed that she was now lying with a human male again. He'd changed himself back to the way that he'd been from when she'd seen him as he was the very first time.

"Lie back for me, lovely one," he whispered, "please."

Despite the late hour and her own weariness, Farah stared a little at him and what she saw there in his dark eyes and she let out a soft little cry from the way that her heart felt inside her chest. His gentle kiss melted her and she thought that she'd just begin to float, if it wasn't for the way that he held her to him.

"Does my lord want me again?" she whispered.

He nodded and smiled, "I want my witch forever," he said, "I am no lord to anyone but you perhaps, and I am so afraid to disappoint you in anything because of it. This lord that you speak of is only a man - a trooper who must work to pay for his food."

She saw how his eyes were wet now and knew that for all of his words, there was still a little pride in him of who he'd once been, and it hurt him a little to acknowledge the passing of it all.

"But I have a high enough purpose now," he smiled as he carefully held Farah to his chest, and the feeling of what lay there under his changeable skin was a little humbling to her for the powerful and steady beat that she felt.

"Take me then," she smiled, "I have my own high purpose, and some of it is that you never feel loneliness again."

Farah spread her legs for him and he slid into her so slowly as she raised her legs for him. As he began it and she found his slow rhythm so that she could rock him, she felt herself being taken in the very best way for her - by a man who truly loved her. 

Her eyes stung just a little and she found that with him like this on top of her, there was no way to hide how she felt and she felt a little embarrassed.

But he only smiled and kissed away what he could of her tears and said that he understood where they came from.

She wondered if he really knew. She felt this way for reasons which any woman in love would know, and she felt this way because he was someone who would love and protect her. With him, she felt that she finally had what she'd always missed and she swore silently that she'd never take something like what was between them for granted. She doubted if it was even possible.

Her release came to her so gently, though it was deep and he held her until it was past, kissing her throat, and near the end, telling her that she was the finest lover that he'd ever had. Her tears came again and she sobbed quietly as she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly and begged him to finish for himself.

"This is what I was made for," she whispered, "I love you so much."

Her quiet statement caused his release and he groaned against her ear as his seed came. He didn't hold himself still now, he just stroked on for a while longer until he stopped minutes later and told her once more that he loved her.

He lifted himself a little a few minutes later, and pulling her toward him a bit, he took hold of the edge of the comforter and pulled it over them before he eased himself down and Farah found herself under his arm with hers over his neck. 

She kissed him softly and then she lowered her head so that her face was against his throat as she closed her eyes, feeling his semen begin to run out of her again.

-------------------

After an hour, he awoke and noticed that Farah had released her hold on him to roll onto her back. He sat up sleepily and noticed that there was still a little life left in the coals of the fire. With a wave of his hand, the single, almost invisible little flame flared and roared softly.

He really had no need of the light of it, but he wanted its warm color to look at her with.




The Witch's Want Ch. 05



His eyes traveled over her body, taking in all of the wonders that were Farah. There had been a time perhaps when he might have done something like this to look at a woman a little as though she were a prize, but even so, he'd always had Dimme and her immense love of him to return to. It had never been so much as a troubling thought for him to let those women go the next day, or the day after that. 

Some of them had it in their hearts to be the one for him, but they all knew that there was another who waited for him. He might have been a lord general of huge conquering hosts, and he might have been a fearsome warrior. Whatever he was to them at the outset, they all came to know him as a powerfully strong, yet gentle man with a kind heart inside him, but they all knew it at the end that the heart belonged to another - even if he never said it.

A woman who has had any real experience at loving a man just knows these things.

Now his eyes looked at her, so taken by her features. He could have lost himself in only the soft light chocolate color of her beautiful skin. Her breasts were not large, and yet, whenever his lips were on them, he had the impression that they were more than lush enough for him. When he pulled back to look at them again, they seemed magically smaller and of a size that were perfect for her. Such a mystery, he thought.

Her hips were a lifetime of study unto themselves. 

He was no boy here, losing himself in the wonders of the female form for the first time, but by the gods, if he'd had to stand up while she danced for him, he'd have only had the option of being on his knees in front of her. A rather humbling thought to one such as he was and had been. But then he remembered the sense of honor that he'd felt then to have one such as her make her offer to a man like him.

That was the humbling part and he was delighted to have had the privilege. He wanted with all of his heart to have that again.

His eyes went to her cleft, just visible there the way that she slept. From there, he looked at her breastbone, as though he wished to be able to see her heart underneath. The two parts of her together, he thought...

Now that was something.

And he had that something now. Her love of him was perhaps the most humbling thing to him of all. He bowed his head for a moment and gave his thanks for the gift of her to him.

He looked at her face, so trusting and peaceful in sleep that he wanted to cry. Such a lovely person who wanted to love him. He surely didn't deserve this. He remembered how her soft eyes looked at him so brightly when she was happy, and so filled with love and hope. She surely must be the embodiment of all of her noble ancestors.

And she'd offered her love to him, asking for his love and protection.

He looked away for a moment and reached up to wipe away a tear from his eye. The motion almost made him chuckle. He'd been a warlord in such a way that the word today had no connection to what he knew of it. He'd never been a cruel man, and never rode out to battle for his own greed.

But he'd crushed everything from single opponents who had challenged him to entire armies sent from rich cities with the very same purpose.

He'd accepted every challenge and crushed them all into the dust, literally breaking men apart to end it so that he could rebuild and make something good out of the ruin left behind.

And what had it bought him?

He asked himself this, and the answer came to him that he'd been bested and killed by a hidden necromancer, and not for any higher purpose other than the mage's want to own a powerful servant. 

The battle had meant nothing to the man. He'd only made his promise to the king so that he could be there, hidden when the young general came to kill the king so that the fight would end.

Because he'd known that the Martu general would do just that if he could.

And for that, the once mighty Ur-Nammu had lost his wife and his children while he'd lived on as a ghost.

Thousands of years of solitude, and now he was here, with the love of this wondrous creature.

He looked at himself - what he could see, at any rate. He smiled a little grimly.

Well he was alive once more, and he was the last living warrior priest of the eresh-dingir - perhaps the only living member of the cult left on earth, but that didn't matter, he thought. He wondered what she felt that she needed his protection for. But that didn't matter either. 

He'd do what she needed. They both carried the lock now and that provided them with its own protection. If he'd had this that fateful day, ...

But then, he'd never have known love such as Farah's. He wasn't the sort of man who believed in his own importance enough to make any selfish or pompous connections in this. 

He just knew his incredible luck in this. Dimme's love for him had been immense. Farah's was already there, and more because he knew what he felt. Another gift that he had, this ability to know what the heart of another carried.

Farah's love for him was boundless, and he'd never cause her to give that up.

He looked at Farah again because he had to. He had no choice in it, and that made him smile.

He saw that she'd opened her eyes and was looking at him.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked.

"Nothing worth waking yourself up for to even ask," he smiled, as he eased himself down again. "Come and lie against me, Witch, and I will hold you so that you may feel safe with me."

Her sleepy little smile was worth tons of gold to him as she nuzzled her face against him with a gentle sigh.

--------------

Outside, in the dripping forest, the spirit that was once Dimme stood in the trees, knowing how it felt to be happy and sad at the same instant. She wanted to fade to nothingness, but she knew that there was one more journey that she had to make.

Just then, her attention was diverted to a slim form stealing up the long drive. In his hand, he held a bottle that had once been filled with bourbon. Tonight, it was a little more than half-full with gasoline, and there was a rag stuffed into the neck of it. For three thousand dollars and a bit of coke from a man who'd said that he wanted the bitch who lived here dead, Old Harry was in. He stood in front of the house fumbling with a lighter.

And then he was gone, bottle and all.

He suddenly found that he was so very cold, feeling the rush of the wind around him. He could barely breathe for a moment, and then looking down, he knew that he wasn't falling from a great height so much as he was being driven. 

The earth was dark down below him, though he could see the sky lightening off to the east. He looked down again and began to make out a large area there on the ground. In the middle of that he could see a dark swatch which glowed a little oddly at one of the edges.

He couldn't make sense of what was happening to him until he became aware that his shoulder hurt something awful. Looking there, he noticed a set of claws on a furry hand, and beyond that, there were eyes; cat's eyes which he found that he could see through somehow. The visage glanced at him only once with an enigmatic smirk and then looked forward once more. 

He looked down again and saw that he was being pulled straight toward a forest fire. He cried out in fear and began to struggle, but the claws only held him tighter, tearing deeply into his flesh, dragging him down as they hurtled together through several hundred feet of choking smoke.

The sensation of speed was without measure to him. He only knew that they were traveling very quickly. He opened his mouth to scream, but they were moving faster still and it was all that he could do to close his mouth again so that his cheeks weren't ripped open by the wind. He had to narrow his eyes down to slits.

Then the pain eased for him somewhat. He had the briefest moment to notice that he was alone now. The face there was gone, along with the claws which had pulled him.

The worst of the smoke only lasted for a second or so, and then he was smashed into the ground in the middle of the advancing line of flames. The gasoline in the bottle flared as the bottle disintegrated on impact. No one would ever know what had happened to old Harry. Farah's first husband certainly wouldn't. 

Only the spirit of Dimme knew, and when she thought of it again, she found herself half a world away, her feline legs staggering along on an old worn path. She was happy for her old love, and even happy for the woman that he'd taken for himself now.

But it all left her with a dull ache, made stronger now that she'd seen that it would work between them. She was still a bone dry female corpse somewhere, with no way to ease the ache that she felt in her own loins anymore. The one in her heart hurt her even more.

Suddenly, she found that she was standing in the valley, looking at the keep of Jebel Bishri, full of spring-like beauty and wonder once more. That it looked like this to her now told her that she'd been successful.

She felt the first of her tears on her cheeks as she walked to the gated bridge to where her mother stood with Nisi-ini-su. She began to weep in joy as she stumbled into their arms at long last.



The Witch's Want Ch. 06



**This is going to get a little weird, but it's even stranger to the two characters in most of this. O_o

---------------

As the sun began its climb into the Midwestern sky, a man stood on an as-yet deserted street corner in Dairydale. There was a bit of dust on his boots from his journey, but his jeans and his denim jacket were clean.

So this was it, he thought, as he leaned against the corner of a closed store across the street. It sure didn't look like all that much. He looked down then at the sidewalk, wondering again why he'd been so drawn to come. It had cost him a fair bit of change to come here. He didn't have all that much to his name to begin with these days. He'd gone to bed with his girlfriend one night, and in the middle of it, he'd had the strangest thought, knowing somehow that he wasn't where he needed to be – other than where he'd been at that moment.

He thought back to that evening. He was drifting in his life and he knew it, but then again, he'd been born drifting, learning almost anything with insane ease, though nothing much had ever held his interest for long, other than one thing.

The same was true about that girlfriend. She was alright, he supposed, but what had been between them had only been something more of an arrangement of convenience. They were only the outlets for each other's sex drive, nothing much more than that, though they lived together- two people not all that much in love.

She took other men to bed when she felt like it. He knew it. She'd even told him that it was fine with her if he found other women that he liked now and then, but all that he wanted was a warm body to press up against and spend himself in five or six times a week. It was fine with him, and they didn't even argue about anything. He did the things that she wanted from him in bed, never showing her what was in him. She'd never really roused him, so what was the point?

If he showed her what could be when he put his heart into it, she'd likely never have let him go as easily. Then again, she might just have had him arrested. He couldn't decide.

But they'd both been drifting, and it was just a fuck to both of them, so why bother? It was all about a few beers that he never drank, some TV that he never paid any attention to, and then a quiet screw that he'd never really enjoyed, since she only laid there for him and took no active part once her legs were apart. Her repertoire only had the one position in it. She didn't want to do it any other way.

But he knew what would come from it all eventually. Sooner or later, she'd settle down enough and decide that he was the sucker that she'd settle for. A while after that, she'd make her move and try to get them married so that they could get a place together and raise their 2.2 children.

But that wasn't going to happen anyway, he'd decided. He'd been thinking of moving on anyway, but the strange feeling in him had forced him onto the road even quicker.

He had enough quiet desperation in his soul now. He had no need or wish for more. He wasn't the kind to live in silent resentment, wondering what had happened to bring him down to one half-hearted fuck every two weeks - at best. It had been all that he could do to stay awake then as it was. 

For a while, he couldn't believe it. If she was this passive and boring in bed now, married life with her could be a necrophiliac's dream, though it just couldn't end well. That would lead to divorce and then he'd be right back where he'd begun, so what the hell was the point, other than to make one woman and 2.2 children unhappy?

The only thing which had held his interest throughout his twenty-seven years of existence was human physical conflict. He'd never had the desire to ever hurt anyone outside of a setting where he could test his body and those of the ones who'd chosen to come up against him. 

It didn't matter to him if it was in a back alley brawl or in a ring, he'd learned and knew most of the ways that one human being could do damage to another one in a fight. He'd studied and sought out teachers for every form of martial art that he'd found, and he'd learned them all enough to draw on the practicality of them. He didn't give a shit about belts. Outside of that, he was a peaceful young man, but if he was presented with a challenge, well, ...

He lived for that. It was the only time that he felt really alive.

He pushed himself from his leaning position and began to walk toward the little bistro, feeling a little hungry and wanting a cup of coffee. It was still early. As he walked, he looked at his own reflection in the windows of the stores that he passed for a second now and then.

Not that he cared all that much today, but he supposed that he looked alright, sort of half-assed presentable, anyway. If he hadn't been this close last night, he'd have shaved. He could just see the glint and sparkle of the blonde whiskers on his cheek lit by the still low angle of the sun. His eye drifted up and he saw his blonde hair and the blue eyes over the high cheekbones. The view in the next window showed him the angular face a little bit better, He for sure didn't have a baby face. The motion of his jaw as he chewed the piece of Juicy Fruit in his mouth revealed a little of what others saw, the Young and Handsome Man.

Jesus, he thought to himself, what was it that everyone saw in him, anyway? A lot of the time, he didn't even feel as though he was the same species. 

His conditioning to be observant caused him to look to his right, hearing the sound of tires whining on pavement. He considered the man that he saw behind the wheel.

Some poor bastard, he thought as he looked. He'd probably been a football star on the high school or college team, loving the way that his body felt to him as he placed demands on it while he played. Now? Well the guy was already looking stressed and his day had barely begun.

Life on the hamster wheel.

We're all the same, brother, the blonde stranger thought. At least we all start out that way.

Then we find a need to be loved, and that's the start of the descent. The next thing this poor slob knew, he was working his balls off trying to pay for all the things that "honey" demanded and wondering just how he'd gotten into this. From there it was a short slide into wearing wife-beaters, Saturday afternoons sweating over lawnmowers and then the grille while sucking on a beer to deaden the cries of your own soul and telling yourself that the trouble and expense of raising your kids was all worth it. 

All that he could see was a group of people who took each other for granted, the father figure most of all.

After all, a half-century of TV sitcoms where the man was portrayed as an idiot in every one just couldn't be wrong, could it?

Dream on, he thought. Kids are made sweet and lovable when they're little just like puppies for a reason. But when they get to be about twelve, they all think that the ones who work themselves to death for them are idiots.

Then they get older and want the keys to your car.

Without knowing anything else about the man driving, he already knew that they lived in the house that they'd chosen because no matter what was said, it was the nest that the woman had chosen for herself.

He found himself chuckling then. He'd have bet money that the poor asshole had to sleep in a frilly bed in a peach-painted bedroom when he'd never have dreamed of it if he'd gotten a choice in it. He already knew that the man in that car hadn't been given a vote.

There you go, the blonde thought, on your way to another day of half self-imposed slavery on behalf of the little woman that you tell yourself that you love, the one who works hard at her own job so that the kids can be driven all over Hell's half acre for the lessons that they'll never thank you for as you both wear yourselves to a frazzle burning fossil fuels for nothing.

He tried for a moment to imagine the woman in that life, the one who makes little jokes to her friends about how when God made man, she'd only been joking – the one who rolls her eyes when she talks on the phone and often uses the phrase, "Well, he's a man. What do you expect?"

There was a simple and very telling question that had always been raised in his mind. How can it be possible that the one man who'd declared his love for a woman always turned out to be the dumbest thing on the planet to that woman? Why did every married woman that he'd ever been close enough to overhear say things that only caused anyone in the room with a working brain to wonder? Was it just contempt because he'd offered, or was it the contempt born out of familiarity?

At one time, this had really bothered him, because to his admittedly simple way of looking at it, the attitude made no sense. If you'd chosen somebody to live your life with, why make him (or her) out to be such a fool for choosing you? Weren't you making yourself look foolish too?

He chuckled as he walked. It was a conundrum. All that he knew was that it made no sense to him, it was just a fact of life in the modern age. He wasn't being critical to his mind, it was just what he'd observed.

And anyway, he thought, there were likely just as many stupid men in the world as well. He doubted that there had ever been any shortage of those. He figured that if everybody could just grow a brain and use it now and then to see what they had, and then discard all of the things that everyone juggled in their super-busy lives, the divorce rate would plummet and the unemployment lines would be filled with out of work lawyers.

The way that it ought to be, he chuckled.

But no, if everything went according to plan, what the woman had gotten was just what she'd wanted, a gelding that she'd created herself. That was fine for paying for everything, but she was bored to tears in the life that she'd made. If he said a word, he'd be called an insensitive, selfish brute, so he went on being quietly miserable, shaving with a 7-bladed Tilt-a-Whirl razor and thinking about buying himself one of those old-fashioned straight razors. But then deep down, he was likely afraid to, knowing that if he had one of those, it wouldn't be too long before he'd be thinking about using it on the arteries of his own neck. The blonde was a little surprised that more men didn't try it.

He knew that he would if he found himself in that prison.

Well fuck that, the blonde had decided long ago. He wanted no part of a world where the sexes were only equal as long as men did what was expected of them, completely tamed and cowed. It was too bad that they didn't make all that many of the girls that he liked. He'd never met even one, but he knew that in the crap shoot of human genetics, there just had to be the kind of woman out there someplace that he'd want, someone like himself, who felt alive when her body and her mind were challenged. He wanted no part of any relationship where both of the parties weren't completely equal – other than perhaps as an allowance for physical stature and the differences between the sexes in their physiology.

For somebody like that, he thought, he'd give a lot. For just a shot at having the heart of that rare sort of woman for himself, he'd probably give everything.

He smiled, knowing that he didn't have enough of whatever monetary means that it took to even play. And with little of the currency that was demanded, he was safe. He'd likely die poor, but after living his life by his own lights, he figured that it would be a fair trade.

But for the record, he decided, that was the sort of woman that he'd want close to him forever. It was too bad that he'd likely never get to even meet one like that. At least he'd feel a little less alone. He didn't mind it all that much, he just accepted that he'd rather live alone if it came to that than live any other way. He'd seen enough to know.

He'd seen his own father rebel in his silent way against what society demanded of men and drink himself to death, since his soul-numbing job wasn't about to kill him. He'd watched his mother try to carry the load and lose almost everything, working two jobs just to feed them both while he worked two as well and went to school after handing her his earnings. At least she was able to maintain some sort of credit rating. With that, he'd been able to swing some college funding and loans. He'd paid them off long ago.

He'd found his poor mother dead in bed one morning, the heart attack finishing what the American Dream had begun. He'd been raised by two people who'd been in love when they'd started out, but as hard as he tried when he remembered, they'd just been another two quietly desperate people lashed together in the chains that they'd put on themselves.

He'd finished his education and was able to turn the muscles that he'd built up while working his ass off on the loading dock combined with his degree enforcement into a career that had gotten him into the Secret Service.

But when you're the new kid they tend to stick you with the most inane assignments and he'd found that he just couldn't hack the duty of guarding a past president's daughter's poodle. He smirked. It hadn't been quite that bad, but it wasn't all that far off the truth, either.

He looked at his reflection in the next window and put on his 'Aw shucks, thank you Ma'am' look just for the hell of it.

He smirked a little then, knowing his good fortune. His looks had gotten him laid so often, so easily. Some guys couldn't manage to get their ashes hauled to save their lives.

He walked into the bistro, pushing the old Stetson back on his head just a little. The motion caught the eye of the young woman working the counter there. He saw her first glance and decided to count how long it took her to get to her second one, as busy as she obviously was.

Watching her eyes almost made him smirk, but he kept it at a pleasant smile.

She got all the way to 'Whoa!' before her eyes came up and locked. She even stammered. He thought that he could get to like it here. There wasn't a thing wrong with her and if he was looking, he'd have been happy in other circumstances to maybe get to know her better, in a biblical sense, of course.

But that wasn't what he was here for today. He was pleasant and very polite, and it earned him the attention of the older woman who came to the counter from the back. She was the young woman's mother. He could see the resemblance in an instant – he even knew what he'd have to do to charm Momma on the spot. So he took off his hat, and apologized for forgetting. Both of them made noises that it wasn't a big deal, but he'd said that his mother had raised him right and it was only polite.

Big smiles.

Christ, he'd almost felt the girl's sigh from where he stood.

He paid for his order and left before the questions began. Walking back the way that he'd come, he'd chided himself for being a stuck-up asshole, but he'd only meant it in a half-hearted way. He was just observant and clinical, that was all. These were good people here, he decided, and thought about the younger one for a moment longer. It was a shame that he couldn't ever find a girl like that for himself. Well, he could and he did, he admitted to himself, but he'd meant for longer than what always happened whenever he'd tried it.

Women today don't want a guy like him for any sort of long-haul. They wanted a reliable, steady, quiet, easily-led man who was hopefully at least a little wealthy and could provide for them and their inevitable brood. Once that brood had been conceived and delivered, it was desirable that he just lose his nuts and be done, since he for damn sure wouldn't be needing them anymore. Any sort of masculine adventuring tendencies on that man's part might even have been seen as a desirable trait during the courtship – just as long as he could be weaned away from them once he was in the bag and the domestication was underway.

The most powerful nation on the planet, and half of its population was made up of capons and drones. He sighed.

Too bad that he didn't have it in him. He was pretty sure that he'd rather be dead.

He found his way to the same corner and leaned against the same wall as he unwrapped his croissant and slurped his take-out coffee with his hat down low over his eyes. They both tasted wonderful to him, and he decided that he liked this place even more now. After a quick look at the place across the street, he looked down again and thought about the odd feeling that had brought him here.

-----------------------------

Savannah woke up and pushed the cardboard box that she'd covered herself with off her. All that she knew was that she'd timed her arrival badly and after a bit of quiet cursing to herself, she'd just gone around back to find a place to sleep. Setting her mirror aviator sunglasses on her pretty nose, she noticed that there were no windows facing her way here and she was behind a hedge, so she got up and checked her backpack and her pockets, finding that she still had all of her money. 

What she really wanted right now was an honest to goodness hot bath, but she'd even settle for a bus station sink to wash her hands and face in for the moment.

She got up and shouldering her pack, she walked around front. The place was still closed. She looked around and saw the back of a young man as he walked away around the corner opposite to her. He was carrying something which looked to her like food. She considered trying to relieve him of his burden for a moment, not wanting to be away from here for as long as it would take her to get her own breakfast. She decided that it wouldn't be worth the trouble. She stood in front of the store and looked through the window.

It did cause her to smirk and then laugh quietly to herself as she refocused on the reflection in the glass. The young man was wandering a little as he ate, looking as though he didn't want to be too far away, for some reason. She could see the slightly troubled and confused expression on his face from where she stood.

She thought about it and wondered a little. The answer came to her a second later. He was here, just as she was. He had to be. So then he didn't want to be far from this spot for very long either. She knew that look because she'd felt it on her own face for the last two days. 

She looked at him, and thought that he looked alright, not that it made any difference. He was a little tall and the distorted reflection told her that he was built pretty well, though she couldn't really see his face all that much because of the angle of the light.

It didn't matter, she wasn't here for that. Her eye went back to the things that she could see in the window, wondering why this was where she'd been pulled.

Was she missing something? She didn't think so, but for damn sure, something had caused her to drop her life to come here this way. She smirked.

Some life.

Brendan had been nothing but long and heated arguments to her after a while. She'd tried to do things in the way that he expected, but there were always more demands. She couldn't do this and she wasn't to do that anymore. He demanded that she stop going to the mixed martial arts classes as well. He didn't know what he was asking for. They'd been an important part of her life for longer than she'd known him. He'd wanted her to be the replacement for his mother in his life. That much was obvious, but she wasn't having any of that shit.

He'd pointed out to her during any of God knew how many of his tirades, that he brought home a good living for her and that he expected something from her in return. He completely ignored the fact that she made a good wage herself. The realization of what he was saying had brought tears to her eyes when she realized that he was going to demand that she quit her job too.

"Just what are you saying here?" she asked, "We used to be so in love before we got married, when you still had a body. We'd do all kinds of things together. Now you're all about me being a prisoner, having your kids and being up to my eyeballs in the dirty clothes that you leave around in a long trail behind you. You used to be a neat man – that was one of the things that I liked about you," she said, "but then, I guess that you had to be, right? With Mom living in Florida, there was no one to pick up after you, but then you figured that you had me for that right?"




The Witch's Want Ch. 06



He'd decided the last time to be a prick about it and he'd bellowed 'yes' to her. She'd told him to fuck himself from now on, and he'd raised his hand and hit her. The trouble was that he'd hit her with his fist. She'd gotten a black eye from it, since she'd never have expected that from him.

The police had told her that it was allowed to defend oneself, but she'd gone a little far when she'd put Brendan into the hospital. As soon as she'd arranged for her bail, she was gone to get the proceedings started and she'd had to begin her life all over again. 

Two and a half months after that, Brendan had been at her door. She'd seen his car and she'd dialed 911, stalling a couple of minutes before she spoke through the door. She wanted witnesses this time.

"Look," she'd said through the closed door, "I'm not supposed to be anywhere near you, you big tough man. You had an injunction put in place, as though you were in fear for your life from me. Now you're back, making all these 'let's try it again' noises. What is this? You need me to shovel out your house for you because you can't find your socks for the mountain of your own shit? You want a rematch or something? How stupid are you? And more to the point, just how stupid do you think that I am? Go fuck your hat, Brendan. I don't need you.

Do you really think that I miss you at all? I've got vibrators who have better personalities than you, and they don't expect me to work all day and make dinner that they eat in front of the TV set and drink their beer while they ignore me. I don't need you for anything. I'm pissed at myself for wasting three years of my life with you."

He began to cry at that point, begging her, but Savannah already knew the hook when she saw it. He did surprise her though. He pulled a gun from his pocket and told her that he intended to kill himself.

"Fine," she said, hearing the sirens, "Just don't make your last act on Earth an indicator of the selfish asshole that you've always been and do it someplace other than on my doorstep. I don't ever want to see you again, so this ought to work out well. And if you think that I'll feel guilty over how I've caused you to do this in your distorted little world, you're wrong again. You don't even know me, Brendan. You kill yourself here, and I'll piss on you, I promise."

He'd pointed the gun at the door then, but by the time that he'd pulled the trigger, Savannah was already out of the line of fire and crawling to the kitchen. She'd heard it when the cops had told him to put the gun down, but then she heard him shoot once more. The shot was followed by answering fire from the policemen.

She'd gone to the shrink that they'd recommended to help her get over the loss that she didn't feel. "I'm not here for that," she told the woman, "I'm here to get help for the anger that I feel. I know what he did. That was all just a big 'fuck you' on his part. He'd already trashed whatever I'd felt for him a long time ago."

The psychologist had told her that she likely needed an outlet for the way that she felt and Savannah listened carefully, nodding at the right points. The next appointment, she told the shrink truthfully that she now felt a lot better and was getting on with her life, When she'd thanked the doctor, the idiot had obviously felt a lot of pride in her ability to help others, but Savannah had found her own way to feel better by keeping her promise on a cold and rainy autumn night.

She'd gone to the place where he was buried wearing a pretty skirt that she'd hiked up as she'd squatted down. She'd spent an hour and a half driving around drinking coffee and she'd made sure that Brendan got the full measure of her long hot piss on his dirt-covered face. "I don't know how things are on the other side, "she chuckled, "but I hope you're enjoying your last look at what you used to have when I loved you."

Her thoughts petered out as she looked at a little statue in the window. There was a troll there. He'd obviously been made by a woman who'd had her own issues. The resemblance to her dead ex-husband was a little frightening.

She caught the motion in the glass and turned around, wondering how she'd let anyone get this close. The man was there in front of her with the balled up wrapper from his breakfast and his cup of coffee.

Other than the place still drawing him somehow, what had caused him to cross the street finally had been her ass. It was an insane thought to him at the time. He'd noticed her there when he'd looked over again and he'd stared at her hair for a long minute before his eyes had made the trip southward. She had long, thin legs in tight jeans, and when his gaze had settled on her butt, he was more than a little surprised. What he saw was a feminine form to be sure, and lovely as well, but that ass, ...

It was just as small as it could be and still be on a woman. It still had the right shape, but it told him that she was either anorexic or athletic to an extreme on top of a lithe build. He'd looked at it for a little while, moving his eyes away at intervals so that she wouldn't feel that she was being watched. He decided that he liked it, not that it mattered at all here. He wondered why she stood there for so long, not moving. It had been ten minutes. He stood for a while longer and then gave in to the pull that had brought him here.

They looked at each other for a long minute in silence.

"Good morning," he smiled, giving it his best good ole boy shot. He wasn't trying to charm her, he just found her interesting and maybe she might be able to tell him, ...

"Hi," she said, wondering where this would go. To her slight surprise, he just sat down there on the bottom step and slurped his coffee. He didn't even look up at her.

"Where did you get the coffee?" she asked, "Is it somewhere nearby?"

"Yeah," he smiled a little, "right over there," he pointed, "that little bistro. They've got all kinds of good food and all, and great coffee."

Savannah looked and tried to decide if she wanted to get one that badly. She felt a little weird about leaving. He could see it in her eyes.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, "but I'll stay here, don't worry. Have you got a phone on you? I could call you if anything happens while you're in there."

She stared at him for a moment before she sat down next to him very slowly. "You feel it too? Like you're pulled here and you don't know why?"

He nodded, noticing the way that she looked at him and his cup of take-out coffee. 

He handed it to her, "Yup. I feel like an idiot. I started feeling like I had to go someplace three days ago. I almost couldn't leave Birmingham fast enough. I didn't even know –"

"Where you were going?" she asked, as she took a sip before handing it back.

He nodded, "Yeah, but this is where I was headed. That's all I know. Now I don't want to leave and I still don't know why I had to come here."

She nodded, "Same here. Hey, that's pretty good coffee. I think I'm gonna go get me some. You want another one?"

He nodded a little absently, but then he looked at her and smirked, "There's a girl there behind the counter. I think she's got one of those instant crushes on me. You could say 'hi' for me."

He had absolutely no idea why he'd said that.

She looked at him, wondering for a few seconds before she smiled at the way that he looked. With that hair, that face and those eyes, ...

"I'll bet she does, too," she laughed, "I'll be right back, ok?"

"Alright," he smiled.

She began to recite some numbers to him. He looked at her a little blankly.

"My phone number, silly," she laughed, "Call me if anything happens while I'm gone?"

He pulled a pen out of his pocket and began to write on the cuff of his faded denim jacket, "Uh-huh."

"You sure that you've got it, or do I have to tell you again?"

"No, I'm good," he smiled and then he read it back to her, "Got it right here," he said, "Notebook of the day."

She was back a few minutes later. She handed him a fresh coffee.

He stuck his right leg out in front of him while he reached into his pocket for the money.

"Forget it," she smiled, "Your cutie in there remembered you, so it's free. She thought that I was with you at first, but I stayed on the plan and told her no. She said to tell you that she gets off at two-thirty."

He smirked, "Reckon that's the time that I've got to be somewhere else."

"You don't like her?" Savannah asked, "She looked alright to me, in a 'take me home and I'll be your apple blossom' sort of way."

She noticed his grin, "What did I say?"

"Nothin'," he smiled a little shyly. She could tell that it wasn't a look that he got on that face very often. "It's just that you described her perfectly. That's about what I saw. Nice as anything, but she's not my type. I'd hate myself for it, but I know that I'd only hurt a girl like that."

"Well, what kind of girl do you like then?" She looked at him and shrugged, "Hey, we've got time, since we don't even know why we're here and there's nobody here but us. Lookin' at you, I'd want to know now."

"I dunno," he said, "I'm not big on being roped and tied down." He looked at her and held up a hand, "Don't shoot me yet, ok? If I had to make a wish, I'd love to be with a girl who can handle herself, speak her mind while she looks me in the eye, and not do that over how I've let her little expectations down by forgetting to take out the trash one time. I mean, if I've screwed up and she tells me, I'm all ears, because I'd want to make it better. But the only ring that I'd ever allow in my nose has to be the exact match to the one that I'd put in hers at the same time."

He sighed, thinking that this was the point where he was about to 'Get Told' or at the least, see what she thought very clearly on her face, "I know. I'm an asshole." He looked at her, "Sorry."

"Nope," she grinned, "not really. Sounds to me like you've still got your set of original equipment. Congratulations. You're getting to be a rare breed. And as long as we're shooting the breeze here, I can say that I can admire that. By the way, I can handle myself."

He looked at her a little appraisingly, "I'm kind of getting that from you."

"Uh-huh," she smiled as she looked at her cup for a moment. She took a sip and then looked at him. "I put my old man in the hospital because he hit me. The next time that I saw him was the day that he died."

She punctuated the statement in the best way that she could think of, by sipping her coffee as though her admission had been something of an everyday thing at her house.

"What happened?" he asked, "Didja forget to take out the trash?"

She spit out her mouthful of coffee to keep from choking on it and she laughed."Hell no," she chuckled a little once she had it together again, "He told me that I had to quit my job and my gym membership so that I could raise his brats and be chained to the washing machine for him." She pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her knapsack and she offered him one. He accepted and she lit it for him before lighting one for herself. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

He looked at her again, the lean build on her beginning to make a little sense to him now. He liked the way that her slightly puffy ponytail hung out of the back of her ball cap like the long tail of some kind of animal.

He looked a little serious as he leaned over just a bit. "What did you tell him?"

She shrugged, "I told him to piss up a rope, why?"

"And then he hit you?" He asked it as though he was deadly serious now.

"Uh-huh." She slurped her coffee again, careful now to swallow if he looked as though he was about to say something.

He nodded, "Good for you." He took a drag of the smoke and let it out, "Fuck him if he can't take a joke." He turned to her, "If it's not too forward of me. Ma'am, May I please have your name?"

She held out her hand, "Savannah Smith, since we're so suddenly formal. What's yours, sir, if I may be so bold?"

He shook her hand and grinned at her, "I think that you're a remarkable woman, Savannah. I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Hunter. Hunter Kurtz, though it has happened once or twice that I've embarrassed myself by announcing it while being rather drunk at a bar."

"Really?" she said, liking his first name, at least, "and how is that, Hunter?"

"Well, "he smirked, "A little too much good whiskey, and I made a Spoonerism out of it at the top of my lungs."

"A Spoonerism?"

"Yup," he said into the depths of his take-out cup, "That's when you accidentally swap the first letters of two words in a sentence and get your mords wixed up."

Savannah thought about it and she began to laugh. She couldn't get the image of it out of her head. 

"Oh you're good," she said, wiping the tears of her laughter from her eyes after a minute.

--------------------------

Farah awoke to find herself warm and comfortable, wrapped in the comforter. She looked around and heard the soft crackle of the fire pit. A good look told her that he'd brought the fire back to life and had added a little wood for her to be comfortable, but not overheated. She noticed the daylight through the drapes and wondered what time it was.

Then she noted that she was alone, and wondered a little about that until she noticed that if she took the time for it, with a little thought, she could actually feel that he was still here in the house. She wondered about that. There was no sound to indicate this, but she just knew it. She even knew where in the house he was. Closing her eyes for a moment, she thought that she was imagining him in the bathroom, feeling uncomfortable that he hadn't asked, but wanting to use the shower.

She was astounded as the sense came to her that he was reaching for the bathtub faucets. She didn't know why she knew that, she just knew. Her jaw fell open as she heard the squeak of the hot water tap as it was opened, and then a second later, she heard the sound of the shower being turned on upstairs.

Farah smiled to herself and threw back the comforter to run up the stairs. Passing the kitchen, she smelled coffee, but she passed that temptation right by.

She tried the doorknob carefully and grinned when she found that it was unlocked. Letting herself in as silently as possible, she cleared her throat as she lifted cover of the toilet seat.

"Good morning," she said, and then she almost laughed when she realized that he'd known that she was coming.

She couldn't explain that to herself either. It was just another thing that she knew.

"Hi," she heard him say from behind the curtain.

"It's alright," she said, sitting down and weighing the chances that he wouldn't hear her for the sound of the shower, "I just need to pee and I promise not to flush until later."

The morning was quickly becoming one for surprises to Farah. She'd never in her life been comfortable doing something like this. With any other man, she'd have waited and not come in, no matter how much she was bursting to pee. She'd have suffered through it with her knees clamped together. She'd have run out into the woods and peed there before she'd do something like this – or the other thing that now came to her mind as she finished after a moment.

Let a man see her like this, first thing in the morning? Naked? No way, she thought. She stood up and stepped to the mirror. Wiping the fog away with the heel of her hand, she saw that she most definitely looked a little disheveled. She thought about stepping out of the bathroom to grab her robe, but something caused her to stop and take another swipe at the fog on the glass.

Farah smiled. She was looking disheveled for sure, but she was also looking pretty well-loved and happy. Her thoughts went back to her other idea and she removed her mother's cowry shell necklace.

"May I join you?" she asked.

A moment later, Farah was standing in his arms again. The information that she gleaned from their quiet conversation as they held each other was like anything else for her today, full of little surprises. He told her that it was almost nine-thirty, and that he'd been up for hours already. While she'd slept like a baby, he'd offered some prayers to his gods, gotten dressed, started his bike and after placing a ward of his own on the door of her home, he'd ridden into town and come back. Farah was amazed.

"Where did you go in town?" she asked as he began to wash her.

"I had an idea about checking out the office in the barn while I waited for you to wake up, but I didn't want to do that without you, and anyway, I – "

"You are not going to rent the space in the barn," she said.

She watched him nod. "I know that now, but I hadn't thought of it then. You won't let me stay there, will you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "Like everything else about you and I, we are different in that too. I know so many things this morning, only because I know them and for no other reason that I do. You will live here with me, and we will just have to share the costs. Now," she said, feeling a little uncomfortable about how her normal way of life was feeling a little as though it was slipping from her somehow to be replaced by him, "what did you do in town?"

"I went to my motel room," he said, "I wanted to have my shower there, but I was on my bike and it's not a great idea to ride right after a shower unless it's really warm out – and it's not today, though it's feeling like it'll get there later. I was also in a big hurry, because I wanted to be back here for when you woke up, since I'd forgotten to leave you a note, and that would be rude, to have you wake up and find me gone without even a note. Then I went to the bike shop and bought you a helmet, since I know your size," he smiled.

"You know my size?" Farah's jaw dropped, "How?"

But then the answer to all of this strangeness came to her and she smiled, "It is the lock, isn't it? This is how I know things for no reason."

He nodded a little grimly, "Yup. Welcome to the world of weirdness, Farah. I only knew a little of what the lock brings to the one or ones who carry it. But I knew nothing of this part of it. I hope that we like each other, because like this, I'm pretty sure that we can just forget about privacy."

Farah groaned a little as she thought about it, but not for that reason. She'd been leaning against the wall under the shower nozzle with her arms out in front of her as he'd been washing her back, but now his hands had gone lower and it felt wonderful. "Can I try to guess some things?" she asked.

"Sure, I guess," he replied and she tried to get his shoe size, neck measurement and waist size. She was right in every case without even having to think about any of them. She chuckled then and pushed herself backward a little against him.

"I even know the size of that," she giggled.

"There's a size for that?" He was astounded, "They even have – "

"No," she laughed, "and I do not want to get a ruler out to measure. I just know its size and it's just right. Yesterday morning, I would have said that it was a bit on the large side, but that was before."

"Oh great," she heard him groan, "And tomorrow I guess that you'll call it small?"

"Pft," she blew out through her pursed lips as she looked back at him as the cascade of the shower beat onto the side of her neck, "I doubt it, and anyway, if I want a larger one, you can just look like the demon that I know and love. It's bigger then.

Why do I need a motorcycle helmet?" she asked, "I've still got my poor old car."

"I was hoping that you'd like to come with me to get my truck. It'll take a few days there and back, and then the job's over before it gets cold. I'd haul my bike back on my trailer."

Farah thought about it. She didn't have to open today at all. She'd just had a sale and it had gone really well, far better than if she'd just kept her regular hours. She could take the day off, not open on Saturday, and the store was closed on Sunday and Monday anyway. She agreed as she sank to her knees to reach for him.




The Witch's Want Ch. 06



----------------------

They locked up the house and went into town a little later so that he could get a few more clothes and then he took her to a restaurant for brunch. After that, they rode out of town, headed off to pick up Bart's truck and a few other belongings.

Farah pulled herself closer to his back and considered her question.

"Will I have a chance to meet your mother?" she asked.

He nodded, "Sure."

Farah thought about it for a little while. She supposed that this would be a good test. She was carrying part of the lock of the faith, and as far as she was aware, the icon lent some sort of protection to the bearer – or in this case – the bearers.

She thought about that as they drove past her bookshop without noticing the two people who stood out front, feeling very confused about what had driven them here.

Farah thought it all over and smiled to herself, deciding not to let her nervousness get to her. She thought about the lock and hoped that it was at least a little effective against a man's mother.

------------------------------

They hung around for the morning, wondering why the place didn't open and discussing things such as the inexplicable way that they'd both felt themselves drawn here. Nothing made much sense to them, but they found after a while that they enjoyed each other's company. As the morning went on, they got a few looks from folks passing by either on foot or in vehicles. It made them feel a little self-conscious.

"This is stupid," Savannah announced, "I'm long past hungry, the looks that we're getting are creeping me out big time, and I've got to pee something awful."

"Roger that," Hunter said, "on all four counts." She looked over at him as he sat on the step from where she'd been standing and he admired her olive skin, though the mirror sunglasses were beginning to get to him a little. He watched her eyebrows raise. 

"All four?" She ran through the list and came up with only three.

He nodded, "You forgot about the first one. This is stupid. You wanna get a burger or a pizza or something?"

"Sure," she said, "But I've gotta pee first. I can't even think straight anymore."

He grunted, "I'm with you on that." He thought about heading back to the bistro to use the washroom there. He didn't want to and Savannah could see it plainly on his face.

"Look, " she said, "you don't want to go there because that'll take you to where you'll have to evade Miss Dairydale and her hopeful doe-eyes. It'll need a lot of talking on your part, and then you'll have to watch her disappointment, and they don't serve either of the things that you said, so that's out. Besides. I'm not sure that I can make it that far. Come on."

She began to walk around to the back of the store. "Where you going?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses, "To the bathroom. You coming or not?"

"Is there an outhouse back there or something?" he asked as he fell into step with her.

Savannah smirked, "No, dummy, they've got a wall. That's all you need, right?"

He nodded and as they came around to the back of the building, she pointed, "There. That one. There are no windows on any of the buildings around here that face this way."

He wanted to ask her, but he figured that she knew her own business, so he walked up, unzipped his fly and began.

His attention was drawn by Savannah as she walked up to stand beside him, about three feet away. She undid the button on her jeans, pulled them down a little and astounded him.

"What the hell?" he said.

"Don't you ruin my concentration here," she warned him, "I like you, Hunter, but so help me, if you can't stay focused on what you're doing and you turn toward me, well I'll break your nose if you get me wet here."

"Don't worry," he said, "I just wasn't ready for that. I've never seen a girl pee standing up, that's all."

He saw that she'd pulled her thong aside and held a tissue in that hand. She was directing her stream with the other. Hunter smiled to himself. He was amazed.

The look that he got of her legs and her flanks told him quite a bit. She wasn't as bony as he'd first thought, and damn, he liked the musculature that he could see. He turned back to what he'd been doing after a second, not wanting to annoy her.

"Yeah well," she began, "it's only uncommon here for the most part. There are a lot of places in the world where women pee standing if they can. A lot depends on what's all over the ground. In some places, it's land mines. Here, it's poison ivy."

He looked around. The small yard showed signs of having been mowed recently, but it was obvious that it never received much of any other sort of care, and the shade from the large trees all around gave the place enough shade for other plants. There was poison ivy everywhere.

He heard the hiss from her slow to a stop and she turned a little as she wiped. It hadn't been a conscious thing, it was just what she'd done. "Don't you dare shake that while I'm here," she said, "Here. Find a dry spot on this, and we'll trash it in the can around front."

He stared at the tissue for a second.

"Honest to God, Hunter," she said with a bit of exasperation, "I didn't exactly soak it."

He shrugged and took the tissue from her carefully. While he used it, she pulled her pants back up. He felt a little silly carrying the tissue. "Not shy, are you?" he smiled at her.

"Actually, I am," she said, "I'd never do that if I wasn't busting to pee. I'm not all that shy about my body, since it's the only one that I've got, and it's not too bad, I guess, but it's not like I like to flash people or anything. I'm just comfortable with who I am. Trouble is, a lot of the time, in this culture, folks read a lot of stupid things into everything. In a lot of places, you go where you can if there's no facilties. Here, well what we just did would likely get us a ticket or something."

They came around the front and he tossed the tissue into the little container on the corner.

"Now if we could just figure out where to go to eat," she said, "and now I've got to wash my hands .Wait a second,..."

Hunter watched as she swung her pack from her shoulder for a minute. By the time that she had it back on only seconds later, he was grinning as she tore open a little foil hand wipe packet. "We each only get to use half," she smiled.

Hunter laughed, "Jesus, I'll bet you were a Boy Scout too."

It made her chuckle, "Uh, no. I wanted to be, though. They just weren't taking girls in my town back then, so I had to wait a little to do the next best thing about six years later. Actually," she laughed, "I liked that a whole lot better."

She pointed, "There. I see a sign for a pizza place. God, I hope it's open."

They looked at the store where they'd spent the morning, each one feeling a little reluctant to leave. "Come on, Savannah," Hunter said, "we've been here all day, so far. If they open up while we're gone, I'm sure that they'll stay open at least long enough for us to eat."

She nodded and they walked away up the street together.

The pizza joint was full of high school students on their lunch break, but they did get their order in and sat at a table in the middle of a pack of loud and boisterous kids as they waited.

Savannah placed her pack on the floor next to the table. As was normal for a lot of young people trapped in suddenly almost-adult bodies, there were the usual idiots and a boy pushed a girl a little playfully into Savannah, who almost spilled her can of soda, but managed a quick save. The place turned silent instantly.

She set the can down slowly and turned her head. "I'm very sorry," the girl said, with a lot of embarrassment.

"That's ok, Honey," Savannah said, "Not your fault." She looked over at the boy, understanding everything, but wanting to make a point.

"You," she pointed, "Come here."

He hesitated, looking around for support, hoping to God that somebody would make a smart remark, but no one did.

"What's your problem, kid? You all noise and no juice? You can't be afraid of me, can you? I just want to talk to you – or can you still hear your Momma's voice in your ear? Nervous about talking to a stranger?"

He looked nervously at Hunter. It made Savannah smile. "What are you looking at him for? I'm the one who almost had to wear my drink. Come here."

He shook his head, trying desperately to come up with a line.

She stood up and walked over to him very slowly, stopping well inside his comfort zone. She took off her sunglasses and bored into his eyes with her own for three long seconds.

"You'd better decide which side of the fence you're on," she said, "and grow some manners in public places real soon. If you're eighteen and older, you'd better learn to apologize before somebody rips your head off one day. If you're younger than that, well then you just need a spanking, don't you? An adult faces up to things. A kid just acts like the asshole that he'll grow up to be one day. They're not the same thing."

He looked down, not being able to hold her gaze. "I'm - I'm real sorry , Ma'am."

"Much better, Scooter, and it's alright. No harm done. Just think about where you are, and shoving girls around, even as a joke is a bad idea."

The place remained a lot quieter as she went back to their table and sat down, apologizing to Hunter, who only smiled. "So where did you say that you went instead of joining the Boy Scouts?"

Savannah shrugged as she folded her sunglasses and put them into a breast pocket of her jacket, "I joined the Marines, Hunter. Did a tour in Iraq and another one in the American Embassy in Zurich, filing my nails mostly, and wondering why I'd bothered. Then I met my puke ex-husband, and three years later, here I am."

She looked up and Hunter was lost in her light blue eyes, completely taken by the contrast with her dark olive skin. They sat looking at each other for half a minute.

"Hey," she said, "Hunter, you ok?" She smirked, "Come on, we haven't even eaten yet, so I can't have anything even stuck to my teeth yet."

He smiled a little shyly. She thought that she could get used to seeing that on his face now and then. "I'm ok," he said, "I'm just not used to falling in love, that's all."

She chuckled, "That's about the sweetest thing that anyone's ever said to me. It's my eyes, isn't it?"

He shook his head slowly, "No, though they have a little to do with it, I guess. You're beautiful. I guess that seeing your eyes just finished me. I'm really glad that I was sitting down right there."

He wanted to change the subject and glanced away. "So besides the two of us feeling like we need to be here for some reason, in front of that store, what the hell are we going to do if and when we find that it's open? I have no idea, to tell you the truth, and it's been bothering me."

He looked back at her when he heard no reply.

"Take off your jacket, Hunter," she said, looking at something just inside the open cuff of his denim jacket, "and hang it from the back of your chair."

"Huh?"

"Come on," she smiled, "I will if you will."

He shrugged and stood up. He took his jacket off and laid it across the empty seat next to them and sat down again. Savannah smiled as she saw his T-shirt. Her eyes drifted quickly over his tattoos, not staying on any one for longer than a sliver of time. She heard one of the high school brats whisper, "Oh my God!" under her breath, but it wasn't until the girl's friend added a "Holy shit!" to it that she grinned.

"I think that I know how you feel, Hunter," she nodded. What she'd really been after here was a reality check. She knew how easily teenage girls might react and not hold their thoughts in. She'd even been prepared to hear the over-the-top sort of comments that she'd heard. She just wanted to make certain that she was seeing things correctly, and if nothing else, these young women were good for that.

Hunter began again, "I can't help feeling stupid for the way that we're stuck here waiting for a store to open up. I didn't see a thing in the window that I'd even be interested in. Well, maybe one or two of the books, but – "

"I meant about falling in love," she smiled as she stood up. A few seconds later, her jacket was lying across his. She turned around to see the stares on the faces of the kids. "That's about it, guys," she grinned feeling a little stupid.

When nobody moved after a second, Savannah tilted her head, and her expression became a lot less friendly. The pack of kids suddenly remembered where they'd been in their conversations. 

In that instant, Hunter knew that he was in the presence of someone that he'd always known had existed. He'd just never seen one. 

When she turned to look at Hunter again, she laughed out loud for the way that he sat there with his chin on his hand.

"What now? she asked, "Did I forget to zip up or something?"

He shook his head as his eyes went to hers, "No, you're fine. I just feel like a puddle now, that's all."

She looked behind him and saw that their pizza was on its way. "Well you just hold that lovely thought for about twelve more minutes."

"Why?" his voice sounded a little dreamy and she realized that he was joking – at least a little bit.

"You just keep sitting there mooning like that, and I'll eat the whole damn thing myself, since I'm about that hungry. So, what's your story, Hunter?"

-------------

The wind blew across the desert, kicking up sand devils in the dust which swirled and chased each other to peter out where the rocks of the old mountain began their rise to the worn summit. Inside a chamber in some ruins near the top, a trio of spectres sat. They looked at each other and smiled.

-----------------------

He smirked, "My story?" She watched him shrug. "I don't have one, or, ... not much of one, anyway. I joined the federal service at twenty-one, and was out by twenty-six. I tried to set up my own security company, but I've about run out of money, so soon," he sighed, "I guess I'll be about back where I started, working physical jobs, manual labor, whatever I can get."

"Well," she looked at him curiously, "what branch of the service were you in?"

He grinned, "I can't tell you. It's a secret."

She laughed for a moment. "Ooh, I guess I'll have to guess then." She looked at him and tilted her head a little. He liked her even more like this, when she was feeling a little playful.

"Is the job a secret, or, ... is there a secret involved? Will you have to kill me if you tell me?" She chuckled, "I sure hope not, 'cause I can tell you, that'll be a bitch to do, and it would just ruin our fine friendship, since I'd take that personally."

She sat back munching on a slice of pizza, looking at him as he ate. The Stetson lay on top of her jacket now, and she admired his slightly long hair for a moment. It looked like silk to her, pushed back as it was behind his ears. Her eyes went to the blonde stubble on his cheek and she wondered for a second about how it would taste to lick it and feel the prickle of those whiskers against her tongue. Pulling back her view further, she took in those arms and that chest. She'd already checked out those legs and his fine ass. He was a runner, but not for that purpose.

She smirked as the notion of a secret agent went out of the window. Too noticeable, she thought. Way too obvious. A guy like him walking into a room just drew the eyes of any woman, just as long as she had enough of a pulse to appreciate what she was looking at, and with his looks, it was impossible to hide in a crowd.

"I know," she said with her mouth full, covering her mouth with her hand, "You were a Secret Service agent." 

She nodded in decision. "You tried to fit in, but you just couldn't in any of the Field Office assignments that they handed you. But you kept ending up with shit assignments, guarding people who couldn't get that somebody just might want to off them and never took you seriously, so they just treated you as though you were a servant. When you couldn't stand that anymore, you switched to the tactical side. That suited you better, but it was always about waiting and watching, always prepared to act, but since you all did your job so well, nothing much ever happened. Not much adrenaline to be had there, and the service intruded on your personal life six ways from Sunday anyway, so you quit."

His jaw dropped and he stared. She hadn't been right on the money, but she'd been so disturbingly close that it was beyond uncomfortable. "How the hell could you know ..."

Savannah reached for another slice and sat back quite comfortably now, thoroughly pleased with herself." I just knew it after a little thought," she said, because I," she paused for dramatic effect, "am intuitive."

"Intuitive, huh?" He smiled a little doubtfully, though he'd give her the points for this.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, "when I was little, I surprised my dad with something that I just knew and he asked me how I could have known that. I just told him, 'I am a girl, and I know everything.'" 

She laughed a little, "There's not a lot of truth to that, and believe me, there have been enough times that thinking like that only got me burned tail feathers, but it sure sounded cool."

He picked up another piece of pizza, but he stopped it on its way to his mouth for a moment. "Oh yeah? Well what am I thinking right now?"

She took a sip of her soda and rolled her pretty eyes, "Oh, give me a hard one, Hunter. You're thinking that you'd love to bang my pretty ass as hard as you can for as long as we can do it, until neither one of us can even stand up anymore. You've never wanted it before, but right now, you'd love to feel my nails ripping up your back while I howl your name into your ear."

He looked at her as she smiled confidently back at him.

"That's uh, that's not what I was thinking," he grinned a little.

And there it was, she thought, that shy look with that soft little smile that tilted a little crookedly along his face. God, she was melting and she knew it.

"That would be a wish," he said, "somewhere on the order of becoming my fondest dream. What I was thinking was that you must have been quite a handful as a kid, as precocious as you must have been, and far too sweet for a father to be able to resist the urge to hug you in forgiveness if you only looked just a tiny bit sorrowful and contrite, after you did something that really merited you getting your ass paddled over."

"So that wasn't what you were thinking?" she asked, looking every bit as sorrowful as he'd said.

"No," he smiled, "though the thought is about the nicest one that I can imagine now."

"Oh," she said, looking a little distracted as though she was wondering how she could have gotten that wrong. "I guess that must have been what I was thinking then."

"You're right about the nails thing," he chuckled, "I've never even liked that before. Now? I don't know. I think the idea is gaining a little ground."

"Aw, that's too bad," she pouted a little, "I cut off all of my nails last week after splitting one. I'd have really liked doing that."

She sighed as she finished her piece of pizza and set her plate aside. "I'm getting pissed off at this feeling that I've had these last days. Something's pulling me to that place and it's getting more than a little in my way of thinking. I usually get these naughty thoughts a hell of a lot quicker with the right guy. I almost never act on them, but I like having them when they come to me." She sipped her drink and licked her lips as she sat forward again.

"Right now, I'd much rather close my eyes and think about listening to your hips slapping against my ass. The real thing would be so much better, but, ..." she sighed, looking around a little sadly, "We're both on foot here with no place to go, and I know that we both feel pulled to that stupid store and we don't know why. I'd love to just forget about it for a little while. Besides, I'd about kill for a hot bath right now, and my dirty little thoughts would just about make me lower my price."




The Witch's Want Ch. 06



"Really?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," she smiled, "right now, I'd kill just for a place that's private enough and quiet enough so that I could just enjoy that sound. It's more than a little unusual for me, Hunter. I'm the kind of girl who knows what she wants and takes it, but for something like this, I'd probably need time to brood a while longer as I lick my wounds. I never dreamed about having my love crash and burn so badly. I figured that I'd need about a year just to be able to look at somebody with the slightest amount of interest."

She chuckled low in her throat at the irony, "But then you're here and so am I, and I'm no fool Hunter. I'll take what I'm given. I just wish that we had a place."

Hunter flashed that soft smile again, and there wasn't any hope from a personal angle in it. Savannah looked twice, but she could see it, something that she'd never really expect in a situation like this, as weird as it was.

Hunter was happy, and Savannah knew right then that without any conscious effort on their parts, there was something happening here that went a little beyond lust – though it was built on that, to be sure.

He finished his pizza and wiped his mouth a little with a napkin, wanting to smirk at the strange place that this was for the beginning of what he felt. He reached into his pocket for some money to leave as a tip. His fingers brushed something else in there.

"It's always been my firm belief that two people, in any sort of relationship where there might just be some sort of attraction, well, they ought to just think about helping each other. I think that's what being human really means, looking a little beyond personal desires to help the other one in theirs – if those desires are mutual. It shouldn't be doing something with the expectation of personal gratification. Helping the other person and seeing the result is an even better form of that, as they do whatever it is together. I think that's the basis of the ideal for me, and it always has been. I've just never found anyone who thought much like me.

So I believe that I can help, since I'm a boy and everything," he said as they stood up and picked up their things.

"Well I can see that, Hunter," she smiled, "but how will that help, beyond making me desperate?"

"I am a boy," he smiled as he held up what he'd felt in his pocket in the air between them.

"And I have a hotel room."

Savannah laughed and it caused a few of the high school kids to look at her for a moment.

She was about to reply, but he held up his hand, "And that hotel room, Savannah, has a bathroom.

Not just any bathroom, my friend, no. My hotel room happens to be the bridal suite – or what passes for that in this little burg, and as luck would have it, there is no long line-up of brides this week, for some odd reason, and the place is undergoing renovations, so they offered me the suite for really cheap. 

There's this big-assed tub in that bathroom, see? And I think it's got 'Savannah Smith' written all over it – or it will just as soon as I can borrow some lipstick from you to write it on."

He saw her adulation written in her face. She reached for his hand as they left the establishment together. 

"Hunter?" she asked in a soft little voice that tingled something in his spine and made his manhood twitch in a way that startled him. 

If she kept speaking to him with that voice, he was going to be walking a little stiffly very soon.

"Hunter, have you ever been married?"

"No," he said, "Why?"

She chuckled then as she slid her arm around his waist as they walked. "Well, ... would you like to pretend for a little while?"



The Witch's Want Ch. 07



In the ruins, there was a chamber, such as it was. To the present day human eye -- to one who was not specifically entitled to be there, or one who perhaps had stumbled there by chance, but was not unwelcome, it was little more than a half fallen-in dusty hole, with a soft and somewhat strange glow in it. No one ever came here anyway who drew breath, and any who had over the millennia who weren't welcome had simply ceased to exist.

But if there had been one who was indeed welcome there, they'd find that it wasn't a dusty hole at all.

In the dark and richly adorned chamber in the keep, there was now a trio of individuals arrayed around the fuming little fire which allowed them to scry across space and time.

"So," one of the females said with a small nod, "the play is almost set to begin once more. This time, it is in our hands to guide if we wish. I only wonder how it was that you found these two, husband."

He shrugged with a smile from where he reclined on the pillows, lying spooned against the back of his second wife, who reached up and behind her to offer him a piece of fruit. He lifted his hand from where it had been a little busy caressing her cleft and reached to take the offering. Once it was in his mouth, he returned his hand to where it had been. 

Anat shivered for a moment from the new coolness of his touch. It only lasted an instant and then she sighed with contentment once more.

"I have been searching for these two from before their births," he said, "knowing a little of how they would turn out. Once I'd found the bloodline, things grew easier, though with the number of descendants, it was busy for a time until I found a pair who were near to the same age and where the spirit showed itself in them. Working backward after that, I learned what had happened to the two."

"These will need help, as will the others," Anat said, as she got to her feet and kissed him on the way, before she stepped to the priestess' side and stood with her arm around her waist. "There is this unhappy fool, the first man of the witch who now carries half of the lock. He seeks to kill her. The lock will protect her to a degree, but his efforts will get in the road."

Nisi-ini-su nodded and stood a little closer to Anat. So many thousands of years and she still loved it when they stood side-by-side with their hips touching. It felt the same to her now as it had when they were young girls in the now featureless plain where the city of Ninab once stood, back when they were just young girls there, and long before they'd become lovers.

"There are others there in that place who hate our son's girl there out of their beliefs. It changes little, but she has property and it is too soon for her to dream of leaving it behind." 

She smiled, "But these ones can help, if they can believe what lies before them on the road. I would ask Dimme to make another journey, but it is plain that this would hurt her heart even more, and I cannot ask this and feel good about it."

Lugalbanda stood up and stretched. "Then we will have to go ourselves," he said, "to send any others would only cause even more fright."

--------------------

"It feels good to be outside the walls," Nisi-ini-su said with a smile as she took the reins of her dead horse in one hand and tightened the leather bracer on her arm with the other one. Her companions nodded to her as the clatter of their horses' hooves rang along the causeway. 

"It feels good only to have a reason to be." The warrior priest said as the last pair of sentries stood apart to give them room.

A little while later, three figures rode out of the last opening on the causeway before the mighty keep of the Jebel Bishri, leaving the Gated Bridge and the fortress behind on their way to the entrance of the road of the dead.

-------------------------

"I wish we had some kind of idea what this is all about," Savannah said. "I mean, the sense of direction that I had in this was like something that I've never experienced before."

They walked across the hotel lobby headed for the elevator. "If it's alright with you," Hunter said as he pressed the button to call the elevator, "I've always found that when I'm facing something that's deep into weird to me, it helps if I just find a quiet place and write crap down to sort it out."

Savannah nodded as she looked at Hunter while they waited. There was something coming to her in all of this -- besides the insane way that she'd felt herself being dragged here. She knew what was about to happen between them. It didn't bother her a bit. She guessed that it was something that she must need on some level anyway.

But even as headstrong and driven as she could be -- and she knew full well what she was capable of -- this was out of the ordinary for her. She glanced at him again. 

It seemed to be her new hobby, she smirked to herself. 

He was gorgeous, though maybe not every woman's cup of red, juicy, 100% USFDA-approved-for-dietary-consumption, prime free-range beef, but she didn't care about every woman.

He was bright, really good-looking, and he was blonde with blue eyes, ones that you could lose yourself in. She almost grinned. That was almost enough right there. She knew that it would be for most girls like her. But she knew that she wasn't what every guy wanted herself. 

These days, Savannah Smith was all about feeling alive -- and that had nothing whatsoever to do with surrounding herself with creature comforts. She'd left the last of that shit behind her when she'd walked away from her marriage. She'd never been all that much drawn in that direction anyway and she knew that about herself.

Her Daddy had wanted a boy. He hadn't been that fixated on it, he'd just thought that his firstborn ought to be a male, though he was prepared to love any child, really. The kind of love that he'd had with Savannah's mother had to be worth at least a Hollywood screenplay or five all by itself, since there was a lot of dreamy romance to it. 

But though modern medicine had advanced and evolved and new miracles were being developed almost every day it seemed, there just hadn't been enough tricks up any of the surgeon's sleeves to stop the hemorrhaging, and her father had watched the love of his life slip away before his eyes.

Savannah had no way to know, of course, but she'd been told by her grandmother that he'd been changed by it. When it was over and he'd stood leaning in tears against the wall in the operating room that they'd wheeled his wife right into as soon as they'd seen what they were facing, he'd changed.

They'd tried to get him out of there, but he knew what was happening, and he calmly told the nurses that he'd kill anyone who tried to hustle him out of there before she was gone. He'd said that he'd face whatever consequences his threats would set into motion later. There was no way that he'd leave his rapidly weakening wife. It tore the heart out of him, but at least he'd gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Little Savannah went home with only one parent.

Her father had never sought anyone for himself ever again and raised her alone. Even for a man with a lot of money, it hadn't been all that easy, but he'd done it. Savannah could have had whatever sort of toys and playthings that her little heart had desired, but it had come naturally to her to try to emulate her father, since they were the very same in their temperament. To him, she was his willful little kitten from the time that she was a little thing, and that was fine.

As she got a little older, whatever tendencies that she might have naturally had to be a tomboy came to her, but like anything else about Savannah, she'd put her own stamp on it and owned it plain and simple. She turned 'tomboy' into 'tomcat' in a female sense for a time, but that had been only a transitional phase for her. Around the time that she'd turned nineteen, she'd come into her own and the word for that was wildcat.

Physical things came easily to her -- they always had, and there wasn't much that she'd ever shied away from, taking no crap from anyone along the way. She'd always loved martial arts and excelled at several styles. When it came time for a summer job, her friends all had the usual ones.

Savannah had been a smoke jumper, fighting forest fires under contract just for the feeling of the adrenaline and the work of it. When the season was over, she hadn't even taken any time to heal up her bruises; she'd just walked into a Marine Corps recruiting office and told the astonished recruiters that they needed her. 

After trying to break her, her training platoon sergeant had just fallen in love with her, as though he was her father away from home, and she became like the daughter that he'd never had. When she'd shipped out for her first posting, he'd stood there with proud tears on his face, threatening to beat the first man to death who even so much as grinned at him with their own arm -- right after he'd ripped it off for the purpose.

Savannah spent one cruise in the Marine contingent of a Navy aircraft carrier in the Mediterranean, fending off the advances of men from regular sailors to officers, including most of the jet jockeys. They seemed to like a challenge, so she gave it to them, telling them that they might have her if they could go three rounds with her in the ring in the gym, or as long as it took to get past a split decision. A lot of money changed hands, but Savannah's little toy remained the inviolate Holy Grail to the ship's company and they all loved her for it.

That wasn't to say that she'd exactly been a total non-player, but any woman on a ship with several thousand people on it has to be at least a little careful about her indiscretions.

She'd done her tour in Iraq then, coming home with the beginnings of a chestful of medals, not that they were all that important to her. She'd only done what was needed. After that, it was the American embassy. Most of that had been spent in readiness drills and working out new measures for being prepared.

All of that had left her a little jaded, though. She was more ripped than most men her age, and she knew of only a handful of females who had a body like hers. They were all body-builders and were more buffed than she was, but that had never held her interest, since she found that pursuit to be a lot of time in a gym with a bored brain, and a bored brain inside Savannah's head was never a good thing. 

She liked her body and worked at keeping it, though she knew that there were a lot of guys that didn't like a woman's body quite as hard as hers. Savannah didn't care, though after a while, she'd fallen for Brendan.

Now she was standing beside a man who just might have the juice in him to be able to keep up, and it was a tantalizing prospect. She was careful not to get her hopes up, though. She knew the odds were against her. She'd never met a man who was anywhere near her equal sexually. She didn't think that there was such an animal. Until may be now, ... though she couldn't say how she knew that.

She did really want to give him a test drive, though.

She listened to him talk and responded appropriately in the right places. She knew what he was doing, too. Hunter was a little different himself, and he was trying for a little normalcy here. It wasn't what he really wanted, she knew that. It was as though he was trying not to let himself hope for too much. As different as he was to most of the men in her life to this point, she also knew that she wasn't his normal run of the mill either.

She also had a feeling that there hadn't been all that many Christmas presents in his life. 

The slowest-moving elevator in the known world finally arrived and the doors crawled apart. They walked in, with Hunter still puzzling out loud about all of this strangeness. He pressed the top floor button and the doors began their snail-like progress in closing. Savannah wanted to scream over it, but she didn't.

"I dunno," he went on, "I mean --"

"There's just one thing here that you're overlooking, Hunter," she said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows as he turned, wondering what it might be.

And then she was on him, slamming him against the wall of the elevator with her hands on his head and her body pressing hard against him. She was kissing him hard, and though it might not be for all that she was worth for any of a couple of reasons, she was putting a lot into it.

Hunter responded instantly, though his mind had to send some conscious commands to his knees that They Shalt Not Buckle. 

They made little soft sounds to each other, expressing both their need and their delight. Hunter wondered if he was going to get enough oxygen. He wondered how long this could last before he saw the darkness in the red vision of his closed eyelids that signaled his loss of consciousness. He felt as though he was up against the hard and almost unyielding torso of a store mannequin, though hers was warm, and he loved it. He wondered where she'd learned to kiss like this.

He wondered if they were going to even make it to the door to his room, and he realized that he likely wouldn't care all that much if they didn't.

What he got from this after most of a minute was that he could really feel her hunger for him, and there wasn't any way that he could doubt it at all. It was there just like gravity, and just as immutable as a force to his mind. But he also knew that there was more here, way more, and it came to him as a call.

He could even feel that his body was rising to that call in other ways than just the obvious. His skin felt flushed and his body tingled with readiness. He could feel it, even in his fingers and toes. Christ, his ears felt as though they might catch fire here.

The door opened and they were thankful that it was their floor, and that there hadn't been anyone waiting there to use the elevator. Hunter grabbed her hand and they almost ran in the direction that he pointed, but Savannah did giggle just a little bit when it looked as though he was going to snap the key off in the lock.

Inside the room, she set her knapsack down and Hunter put the key in his pocket. He thought that maybe she'd like something from the fridge on the nightstand for later and had been about to ask, but she threw him onto the bed as her answer before he could get that far. He was amazed when she actually ripped his T-shirt in her attempts to get it off him. She had him naked in less than a minute after that.

He hadn't even gotten over her ferocity when she'd stood up and began to take her own clothes off. The last thing was her T-shirt and he stared at that incredible body -- an almost exact female likeness to his own -- or maybe it was the other way around, he didn't care. Other than details such as eye and skin color, all that there was lay in the slight difference between their sizes and their weights due to his muscle mass.

He'd never seen anyone like Savannah. He took in the muscles and the ridges of her thighs brought out by the movement of her shifting her weight. His gaze lifted to her mound and though he'd seen enough to have an idea of what was possible, this, ... this one area of Savannah's wonder, he knew without a doubt that he was looking at it his idea of perfection right here.

The look on her face was anything but shyness. She could plainly see that he liked her, and oh, she most definitely liked what she was looking at. She reached for the hem of her shirt and began to pull it up to get it over her head. The motions caused her abdominal muscles to almost ripple. What had looked really nice and trim one second took on much the same washboard look as he knew that he had going on. All that it took was a little motion on her part.

With the shirt off, he admired her breasts as she reached up to untie her hair and let it fall.

There was a moment of silence as they looked at each other. It ended when he groaned very softly, and that sound caused Savannah to sigh, though he didn't hear it. She took the three steps and then she was on him again.

Hunter wasn't stupid. He knew that this was something that they both needed, and as long as she seemed to want to drive, he'd let her do anything that she wanted.

--------------------

"You're worried about meeting my mother," he said as the Harley thundered along the roadway.

"Any woman who falls in love with a man worries a little," Farah replied.

"I have more to worry about," he said, "She's not my mother. She is the mother of Bart, but that spirit is gone. I have only his memories to act by."

Farah was shocked. She hadn't thought of it at all, but she knew that he was right.

"I am an impostor inside the body of another," he said.

--------------------

Afterward, Hunter and Savannah both quite obviously remembered that afternoon, but for each of them, there were moments to it that they'd never forget - such as the way that it had felt to Savannah as she lay on her back with her fingers in Hunter's hair while he mouthed her throat gently. They couldn't stay still for a second -- neither one of them as their bodies sought for new and minute ways to get closer. At that time, she'd said the only thing that it was possible for her to say, but her gasping "Oh, Hunter," told him all that he'd needed to know.

She relaxed then, in a rare moment of complete submission to a male, her head hanging just off the edge of the bed as he moved to take her like this. A small cry of joy escaped her throat that turned this in Hunter's mind because to him, it carried a lot more than her simple acceptance, so he began to put a lot more into it because she was worth it to him. His mouth found the tendons of her neck, exposed to him as they were in this position and he began to bite her very carefully just to hear her gasp every time that he did.

-------------------

She'd looked down often while she'd ridden him hard, but there was once that caused her to wonder if she'd wrenched something loose in her own chest when she'd seen that look of adulation on him. He ran his hands over her breasts. They were a wonder to him, human female breasts, not all that large by themselves, but they were backed by the pectoral muscles that all humans have. Hers were just rock hard when they were in use -- the same as his, that was all. 

He sighed, having found a new ideal to him. As she rode him, looking down, she saw the emotion in his eyes and then she felt him harden as he pushed upward. She threw her head backward, leaning back in the same direction to put her hands on his thighs. When he squeezed her nipples ....

--------------------

They'd been in a doggy position for a long while and it had made Hunter laugh a little to hear Savannah chuckle when she realized that she was hearing the sound that she'd wanted to hear so much as she threw her body back against him to match his thrusts. And at several times during their lovemaking, Savannah Smith decided that she really thought that Hunter Kurtz was amazing. 

The thought led to another one which she knew that she ought not to be having, since she'd only gone into this not wanting to look very far into it at all. And that led her to think very far anyway, when she had the time for it. That likely wouldn't happen, she told herself, but it was becoming a very nice thought. 

-------------------

"Hunter, you sweet thing," she said a little tiredly hours later, "help me to stand up. We've been here for hours and I still haven't gotten a chance at that bath that I wanted. I mean, I can even see the tub a little from here in the dark, but I'm still not anywhere near getting in it, am I?"

It was surprisingly difficult for such a small thing, but he managed it, ending up sitting on the edge of the bed and holding her up as she stood a little between his knees. Savannah had the thought to walk away from him to turn on the bathroom light so that she could run the bath for them, since from where she stood, the thing was big enough for the two of them to enjoy together and she liked the thought of it now.




The Witch's Want Ch. 07



But she found herself being held fast as Hunter pulled her backward a little bit so that her hip was against his manhood and it surprised her a little that there already seemed to be something of a resurgence happening there again.

"Hunter?"

It was all that she had the chance to ask, because he pulled her back a little more and for some reason, she felt trust in him, rather than the natural human fear of falling over, since he held her very tenderly. 

The fingers of his right hand slipped into her hair and he cradled her head and his lips brushed hers very softly as he spoke the truth, "I don't want to let you go, Savannah."

"I'm not going anywhere, Hunter," she whispered once she understood what he meant, "I need to be right here with you. I was only going to pour us a bath."

"I know that," he said, "I just suddenly felt that I was going to be missing the feel of you against me. It's not like me -- well, up to this point, but I -- I just couldn't let you go yet."

She kissed him as softly as she could, "Then don't let me go."

His lips sealed themselves over hers and they sighed as his left hand touched her breastbone and began to slide down the front of her slowly, his fingers taking in the little speed bumps of her stomach before they drifted lower on her hard belly. Savannah leaned back even more and reached back with her right arm so that she could hold his thigh against her bottom when she felt his fingers begin to toy gently with the soft folds of her lips.

Hunter lifted his lips from hers to give her the room to gasp quietly before she moaned into his mouth.

"Oh Hunter, that's so nice," she whispered, "but you're running out of me and -- "

"Shh," he sighed, "I don't care. I don't get to do something like this every day."

All that Savannah could do was to whimper to him and lean against him more when she thought that her knees might fail her. She moved slightly and she sighed once more when she realized that one of her nipples was against one of his. Other than the warm presence of his chest, there was little feeling of it to her, but she thought it was a nice thing nonetheless.

---------------------

The phone at the front desk began to ring and the bored clerk picked it up. The male voice on the other end had called to request room service and was transferred to the kitchen where he placed his order and his request for when it was to be delivered, if possible.

---------------------

This was all about metaphysics, she told herself. It had taken forever to manage to get the bathwater, Hunter, and herself in the same place at the same time, that place being the bathtub itself. But here they were, half-covered in bubbles, and Savannah was happy. She'd never tried to bathe a man before and found the experience to be a very enjoyable pastime. Besides, she thought, it was a lot of fun to hold herself to him -- as slippery as they both were at the moment so that she could slide her lips over him now and then.

"So why were you having trouble with your security business?" she asked him, "What's been going wrong?"

"I have the permits to get a lot of the right kind of contracts," he said, "but there's only one of me and I have to sleep sometime, and I can't handle the phones when I'm in the field very well. At the moment, I sure can't afford to employ anyone for that either."

She looked at him, "The right kind of contracts?"

"Uh-huh," he smiled as he wondered at himself. He'd never even be having this conversation with anyone other than his banker, normally. 

"I can provide a lot of services, from intelligence gathering to the kind of protection where the client wears a ballistics vest and I'm there seriously armed. I'm not talking about escorting a singer through her adoring fans. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno," she smiled, "I think that at the moment, I'm more of an adoring fan myself. I just wanted to know, that's all. What would you need to make a go of it?"

He shrugged as he stroked her thigh for a moment, "People and money. I'll never get anywhere if I don't at least have somebody in an office somewhere near the phone and able to look stuff up when I call and to take calls for me. I also need somebody that I can trust so that there's more than one of me. I was spread paper-thin on the jobs that I did manage to land."

She set her thoughts aside for the moment as he began to work on his own metaphysical problem; that being the application of the water, the loofa that he'd discovered, and the soap to her breasts. They weren't dirty, he grinned to himself, but he sure liked the sounds that she made as he washed them for her.

He chuckled to himself and she asked him about it.

"I was just remembering a line from a Disney book that my mom used to read to me out of when I was little. It was a variation on the theme of the race between the turtle and the hare. Goofy kept saying that steady and slow was the way to go, and given what I'm doing here ..."

"And gently," she said, "Don't forget gently."

--------------------------

With the dinner done, they were on the bed side-by-side while he tried to make sense of things as he scribbled things down. They were looking for plausible reasons for what they'd both felt to cause them to come to this town with little more than that feeling. They'd already turfed the phase of the moon, among other things.

"I even knew it when I passed the store," he said, "That sense was in front of me, then it was beside me for a second, and then it was behind me because I'd passed the place."

"Me too," Savannah said, "Though it was slower because I was on foot. You ever have anything like this before?" she asked as she rolled onto her side to look at him again.

He shook his head. "No, never in my life," he said as he began to trace some of the features of her body with his fingertip. He liked the way that it made her smile. The notepad that he'd been writing on slid off the bed and onto the floor.

--------------------------

Farah sat and listened to him in her helmet speakers as they rode, with Ur-Nammu answering her questions about what he knew had happened before his death. There was a religion here that she'd never heard of before she'd met him and it made her wonder how it was that there could be such similarities to what she knew as Wicca and yet there even more elements which related to self-governance. Farah knew that as with anything, there was enough here for a lifetime of study, but it had surprised her to hear him chuckle and tell her that he hoped that it wouldn't come to that, since at its heart, it was also earth--magick.

So they discussed some of his memories of the people who'd been important in his life. Ur-Nammu had been against it at the outset, but she told him that they had a way to go, and so he'd agreed, but only if they could turn it into a bargain where she had to do the same.

When they finally got to bed in the motel after a long hot shower, they decided on just quiet things between them, since Farah wasn't used to riding. So she found herself lying in any of the ways that he moved her body while he amazed her with how well he could make her tired limbs and body feel with those hands of his. She stayed awake as long as she could, but it wasn't all that long before she slept.

Ur-Nammu looked down at her with a soft smile. He doubted whether she could imagine how he felt, but that didn't matter. He was happy and content just to look at her. When her hand looked as though it was trying to reach for the covers, he pulled the blankets up and the light clicked off with a wave of his hand.

----------------------

Hunter and Savannah stayed like this for two days. Whenever one woke up, they'd always find the other one either in the bed, or at the window, since they'd found that they could see the store from there with his binoculars. Sometimes, they'd go for a walk and pass by, but there was never anyone there or any sign that anyone had been there.

"Nobody and nothing," he'd said as he'd checked the hairs that he'd tacked to the doors at their openings to show if anyone had been inside. "And yet this feeling is still here," he muttered.

"How long will you stay to find out?" Savannah asked.

"Another couple of days," he said, "then I'll leave if nothing happens."

"No you won't, Hunter," she smiled, "You're stuck here the same as me."

"What will you do?" he asked her.

"I dunno," she smiled, "I'm just glad that you're here too."

He smiled back and they walked off to get breakfast.

--------------------

On their way back, Farah decided that she liked traveling on his motorcycle, overall. But she liked a long trip in his truck more. The visit with his mother had gone well, and the older woman was happy that her son had someone now.

"I try not to make a big deal out of it or anything," she'd said to Farah in a private moment, "But when he was attacked and in the hospital, well, I didn't know until a day or two before he was released. I went to see him, of course, and the doctors told me that they really didn't know how he'd survived.

The thing is," she said, "that he's changed a little. I don't know what it is, but he's a little different from the way that he used to be. He calls me once a week, and he always tries to make sure that I'm alright, you know?"

"What's changed that you see?" Farah had asked.

His mother shrugged, "I was lucky if he called me for Christmas or Mother's Day before."

----------------------

There was a change on the morning of the third day. Savannah woke up and found him lying on his side beside her. The expression on his face was a little troubled.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Just close your eyes for a minute," he said, "You tell me."

She closed her eyes, wondering what he was talking about, but it didn't take her long at all. "It's moved!"

He nodded, "I've been up for a while now. I felt it right away, and I got dressed to walk to the store there. The feeling is off to the East now, but not too far. As soon as I turned that way, it stopped and disappeared. I think I'm going crazy from this, Savannah. I came back here to tell you, but you were still asleep so I've been waiting for you."

She was surprised. "Why would you wait for me?"

He looked at her as though she'd grown another head. It made her laugh and she hugged him. "You and me, Hunter. I think we're both nuts. Let me get dressed and we'll go, ok?"

-----------------------

When she was ready, she found him sitting with their knapsacks, hers and his. "What's this?"

He shrugged, "I don't know what's next, Savannah. I figured that it might be better if we've got our stuff."

On their way out of the hotel, he led her to his truck. With their gear stowed, they drove slowly to the bistro, grabbed some take-out coffee and drove in the direction of the bookstore, but passed it to head in the direction that they were drawn, stopping to confer whenever the road twisted. Hunter had done this on purpose, wanting to see if what Savannah felt was the same as what he did. Before long, they were looking at a driveway leading off into some woods. They looked at each other and shrugged.

The driveway led them past a house where there was nobody at home. There was a barn as well, but the sense kept them moving past it until they'd run out navigable surface. From there, they went ahead on foot.

After ten minutes of walking through a field of conifers, they were looking at a low hillside. About two-thirds of the way up that, they saw an opening. It was bigger than it looked because of a boulder which stood in the way, though a person could squeeze through. They stood looking at each other.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I don't want to go in there for anything, right now," Hunter said with a scowl, but after a moment, he took his pack off to set it down and began to rummage through it.

"But I'm going to, if for no other reason than to put this to rest." 

He grimaced, "I'll probably end up right up to my ears in bat shit." He pulled out a long heavy flashlight and Savannah's eyes widened a little when he removed a pistol as well. He cocked it, set the safety on and stuck it into his waist band at the small of his back.

"Wait Hunter," she said, "I'm going in too."

He watched her pull a coil of mountaineering rope out of her pack.

"A regular Mountaineering Weekly poster girl, you are," he smirked.

She gave him a smirk as she tied one end of it to a small tree. "Sure."

Then she pulled out her own flashlight and they stood together at the entrance, trying to block out enough of the daylight to hopefully see a little way inside.

"What's the gun for?" she asked in a whisper.

He answered honestly, "I don't know."

"Good enough," she grinned, as she took hers out of her pack.

They shucked their packs on and slipped carefully inside, looking at the floor of the cavern with a hope to find solid footing and not bat waste. But the floor there was just what it appeared to be, a solid stone surface. For the first thirty feet, it was going well, but then the light which had been filtering in behind them faded away. They turned around and found the opening gone.

When they backtracked, they came to a solid rock wall with a piece of rope at the bottom where it passed through.

"What the hell, ..." Hunter whispered. They looked at each other for a moment before they noticed that the air around them seemed to swirl, though there was no breeze. They heard whispers all around them but the beams of their flashlights showed nothing.

"What do we do now?" Savannah asked, after making sure that the rope was intact, though the wall was impenetrable.

Hunter snorted quietly, "Well for the moment, I'd suggest that we turn off one of our lights to save it for later. Then, since we can't seem to go back, I think that we'll have to go forward and hope that there's another opening someplace."

"The nearest way out is many leagues from here," a male voice said slowly, "and there are always many dead on these roads. Not all are harmless."

They shone the beams of their lights around frantically, since the voice seemed to come from no one direction. Neither of them were scared, they were more startled at the voice and its tone -- and the way that it seemed to sound a tad slow and carefully spoken. They saw no direct threat to them at all, but that still didn't stop the hair on the backs of their necks from prickling.

"We can wait," a female voice said, "until you are calm. Nothing can be gained if you feel panic."

"I don't feel panic," Savannah said quietly as she pulled her pistol.

"Wait a moment then anyway," another voice said. 

Hunter and Savannah heard about the most incongruous sounds that they could have imagined. Somewhere, just out of their sight, a horse stamped its hoof and snorted. They looked at each other to be sure that they'd heard it.

Something began to appear out of the swirling atmosphere of the cavern. Hunter felt Savannah's hand against his arm. When he looked over, she pointed, "There. See them? The horses?"

Before he could answer, they were looking at dead horses standing, looking like nothing more than dried skins stretched over skeletons which stood on their hooves and were animated somehow. But the longer that they looked, the more they saw that the hides were not empty and were filled with the bulge of tissue over the bones. They didn't appear to be static at all, they moved a little where they were tied, and the shapes seemed to flicker slowly, showing a living horse one moment and then a corpse the next, with holes in their hides which seemed to grow and shrink at the same time, depending on where one might be looking at them.

"I see them," he whispered, but I don't believe any of this shit for a second. If one of those things starts to talk right now, I'll know that there was something in the breakfast that we didn't eat."

"Now I wish that we'd had breakfast," she whispered back, "just hearing you say that's made me hungry."

They heard one of the voices chuckle for a moment, "There can be no doubt now, husband. These must surely be the ones."

"The ones for what?" Hunter asked.

"Your weapons there," the male voice said, "You are in more danger from them than we."

They stared as they saw three people walking toward them from where the horses were tied. The dank cave began to smell of warm and well-worn leather. No surprise there, Savannah judged, they were all covered in it. They were also all covered with blades.  

Everywhere that they looked, on the women at least, they saw the hafts of swords protruding from scabbards both at their sides or showing over their shoulders. Even their boots showed the hafts of several daggers or throwing knives each. The large man had only a sword and a dagger showing.

"It was the coffee," Hunter said with a smirk, "Miss Dairydale must have poisoned it."

"I told you that you ought to have at least suggested to her that you go out back together," Savannah said, rolling her eyes, "I would have waited while you bopped her up against the wall quick. She'd have felt a lot better, and we'd have gotten more coffee for nothing -- once she'd figured out that her legs could still work."

Though he was faced with the strangest sights that he'd ever seen, Hunter snapped his head around to stare at Savannah. "You'd have let me do that? I mean, I wouldn't really have wanted to, necessarily, but seriously?"

"Sure," Savannah smirked, "Sometimes you gotta make an investment. We'd have gotten coffee out of it and maybe free food. Besides, you've got me. Just how much fun could she be after you've had me?"

"That's true," Hunter nodded seriously, keeping his pistol leveled and trying to determine which one of them might be the greatest threat. "Are you saying that I'll be expected to make an investment like that with you one day?"

She shrugged, "I dunno, there may come a time when we'll want a man incapacitated just like that girl would be. You can't always bash people over the head or shoot them. If there's one thing that I know about us, Hunter my dear friend, it's that there's not all that many who can go much of a distance with either of us."

The two women began to laugh and one of them held up her hand. "Oh, stop. We see that we have summoned the right ones in you."

Savannah and Hunter lowered their pistols in amazement. "Summoned?"

The woman with long reddish hair chuckled and shook her head in some amazement of her own. "She speaks just as Fox would, in exactly the same way with her words. You cannot know how good it is to hear words like that, my friend."

"I'm not your friend," Savannah growled.

"Exactly the same," the woman smiled, "even now."

"Alright," Hunter said, ignoring the others for a moment, "this is how I see this. We can't go back for some reason, and we've got these things here in front of us. We're wasting time. I think that we ought to just ignore this noise -- whatever the cause, and try to find some way out of here."

"But he says that it's a long way to another exit." Savannah said.

"Who the fuck is he?" Hunter demanded, "This is all just holograms or something. Look," he walked right up to the man and reached out to pass his hand through the illusion that he suspected. His hand stopped as it touched the leather cuirass and the face above it smiled.

"If we are finished with this," the man said, "we are in agreement, you and I. We waste time." He pushed Hunter aside gently and looked at their packs. "Do you have food in those?"

While Hunter stared, Savannah shrugged, "I've got a few granola bars." She reached around to one of the side pockets and pulled out a package to hold it out to him. To their amazement, he took it from her and stared at the wrapper.

"This picture," he said, "This shows what is inside?"




The Witch's Want Ch. 07



She nodded, "Pretty much."

He looked dubious, "You can eat this?"

She nodded again, "Yeah."

The man frowned, "Then I would be overjoyed if I were a mouse. But I see that you would give it to me if I ask. It is enough. With this, I can make -" He swept his other hand out behind him.

The cavern changed its appearance, and a rough table appeared before them, covered in food, as though it was a banquet which beckoned them. Candles burned from several ledges and lit the chamber. The humans stared in disbelief.

"Come and eat," the man said as he walked to one of the benches, "there is much to tell, and you would not want to go farther anyway. You were summoned to the shop of a merchant until this day. Now you are summoned here. Since we are the summoners, how far do you think that you can go?"

"There is no danger to you here with us," the black-haired woman said, "but we have come to tell you why you were summoned, and we seek your aid if you would give it. It may mean little to you now, but you were chosen for many reasons, and the most important is that you share a little of the blood of two people who were friends to us once, long ago."

While Hunter tried with little success to comprehend what was before him, Savannah was already edging forward, her eyes on the table. She could smell the feast. 

"So this," she said, "This is real food?"

The large man chuckled for a moment as he held up the empty wrapper of the granola bar, "You eat this and ask me if what is here is real. What I have put here is more real than what you gave to me, if this sticky grain is what people eat for food now. Come eat with us and listen."

"So you're real people," Hunter asked.

The dark haired woman shrugged. "Once we were," she said, "This place is the end of one of the dead roads. We have no wish to frighten you, but you are the only living ones here. The food is real -- or real enough to eat and taste. Everything else -- the benches, table and the candles are illusion, though we are not. In this place, we may hold shape and be solid with less trouble than if we were outside. But we are still shades, as hard as we may seem. There is another place where we are what is real and there, we live still. Please, sit with us and eat. No harm will come to you for it."

The three sat down and began to eat. "You did not know each other before, but you came, feeling the summons. You do not know how this is possible, though it is, quite plainly," the man said. "Now, we wish to tell you why. Surely you would seek to know how and why you were called, no?"

"No," Hunter said.

"Sure," Savannah answered, as she edged closer.

"Savannah!" Hunter said with growing alarm, "What are you doing?"

"I'm uh, I'm about to do lunch," she said, "I'm starving." She looked at the women, "What happens if I eat some of this?"

They laughed, "You will not be so hungry, of course, and there will be less for Hunter."

"Awesome," she grinned, and she moved to sit on one of the benches.

Hunter was having trouble being convinced. "Besides our first names, which you've heard, what do you know of us?"

The man recited their whole names, when and where they'd been born in terms that they could understand, the names of their parents and grandparents. By the time that he was done, their jaws hung open.

"Well," he said with a smile, "I had to know enough about you to be sure that you were the ones. I know more about your bloodline than you know yourselves, but to tell of it would take all the day and night. May we eat now? Have you no wish to know how you are tied to each other by blood? Surely any living man or woman would like to know something such as this, and the ones who were the sires of that bloodline were well-known to many at the time."

While Hunter tried to make up his mind, Savannah looked back at him. "This is good, Hunter, You couldn't get better food if you were in the kitchen of the hotel" she said around the mouthful of the roast that she was into at the moment.

"Which is," the man smirked, "where it came from."

Hunter sat down next to her.

The red-haired woman smiled and nodded, "First, I wish to say that my name is Anat. This is my husband -- "

"Wait a second," Savannah said, "I recognize your voices from before you showed yourselves." She indicated the other woman. "You called him your husband earlier."

"Yes," she nodded.

Savannah turned back to Anat. "And now you're calling him your husband, ..."

"He is our husband," she nodded.

The man grinned and held up two fingers, "Two wives."

"Lugalbanda is very brave," Anat nodded.

"Lugalbanda?"

"That is my name," he said, "and this is Nisi-ini-su."

Hunter groaned, "I should be taking notes. Ok, until a few days ago, we didn't know each other at all. Now you're telling us that we're related?"

"Far enough back, many many people are related," Nisi-ini-su replied, "but yes, over many lands and over thousands of years, you both come from the same pair. They were called Fox and Wolf. They were famous among our people."

"So have we done anything wrong?" Savannah asked, "if we're related and all."

Nisi-ini-su shook her head. "You mean because you have loved together? No. You are related, but over many generations, more than four hundred, each of you."

Savannah had asked in that way for a reason and she now had her answer. "You know that we've been together, don't you?"

Anat nodded, "We see. We know." 

As they ate, she began to tell them tales of how the couple met and some of the things that they'd done in their time. When she was done, the food was mostly gone. Lugalbanda moved his hand, and a pitcher of wine appeared, along with some goblets.

"How do you do that?" Savannah asked.

He shrugged. "In a place where wine is sold, there now stands an empty bottle."

"I knew Fox well," Anat said, "She was one of my fighters, and we were friends for a long time. You were a fighter once. You know the sort of friendship that I mean to say. You look different from my memory of her, but your body is much like hers was and you are the same in your temperament. The one that you love -- " 

She indicated Hunter with her hand and his jaw dropped. "I meant to say that Hunter looks like Wolf, though he is a little smaller in his chest, and he speaks a bit more often."

"Savannah, ..." he said.

She blushed furiously. "I didn't say that," she said, beginning to shake her head.

"He feels the same," Nisi-ini-su smiled, "though neither one has told the other. We see. We know. It is not full yet in either one, but it is there."

"Thanks a lot," Savannah muttered under her breath.

The woman smiled and nodded, "Anat has always said what is plain. She is the best one to ask a question of, because then, one will hear the truth."

Savannah didn't know if she was ready for the truth just yet.

Hunter looked as though he was going to say something, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Savannah shoved a grape in. "For Pete's sake, Hunter, don't wreck it now. She's at least a little right, but now is not the time. I don't want to hear it, ok?"

He chewed on the grape and nodded.

She couldn't help herself. Savannah had to look.

He looked down with an expression which showed a lot of his sudden uncertainty. Savannah had a slightly different reason to wish that Anat hadn't said what she'd said. She took pity on him and reached for his hand. He looked at her, allowing his arm to follow her motion.

"I guess you didn't hear me earlier," she said as she pulled his arm over her shoulder. "I did say that you have me. It's only been a couple of days, Hunter," she smiled, "Give me a chance to screw this up, and I'll probably do it."

Not wanting to stay on the subject, she looked at the trio. "This is all very pleasant," she said, "but I'm sure that you didn't come from wherever you're from all this way to drag us together and tell us stories.

Anyway," she said, "It's a little hard to sit here and listen since we're prisoners here. You blocked the opening, so we're trapped."

"Ah," Lugalbanda said, "of course." The glow of the afternoon sun shone into the cave again.

"Our son's woman requires your protection for a time," Nisi-ini-su said earnestly.

"Your son, ..." Hunter said, catching the look.

"Yes," Anat said with the same earnestness.

"Hold on," he said, "I'm already lost."

"Me too," Savannah nodded, "If you're all ghosts or whatever you are, wouldn't he be dead too?"

"We three had many children," Anat said, "This one, Ur-Nammu was the first, born, of Lugalbanda and Nisi-ini-su, but we have always loved all of our children. Each one had two mothers, not only the one who birthed them. He was dead from a necromancer's casting, but his spirit did not pass and he only wandered. Now he has a body, and so he has the chance to finish his life."

"He has a woman here," Lugalbanda said, "and the woman has property, such as this land and the shop where you were drawn. One day, she will need to leave it behind, but she does not know this yet and is not ready anyway. The way that people live now requires that they be apart at least some of the time."

"There is one who wishes her harm," Nisi-ini-su said, "and there are others who wish that she leave here out of their interpretations of their faith. We can see that she would be beset, and though she does not know of everything that she carries with him yet, she could cause much harm without knowing it. We seek to avoid this by having you protect her and what she owns here."

"And we worry," Anat said, "Sometimes not all is plain to our eyes."

"Why don't you protect her yourselves?" Hunter asked, "You seem to be able to do quite a lot."

"In the first place, it is not right," Lugalbanda said, "and it is not our place. To do this requires much power, since it would be outside of this place. We need three things from you -- if you would do them. In exchange, we can reward you both richly."

"Oh shit," Hunter muttered under his breath, "Here it comes."

"We don't need to be rewarded richly," Savannah said.

"With all the respect I can muster, Savannah, speak for yourself," Hunter said, "I need to be rewarded richly. I need that a lot. Unless I manage to scarf up some business within the next month, ...

I just don't think that I want to know what it's gonna cost me."

"No you don't, Hunter," she said with the full measure of her conviction.

"If you want to help, then I'm with you. If you don't, I'm with you there too and we can try to leave. Just tell me that you need a partner, and I'll help you. C'mon Hunter," she said, "You and me."

He looked at her and, other than how she seemed to be telling him that she was in his corner, he wasn't getting it, and he knew that. He didn't understand what was meant.

"Look," she said, "I'm telling you that you can do whatever you want here, and not worry about scratching up some business anywhere else. I think that we ought to at least hear them out and then decide, but I'll do what ever you think is best and I'll back you up."

Hunter sighed, "Thanks Savannah, but I need some money to even go on past the end of the month. I'm not doubting you. I just don't see how I -"

"I'm telling you that you don't need to worry about money. I'll cover you. Let's find out what they're trying to tell us."

Hunter was out of his field of reference - or he thought that she must be out of hers. He opened his mouth to object, but her smile stopped him as she put her arm around him.

"I dunno what it is, Hunter," she said, "I mean, I know that I'm from Texas and all, but I just know that my accent can't be leaving you in the dust this bad. I trust you ,don't I? Now you just trust me too. You don't need money all that bad right here because, Sugar, you've got me. I'm sure that I can help. I just really want to know what all of this is about."

"You'd do that for me? Why?"

"Sure enough would," Savannah smirked, "It's like I said before. Sometimes you gotta make an investment." 

It still didn't make sense, but Hunter knew that he'd never met anyone like Savannah, and if she wanted him to listen to this bunch of animated special effects that badly, well then that's what he'd do.

"Alright," he said, "What so you need for us to do?"