"Sated Appetites" by Rose J. Fairchild
Fastening the short silk cape at her throat, Lillith admired the way it spilled over her shoulders like blood-soaked butterfly wings. Tightening her corset as she slipped into tall black leather boots, she applied matching red lipstick before scratching the ears of her three-headed hound and opening the front door.
She rode the elevator down from her apartment, greeted the doorman as she left the building, and breathed in the stench of concrete jungle. Long ago she’d had to work hard for her prey as she prowled homesteads and minuscule tumbleweed towns. But humans—ever resourceful—had created a world in which she could thrive.
Lillith was sure someone had created modern cities with her in mind. Disturbingly loud and covered in a constant cloud of aroma, they made it easy for her to do her work as tech zombies wandered the streets, oblivious to everything around them. Poured together in a giant melting pot with a generous sprinkling of population explosion, it created a killer recipe for easy pickings.
Brushing a stray hair off her black leggings, she stalked purposefully down the street into ever seedier areas. She pulled the crimson silk hood over her head, its shine, color, and implied innocence a powerful beacon for what she sought under the streetlamps.
It wasn’t long before she heard catcalls as she walked past men sitting together on stoops, drinking and smoking the night away. There were whistles from passing cars, and someone in a second-floor apartment had the gall to howl at her.
Disgusting, she thought. Do they really think anyone wants to feel like prey? If only someone would teach them a lesson.
Lillith smiled a little to herself just as she noticed the prickling heat of someone following her—felt her body urging her legs to walk faster. She forced them to remain steady.
Ducking into a dark alleyway, she heard the scuff of a footstep following her. Her heart fluttered wildly against her ribs as she heard, “Hey, sweetie. Where do you think you’re going?”
She turned to face him, brimming with wide-eyed innocence. “Sorry, I don’t talk to strangers.”
She swallowed a snarl as the man snickered. “Well, you just did, so I guess we’re not strangers. Why don’t you come over here and maybe we can become good friends?”
Shaking her head, voice sharpening, she urged, “Stay away! I’m warning you!” She knew just what he wanted.
He prowled closer, closer, until she could practically taste the reek of his sour breath. He pressed her to the brick wall at her back—the heat of him making her skin crawl—and ran a filthy thumb over her lips.
“There now, see? I’m not so bad. In fact, I think we’re going to be very close, you and I.” She turned her head away from his wandering digits as he attempted to lift her chin and his other hand slid to her backside.
“Don’t be afraid, honey. I’ve been waiting all night for you, and I’m going to make sure we both enjoy this.”
Raising her eyes to his, she allowed the mask to slip. Inky blackness swallowed the whites of her eyes as her teeth lengthened into venom-soaked fangs.
She had warned him to stay away.
As he tried to pull back, her claws bit into his shoulder and spun him around, pressing him into the wall she had been pinned to. She unleashed her best Cheshire grin, her face coming unzipped to expose bladed jaws.
Her mouth widened like a snake's and she extended a long, purple-black tongue to lick the side of his face. Brushing against him, she whispered, “Oh, I’m not afraid, honey. But you should be, because I’ve been waiting all night for you, too.”
Soundless puffs of air escaped as he tried to form a scream, his body convulsing in fear against her. She grinned at him, fangs glinting in the low light, and laughed as he wet himself.
“Good. Now you know how all the people you’ve preyed on felt.” She took a deep whiff of him.
He stuttered nonsense and Lillith hissed, “You’re a predator, a bigot, and a waste of valuable oxygen. Luckily for me, you’re exactly my type.”
Just as he was about to find his voice, her jaws yawned open. She savored the feel of his flesh giving way between her switchblade teeth. A muffled scream echoed inside her head and down her throat as she devoured his face. But no one would hear him. Not here. And no one would care that he was gone.
Least of all, her.
She tore off his clothes and consumed his flesh as he had done to so many girls before. She could taste their fear and pain still clinging to him—an unpleasant note she had grown accustomed to.
Lillith chided herself, “One of these days, I really must start lower. These fools should suffer at least a little for what they’ve done.” She sighed and crunched on his ankle, the joint’s cartilage squishing in her teeth.
As the last of his toes slid down her throat, she picked up his piss-soaked clothes and threw them in the dumpster along with his stomach, intestines, favorite tool, and assorted unsavory bits.
Wiping blood from her chin and shifting her bait face back into place, Lillith set off to find another human parasite.
After all, the hound was hungry, too.
She rode the elevator down from her apartment, greeted the doorman as she left the building, and breathed in the stench of concrete jungle. Long ago she’d had to work hard for her prey as she prowled homesteads and minuscule tumbleweed towns. But humans—ever resourceful—had created a world in which she could thrive.
Lillith was sure someone had created modern cities with her in mind. Disturbingly loud and covered in a constant cloud of aroma, they made it easy for her to do her work as tech zombies wandered the streets, oblivious to everything around them. Poured together in a giant melting pot with a generous sprinkling of population explosion, it created a killer recipe for easy pickings.
Brushing a stray hair off her black leggings, she stalked purposefully down the street into ever seedier areas. She pulled the crimson silk hood over her head, its shine, color, and implied innocence a powerful beacon for what she sought under the streetlamps.
It wasn’t long before she heard catcalls as she walked past men sitting together on stoops, drinking and smoking the night away. There were whistles from passing cars, and someone in a second-floor apartment had the gall to howl at her.
Disgusting, she thought. Do they really think anyone wants to feel like prey? If only someone would teach them a lesson.
Lillith smiled a little to herself just as she noticed the prickling heat of someone following her—felt her body urging her legs to walk faster. She forced them to remain steady.
Ducking into a dark alleyway, she heard the scuff of a footstep following her. Her heart fluttered wildly against her ribs as she heard, “Hey, sweetie. Where do you think you’re going?”
She turned to face him, brimming with wide-eyed innocence. “Sorry, I don’t talk to strangers.”
She swallowed a snarl as the man snickered. “Well, you just did, so I guess we’re not strangers. Why don’t you come over here and maybe we can become good friends?”
Shaking her head, voice sharpening, she urged, “Stay away! I’m warning you!” She knew just what he wanted.
He prowled closer, closer, until she could practically taste the reek of his sour breath. He pressed her to the brick wall at her back—the heat of him making her skin crawl—and ran a filthy thumb over her lips.
“There now, see? I’m not so bad. In fact, I think we’re going to be very close, you and I.” She turned her head away from his wandering digits as he attempted to lift her chin and his other hand slid to her backside.
“Don’t be afraid, honey. I’ve been waiting all night for you, and I’m going to make sure we both enjoy this.”
Raising her eyes to his, she allowed the mask to slip. Inky blackness swallowed the whites of her eyes as her teeth lengthened into venom-soaked fangs.
She had warned him to stay away.
As he tried to pull back, her claws bit into his shoulder and spun him around, pressing him into the wall she had been pinned to. She unleashed her best Cheshire grin, her face coming unzipped to expose bladed jaws.
Her mouth widened like a snake's and she extended a long, purple-black tongue to lick the side of his face. Brushing against him, she whispered, “Oh, I’m not afraid, honey. But you should be, because I’ve been waiting all night for you, too.”
Soundless puffs of air escaped as he tried to form a scream, his body convulsing in fear against her. She grinned at him, fangs glinting in the low light, and laughed as he wet himself.
“Good. Now you know how all the people you’ve preyed on felt.” She took a deep whiff of him.
He stuttered nonsense and Lillith hissed, “You’re a predator, a bigot, and a waste of valuable oxygen. Luckily for me, you’re exactly my type.”
Just as he was about to find his voice, her jaws yawned open. She savored the feel of his flesh giving way between her switchblade teeth. A muffled scream echoed inside her head and down her throat as she devoured his face. But no one would hear him. Not here. And no one would care that he was gone.
Least of all, her.
She tore off his clothes and consumed his flesh as he had done to so many girls before. She could taste their fear and pain still clinging to him—an unpleasant note she had grown accustomed to.
Lillith chided herself, “One of these days, I really must start lower. These fools should suffer at least a little for what they’ve done.” She sighed and crunched on his ankle, the joint’s cartilage squishing in her teeth.
As the last of his toes slid down her throat, she picked up his piss-soaked clothes and threw them in the dumpster along with his stomach, intestines, favorite tool, and assorted unsavory bits.
Wiping blood from her chin and shifting her bait face back into place, Lillith set off to find another human parasite.
After all, the hound was hungry, too.
"Hazel" by Rose J. Fairchild
“Do you hear them?” I ask as I gently lay my hand against the trunk of a birch tree. Curls of papery white bark tickle against my palm as I watch the leaves flash silver-green in the breeze.
“Hear who, Hazel?” My best friend Rachel stares quizzically at me, her expression bordering on wary.
I smile. “The trees, of course.” She squints at me and crosses her arms over her chest. I continue, “They whisper, but I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
She studies the maple arching gracefully over her head, and nods. Her steps are swallowed by the earth as she approaches me.
“Yeah, I hear them. And do you want to know what they’re saying?”
My heart races. “Absolutely.”
She speaks, sing-song. “They are saying, ‘go home, Hazel! You really need some sleep!’”
She bats her eyes at me and I gently shove her away. “I’m serious, Rachel.”
She rolls her eyes and I shrug. “Fine. Don’t believe me. I’ll figure it out myself.”
The air whooshes from my lungs as she roughly pats my back. “Sure you will. But first, we have midterms to study for.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.
Once midterms were finished, I could finally spend time somewhere other than the library. Normally I love the library and all the secrets hidden there, but the silence had become insufferable. The air felt dead.
It is my first day of freedom from studying, so I am heading to the river to walk through those beautiful trees lining its banks. I sing gently and swear the trees sing back. But when I stop to listen, I hear nothing but the soft susurration of the wind dancing through leaves.
I giggle thinking how much fun Rachel would have at my expense if she were here.
“One day, beauties. One day, I will know what you whisper about.”
That night, I am awakened by a voice. It is distant, but singing clear and bell-like in the darkness. I put on my slippers and wrap a robe around myself, then set off to find its source.
The voice draws me to my favorite walking place. It looks so familiar, and yet not the same. I must be dreaming because six of the trees are gone, including my beloved birch.
The singing comes from a beautiful woman, her long reddish-brown hair almost reaching her ankles as she sways and sings under the stars. The others join her in a soft, flowing dance.
The silver-haired one notices me and beckons me over. She takes my hand and winks a silver-green eye at me, then leads me through the dance along with her.
The song and dance finally come to a close and I run my hands along my arms. I touch my hair to be sure it is not standing on end. So much energy hums in the air it is both terrifying and exhilarating.
The silver-haired one smooths my frazzled hair. Her voice is gentle, like a sigh.
“Welcome, Hazel. I am Birch.” She gestures to the beauties behind her. “That’s Aspen, Elowen, Willow, Ilana, and Holly.”
They all smile at me like old friends. Can it be?
“We are the voices of the trees you love so much. We are tree nymphs. And so are you. That’s why you can hear us.”
Their bodies lengthen as they raise their arms and faces to the sky. Leaves sprout from their stretching fingers, and their skin turns hard and rough.
I try to run, but my toes are lengthening, rooting me to the ground. I open my mouth to scream as my bones stretch and my skin hardens, but only a whisper comes out. My fingers itch as leaves burst forth. My robe and slippers shred as I rapidly outgrow them.
It takes two days for anyone to find what's left of me. And once the police collect my clothes and likely notify my family, Rachel comes to walk along the river—perhaps in remembrance of me.
She walks past me, then steps back. In my trunk is a carving of a heart with H+R=BFF in its center. She traces it with a finger, then pulls up the sleeve of her sweatshirt to reveal an identical tattoo.
We got them one day as a sort of blood oath to always be best friends. Mine on my leg, and hers on her arm.
I try to whisper to her as a tear rolls down her cheek.
She hugs my trunk and sobs, “I hear you, Hazel. I hear you.”
“Hear who, Hazel?” My best friend Rachel stares quizzically at me, her expression bordering on wary.
I smile. “The trees, of course.” She squints at me and crosses her arms over her chest. I continue, “They whisper, but I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
She studies the maple arching gracefully over her head, and nods. Her steps are swallowed by the earth as she approaches me.
“Yeah, I hear them. And do you want to know what they’re saying?”
My heart races. “Absolutely.”
She speaks, sing-song. “They are saying, ‘go home, Hazel! You really need some sleep!’”
She bats her eyes at me and I gently shove her away. “I’m serious, Rachel.”
She rolls her eyes and I shrug. “Fine. Don’t believe me. I’ll figure it out myself.”
The air whooshes from my lungs as she roughly pats my back. “Sure you will. But first, we have midterms to study for.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.
Once midterms were finished, I could finally spend time somewhere other than the library. Normally I love the library and all the secrets hidden there, but the silence had become insufferable. The air felt dead.
It is my first day of freedom from studying, so I am heading to the river to walk through those beautiful trees lining its banks. I sing gently and swear the trees sing back. But when I stop to listen, I hear nothing but the soft susurration of the wind dancing through leaves.
I giggle thinking how much fun Rachel would have at my expense if she were here.
“One day, beauties. One day, I will know what you whisper about.”
That night, I am awakened by a voice. It is distant, but singing clear and bell-like in the darkness. I put on my slippers and wrap a robe around myself, then set off to find its source.
The voice draws me to my favorite walking place. It looks so familiar, and yet not the same. I must be dreaming because six of the trees are gone, including my beloved birch.
The singing comes from a beautiful woman, her long reddish-brown hair almost reaching her ankles as she sways and sings under the stars. The others join her in a soft, flowing dance.
The silver-haired one notices me and beckons me over. She takes my hand and winks a silver-green eye at me, then leads me through the dance along with her.
The song and dance finally come to a close and I run my hands along my arms. I touch my hair to be sure it is not standing on end. So much energy hums in the air it is both terrifying and exhilarating.
The silver-haired one smooths my frazzled hair. Her voice is gentle, like a sigh.
“Welcome, Hazel. I am Birch.” She gestures to the beauties behind her. “That’s Aspen, Elowen, Willow, Ilana, and Holly.”
They all smile at me like old friends. Can it be?
“We are the voices of the trees you love so much. We are tree nymphs. And so are you. That’s why you can hear us.”
Their bodies lengthen as they raise their arms and faces to the sky. Leaves sprout from their stretching fingers, and their skin turns hard and rough.
I try to run, but my toes are lengthening, rooting me to the ground. I open my mouth to scream as my bones stretch and my skin hardens, but only a whisper comes out. My fingers itch as leaves burst forth. My robe and slippers shred as I rapidly outgrow them.
It takes two days for anyone to find what's left of me. And once the police collect my clothes and likely notify my family, Rachel comes to walk along the river—perhaps in remembrance of me.
She walks past me, then steps back. In my trunk is a carving of a heart with H+R=BFF in its center. She traces it with a finger, then pulls up the sleeve of her sweatshirt to reveal an identical tattoo.
We got them one day as a sort of blood oath to always be best friends. Mine on my leg, and hers on her arm.
I try to whisper to her as a tear rolls down her cheek.
She hugs my trunk and sobs, “I hear you, Hazel. I hear you.”
Cat
I’d been Catherine’s neighbor for six months now and remained just as captivated by her beauty as everyone else. Equally delicious was the mystery that swirled about her, almost visible to the naked eye.
She liked to keep to herself, and hence lived at the very edge of town. There were houses to one side of hers, but with enough distance between her and them to act as a cushion. She kept a big, beautiful garden where birds and beasts from the surrounding forest seemed at home despite the nearness of the other houses, including mine, which lay across the dirt road.
I had even seen a cougar there once, sitting in the yard and watching the moon. It must have sensed my presence because it turned toward me, the weight of its gaze heavy in the darkness. It seemed more curious than threatening, so I held my ground and watched back. With a flick of its long tail, it licked its chops and turned to prowl back into the forest.
My hands shook with the speed of my galloping heart. If nothing else, living near her home afforded me these bits of excitement.
I could understand why Catherine liked her space since I’d seen men fawning all over her in the past, practically drooling on her hand or arm as they kissed it “in greeting.” Fools. It was obvious they just wanted to taste her.
She always shooed them away quickly and with grace, but in a way that left them looking confused as they shuffled dejectedly away.
I also liked to keep to myself and would never tell her how I felt about her. Nor would I stoop to the swine-like levels most of the men around here did just to touch her. I worked in my garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of her or one of the many fascinating creatures that visited her yard. I never expected her to notice me back.
But then she did. She came bearing a basket of mushrooms called “Hen of the Woods,” along with some homemade bread and a few wild ramps.
She smiled and I had to frantically grasp for the edges of me that wanted to unfurl under her emerald gaze. Silken waves of raven hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her skirt billowed around her ankles. She had bare feet, and even they were dainty and beautiful.
I almost laughed. Feet normally repulsed me.
I gave myself a mental slap and stuck out a hand to her. She took it without hesitation and I gave it a firm, but gentle shake, then released her. My fingers tingled where her cool skin had touched mine.
She handed the basket off to me. Our fingers brushed again and the electricity of it shivered up my spine.
She spoke, and though I’d heard her at a distance, the musical quality of her voice in such close proximity almost knocked me off my feet. “I’m your neighbor, Catherine. I wanted to give these to you as an incentive because I’m hoping you’ll help me with something.”
Curious. “I know who you are!” That came out a little more excited than I’d wanted. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m Victoria. What can I help you with?”
She bit her lip. “I believe it is time to settle down...find someone to spend my life with, you know?” I nodded half-heartedly and she sighed. “Since many of the men here seem to have such piggish intentions, I’ve decided to give them a challenge in the hopes that the right person will prevail.”
“Fascinating.”
She pursed her lips, then continued.
“The challenge is this: I have placed a key to my home around my cat’s neck. The one who is able to obtain the key may enter my home and claim me for their own. But, I do not want my cat hurt. If you see anyone after her, would you watch over her?”
“Of course I will. With my life.”
She smiled, stretching her full rosy lips over moon-white teeth. The green in her eyes glittered in the sunlight. I could not help but feel I’d struck some sort of deal.
“Thank you, Victoria. I hope you live up to your name.”
Of course I would. If any of them tried to hurt the cat, I would make sure they regretted it.
As she walked away, something occurred to me. I called, “Catherine! What’s your cat’s name?”
She shrugged. “I just call her Cat.”
I grinned. “Easy enough. Thank you! And thanks for the food!”
I ate a sumptuous dinner that night with what she had given me. It was a true treat because though I loved wild mushrooms, I knew precious little about foraging. I had a small garden and could hunt, but that was the extent of it.
I watched Catherine’s house as the sun set, and sure enough, a sleek black cat prowled across the low stone wall out front, its back silvered by moonlight. I wondered how I had never noticed her over there before when a sparkling flash at its throat alerted me to the key’s presence.
It had also alerted someone else.
A man crept up on the cat with a net and she appeared not to notice. I jumped up and raced out of my little cottage, slamming the door hard behind me as I bulled my way into the yard.
“Hey, you! What are you doing there?”
The cat raced off and the man cursed at me. He took three threatening steps in my direction, then hesitated and turned away in search of the cat. I felt a bump against my leg a moment later and smiled at the dainty feline twining around my legs. I bent to scratch her ears.
“Good girl.” I winked at her. “Keep away from those men, okay? They’re nothing but trouble and your momma deserves better.” Her green eyes sparkled and I swore she winked back.
The next evening, just before dusk, I saw a man setting a trap. He baited it with a small bit of meat. If she took it, Cat would be snared and possibly injured. As soon as he was out of sight,, I stormed over and dismantled it. Cat came bounding up to me from out of nowhere.
“And where did you come from, pretty girl?” She sniffed the trap. I stroked down her back and she leaned into me, purring happily. “That was for you, but you’re safe now.” I gave her the scrap of meat and she ate it quickly, then jumped down and raced off into the night.
I debated knocking on Catherine’s door, but thought better of it. Night was ruffling its dark feathers and settling heavily over the world. Time to go home. I’d keep my eyes open as long as I could.
This went on for weeks. Each time I saw anyone after Cat, I sabotaged them. One morning, I awoke to find my garden destroyed, likely by an angry man—or maybe several men—I’d intercepted.
My heart sank when I saw it. That would have been food for winter and now I’d have to get everything at market. I wasn’t sure I could afford that. I salvaged what I could for immediate use and removed the rest to the forest to feed the wild animals.
That evening, Cat was frightened by a club-wielding man who leapt out of the bushes. I grabbed the rake I’d been using in the garden and stormed over there. He did not notice me as he scrabbled after her, trying to clobber her over the head. He was desperate, but so was I.
I lifted the rake above and behind me and swung it into his gut as he raced by. He tumbled to the ground with a rough expulsion of air and when he tried to stand, I hit him over the back.
“Stay down, you pig! How dare you try to hurt that poor cat?” I waved an arm toward Catherine’s house. “Do you really think she’d want you if you hurt her pet?” I hit him hard on the legs, the dull ring of the rake a sympathetic echo of his pained howls.
“Get out of here! Tell all the other swine in town that the challenge is over!”
The man crawled away, pulling himself clumsily to his feet at the stone wall and limping back into town screaming that I was crazy.
Maybe I am. And proud of it.
Cat ran over and bumped my legs in her customary fashion, winding her way between my feet. I bent to scoop her into my arms and pulled her to my chest.
“You’re safe now, little one. I’m going to tell your momma that she’s got to call off the challenge. I can’t stand to see you hurt. You’re a sweet little thing and it would hurt your mom if something happened to you. Not to mention my garden has been destroyed now, and I’m worried what else these spurned men might do.”
I sighed and slid the ribbon holding the key up and over Cat’s head. “Let’s go tell your momma.” Cat purred and nuzzled against my neck.
I knocked, then put the key into the lock of her front door.
“Catherine? It’s me, Victoria. I’m coming in! I hope you don’t mind, but I need to talk to you.”
I opened the door and found a lantern burning on her wooden table, its light suffusing the room with warmth. Her home smelled of earth and herbs--a different sort of warmth.
“Catherine? Are you here?” No answer. I looked at Cat. “Where is she, girl?”
Cat meowed and licked a paw, then held my gaze as her fur fell off in a pile of black fluff around her feet. I reached for her.
“Cat! What’s wrong?”
She chirped and her limbs began to stretch, shifting positions on her body. Her face reformed into something vaguely human as her ears rounded and slid down to the side of her head. I watched in horrified fascination, fumbling for the doorknob behind me until I noticed the raven waves rolling down the newly formed shoulders and the face that softened into the beautiful Catherine.
She grinned at me, pulling a nearby blanket around her naked form.
“Surprise!”
My breath came in ragged gasps.
“What? How?”
She smiled, bright and beautiful, and I felt my defenses melting as she stood. The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
“Gods, you are so beautiful.”
She paced her way to me and wrapped her fingers around the hand holding the key.
“Congratulations, Victoria. You lived up to your name, after all.”
My skin heated at her nearness.
“What do you mean?” My heart hammered against my ribcage. It wanted to be hers.
She leaned forward, her chest pressing against mine, to whisper in my ear, “I’m yours if you want me.” I knew she could feel the traitorous pounding of my heart against her skin.
My throat felt swollen. I licked my lips, afraid words would fail me, but managed to find a few.
“It’s not right.”
She brushed her lips against mine and I was sure I would melt from the heat that flooded me.
“Of course it is. You’re the one I wanted to win all along.” She ran her fingers through my hair. “Say yes, Victoria. Say you’ll be mine.”
I swallowed, hard, as her lips drifted back to gently brush over mine.
“I’m yours.”
She grinned, small fangs just visible in the warm light. She purred, “Good girl,” and crushed her lips against mine.
She liked to keep to herself, and hence lived at the very edge of town. There were houses to one side of hers, but with enough distance between her and them to act as a cushion. She kept a big, beautiful garden where birds and beasts from the surrounding forest seemed at home despite the nearness of the other houses, including mine, which lay across the dirt road.
I had even seen a cougar there once, sitting in the yard and watching the moon. It must have sensed my presence because it turned toward me, the weight of its gaze heavy in the darkness. It seemed more curious than threatening, so I held my ground and watched back. With a flick of its long tail, it licked its chops and turned to prowl back into the forest.
My hands shook with the speed of my galloping heart. If nothing else, living near her home afforded me these bits of excitement.
I could understand why Catherine liked her space since I’d seen men fawning all over her in the past, practically drooling on her hand or arm as they kissed it “in greeting.” Fools. It was obvious they just wanted to taste her.
She always shooed them away quickly and with grace, but in a way that left them looking confused as they shuffled dejectedly away.
I also liked to keep to myself and would never tell her how I felt about her. Nor would I stoop to the swine-like levels most of the men around here did just to touch her. I worked in my garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of her or one of the many fascinating creatures that visited her yard. I never expected her to notice me back.
But then she did. She came bearing a basket of mushrooms called “Hen of the Woods,” along with some homemade bread and a few wild ramps.
She smiled and I had to frantically grasp for the edges of me that wanted to unfurl under her emerald gaze. Silken waves of raven hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her skirt billowed around her ankles. She had bare feet, and even they were dainty and beautiful.
I almost laughed. Feet normally repulsed me.
I gave myself a mental slap and stuck out a hand to her. She took it without hesitation and I gave it a firm, but gentle shake, then released her. My fingers tingled where her cool skin had touched mine.
She handed the basket off to me. Our fingers brushed again and the electricity of it shivered up my spine.
She spoke, and though I’d heard her at a distance, the musical quality of her voice in such close proximity almost knocked me off my feet. “I’m your neighbor, Catherine. I wanted to give these to you as an incentive because I’m hoping you’ll help me with something.”
Curious. “I know who you are!” That came out a little more excited than I’d wanted. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m Victoria. What can I help you with?”
She bit her lip. “I believe it is time to settle down...find someone to spend my life with, you know?” I nodded half-heartedly and she sighed. “Since many of the men here seem to have such piggish intentions, I’ve decided to give them a challenge in the hopes that the right person will prevail.”
“Fascinating.”
She pursed her lips, then continued.
“The challenge is this: I have placed a key to my home around my cat’s neck. The one who is able to obtain the key may enter my home and claim me for their own. But, I do not want my cat hurt. If you see anyone after her, would you watch over her?”
“Of course I will. With my life.”
She smiled, stretching her full rosy lips over moon-white teeth. The green in her eyes glittered in the sunlight. I could not help but feel I’d struck some sort of deal.
“Thank you, Victoria. I hope you live up to your name.”
Of course I would. If any of them tried to hurt the cat, I would make sure they regretted it.
As she walked away, something occurred to me. I called, “Catherine! What’s your cat’s name?”
She shrugged. “I just call her Cat.”
I grinned. “Easy enough. Thank you! And thanks for the food!”
I ate a sumptuous dinner that night with what she had given me. It was a true treat because though I loved wild mushrooms, I knew precious little about foraging. I had a small garden and could hunt, but that was the extent of it.
I watched Catherine’s house as the sun set, and sure enough, a sleek black cat prowled across the low stone wall out front, its back silvered by moonlight. I wondered how I had never noticed her over there before when a sparkling flash at its throat alerted me to the key’s presence.
It had also alerted someone else.
A man crept up on the cat with a net and she appeared not to notice. I jumped up and raced out of my little cottage, slamming the door hard behind me as I bulled my way into the yard.
“Hey, you! What are you doing there?”
The cat raced off and the man cursed at me. He took three threatening steps in my direction, then hesitated and turned away in search of the cat. I felt a bump against my leg a moment later and smiled at the dainty feline twining around my legs. I bent to scratch her ears.
“Good girl.” I winked at her. “Keep away from those men, okay? They’re nothing but trouble and your momma deserves better.” Her green eyes sparkled and I swore she winked back.
The next evening, just before dusk, I saw a man setting a trap. He baited it with a small bit of meat. If she took it, Cat would be snared and possibly injured. As soon as he was out of sight,, I stormed over and dismantled it. Cat came bounding up to me from out of nowhere.
“And where did you come from, pretty girl?” She sniffed the trap. I stroked down her back and she leaned into me, purring happily. “That was for you, but you’re safe now.” I gave her the scrap of meat and she ate it quickly, then jumped down and raced off into the night.
I debated knocking on Catherine’s door, but thought better of it. Night was ruffling its dark feathers and settling heavily over the world. Time to go home. I’d keep my eyes open as long as I could.
This went on for weeks. Each time I saw anyone after Cat, I sabotaged them. One morning, I awoke to find my garden destroyed, likely by an angry man—or maybe several men—I’d intercepted.
My heart sank when I saw it. That would have been food for winter and now I’d have to get everything at market. I wasn’t sure I could afford that. I salvaged what I could for immediate use and removed the rest to the forest to feed the wild animals.
That evening, Cat was frightened by a club-wielding man who leapt out of the bushes. I grabbed the rake I’d been using in the garden and stormed over there. He did not notice me as he scrabbled after her, trying to clobber her over the head. He was desperate, but so was I.
I lifted the rake above and behind me and swung it into his gut as he raced by. He tumbled to the ground with a rough expulsion of air and when he tried to stand, I hit him over the back.
“Stay down, you pig! How dare you try to hurt that poor cat?” I waved an arm toward Catherine’s house. “Do you really think she’d want you if you hurt her pet?” I hit him hard on the legs, the dull ring of the rake a sympathetic echo of his pained howls.
“Get out of here! Tell all the other swine in town that the challenge is over!”
The man crawled away, pulling himself clumsily to his feet at the stone wall and limping back into town screaming that I was crazy.
Maybe I am. And proud of it.
Cat ran over and bumped my legs in her customary fashion, winding her way between my feet. I bent to scoop her into my arms and pulled her to my chest.
“You’re safe now, little one. I’m going to tell your momma that she’s got to call off the challenge. I can’t stand to see you hurt. You’re a sweet little thing and it would hurt your mom if something happened to you. Not to mention my garden has been destroyed now, and I’m worried what else these spurned men might do.”
I sighed and slid the ribbon holding the key up and over Cat’s head. “Let’s go tell your momma.” Cat purred and nuzzled against my neck.
I knocked, then put the key into the lock of her front door.
“Catherine? It’s me, Victoria. I’m coming in! I hope you don’t mind, but I need to talk to you.”
I opened the door and found a lantern burning on her wooden table, its light suffusing the room with warmth. Her home smelled of earth and herbs--a different sort of warmth.
“Catherine? Are you here?” No answer. I looked at Cat. “Where is she, girl?”
Cat meowed and licked a paw, then held my gaze as her fur fell off in a pile of black fluff around her feet. I reached for her.
“Cat! What’s wrong?”
She chirped and her limbs began to stretch, shifting positions on her body. Her face reformed into something vaguely human as her ears rounded and slid down to the side of her head. I watched in horrified fascination, fumbling for the doorknob behind me until I noticed the raven waves rolling down the newly formed shoulders and the face that softened into the beautiful Catherine.
She grinned at me, pulling a nearby blanket around her naked form.
“Surprise!”
My breath came in ragged gasps.
“What? How?”
She smiled, bright and beautiful, and I felt my defenses melting as she stood. The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
“Gods, you are so beautiful.”
She paced her way to me and wrapped her fingers around the hand holding the key.
“Congratulations, Victoria. You lived up to your name, after all.”
My skin heated at her nearness.
“What do you mean?” My heart hammered against my ribcage. It wanted to be hers.
She leaned forward, her chest pressing against mine, to whisper in my ear, “I’m yours if you want me.” I knew she could feel the traitorous pounding of my heart against her skin.
My throat felt swollen. I licked my lips, afraid words would fail me, but managed to find a few.
“It’s not right.”
She brushed her lips against mine and I was sure I would melt from the heat that flooded me.
“Of course it is. You’re the one I wanted to win all along.” She ran her fingers through my hair. “Say yes, Victoria. Say you’ll be mine.”
I swallowed, hard, as her lips drifted back to gently brush over mine.
“I’m yours.”
She grinned, small fangs just visible in the warm light. She purred, “Good girl,” and crushed her lips against mine.
Puppet Master
A dirty room reeking of dust and sorrow holds a Mountain of Pain within it. Decapitated heads, arms, legs, eyeless faces, and bare torsos are heaped in a tangle of string and torn-out hair.
Sprawled on a moth-eaten couch, the man pulls his newest toy close. He turns her delicate face until she can see the Mountain.
“Do you see that, little doll?” His voice is average—bordering on whiny—yet it holds an air of malice that is unmistakable. Her strings quiver as she shakes, suspended in his grip. A grin slowly creeps its way onto his face and he strokes her hair.
He croons, “That’s right, little doll. They were pretty and new like you once, but they disappointed me. And each time they disappointed me, I took another piece of them until there was nothing left to take.”
The doll’s painted mouth could not utter a sound, but her dewy eyes drank in the sickly orange light of the room. It pooled at the edges of her eyelids like unshed amber tears. She shook so hard, she was sure her strings would break. She wished that meant she could run away. But she could never do that. He owned her; he said so. She could never do anything he didn’t make her do. And even if she could run—did run—she would end up as another broken body on the Mountain of Pain.
He jerked her crossbar, pulling her strings tight. She flinched, bracing for whatever he would do. Holding her arms above her head, he whispered, “I am the Puppet Master. Dance, puppet. Dance!”
She danced his dance, forced to do his bidding. She wished to scream and kick and bite. But he dragged her roughly along until, if not for her strings, she would have collapsed.
Her head hung limply as he studied her, surveying his handiwork. When he lifted her chin to force her to look at him, she swore the Mountain of Pain shifted behind him, and that every eye in that miserable heap fixed on the Puppet Master.
She watched silently as the pile pulled in on itself, the broken strings wrapping around severed limbs and heads until they formed a single gnarled body with a gargoyle-like face made of doll parts. It stretched and worked its jaw almost silently, showcasing teeth of splintered wood.
The Puppet Master roughly hoisted her into the air and approached a dark closet. He was about to shove her into it when he finally heard movement behind him. As he turned to investigate, the doll-gargoyle lashed out, plunging its wooden fangs into his neck.
It bit him again and again as dozens of small hands reached to scratch at his skin. And as he choked on his own fluids, she fell to the floor.
She found herself lifted gently and her strings cut by this creature that men would call a monster. How ironic, she thought, when the real monster was a man.
Sprawled on a moth-eaten couch, the man pulls his newest toy close. He turns her delicate face until she can see the Mountain.
“Do you see that, little doll?” His voice is average—bordering on whiny—yet it holds an air of malice that is unmistakable. Her strings quiver as she shakes, suspended in his grip. A grin slowly creeps its way onto his face and he strokes her hair.
He croons, “That’s right, little doll. They were pretty and new like you once, but they disappointed me. And each time they disappointed me, I took another piece of them until there was nothing left to take.”
The doll’s painted mouth could not utter a sound, but her dewy eyes drank in the sickly orange light of the room. It pooled at the edges of her eyelids like unshed amber tears. She shook so hard, she was sure her strings would break. She wished that meant she could run away. But she could never do that. He owned her; he said so. She could never do anything he didn’t make her do. And even if she could run—did run—she would end up as another broken body on the Mountain of Pain.
He jerked her crossbar, pulling her strings tight. She flinched, bracing for whatever he would do. Holding her arms above her head, he whispered, “I am the Puppet Master. Dance, puppet. Dance!”
She danced his dance, forced to do his bidding. She wished to scream and kick and bite. But he dragged her roughly along until, if not for her strings, she would have collapsed.
Her head hung limply as he studied her, surveying his handiwork. When he lifted her chin to force her to look at him, she swore the Mountain of Pain shifted behind him, and that every eye in that miserable heap fixed on the Puppet Master.
She watched silently as the pile pulled in on itself, the broken strings wrapping around severed limbs and heads until they formed a single gnarled body with a gargoyle-like face made of doll parts. It stretched and worked its jaw almost silently, showcasing teeth of splintered wood.
The Puppet Master roughly hoisted her into the air and approached a dark closet. He was about to shove her into it when he finally heard movement behind him. As he turned to investigate, the doll-gargoyle lashed out, plunging its wooden fangs into his neck.
It bit him again and again as dozens of small hands reached to scratch at his skin. And as he choked on his own fluids, she fell to the floor.
She found herself lifted gently and her strings cut by this creature that men would call a monster. How ironic, she thought, when the real monster was a man.
Skymaids
Blessed with both gills and lungs, we were built to ride the currents. We roll with the tides, and for a while, we had our fun with wayward sailors. But the humans grew bolder, crueler, and developed better weapons. Worse, as time went on, they became lazy and wasteful—unheeding of the damage they wrought on our home.
We watched countless species die, including many of our own. We wondered every day if it would be our last. But one evening, as we watched the sunset, Amara felt the breeze. She mumbled, “But it’s really just a current, isn’t it?”
I gasped as she leapt from our rock and went airborne. She dropped a bit until her fins flared wide and caught the air currents. I watched in awe as she swam skyward.
She beckoned to me. “Come, Reya. It’s just another current. Ride it to our salvation.”
I forced myself to follow her, delighted by the play of misty air along my fins and scales. Now, we swim in the sky, hiding in beds of clouds. At night, our scales glitter with the stars.
It is different, but the clouds look like seafoam and the air currents feel like our rolling waves. Most importantly, we are safe. For now.
We watched countless species die, including many of our own. We wondered every day if it would be our last. But one evening, as we watched the sunset, Amara felt the breeze. She mumbled, “But it’s really just a current, isn’t it?”
I gasped as she leapt from our rock and went airborne. She dropped a bit until her fins flared wide and caught the air currents. I watched in awe as she swam skyward.
She beckoned to me. “Come, Reya. It’s just another current. Ride it to our salvation.”
I forced myself to follow her, delighted by the play of misty air along my fins and scales. Now, we swim in the sky, hiding in beds of clouds. At night, our scales glitter with the stars.
It is different, but the clouds look like seafoam and the air currents feel like our rolling waves. Most importantly, we are safe. For now.