The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller (6 page)

Felicia ducked behind a shrub as Elmo stepped into the clearing from the woods, carrying an impressive load of firewood. He dumped it gently on the woodpile, then turned and looked around, as if sensing something. His movements were graceful but a bit stiff.

Felicia watched as Elmo raised his head high, stretching his neck, and sniffed the air. Even at a distance, she could see his nostrils flaring and twitching. His arms drooped at his sides like oversized sausages, his fingers limp and curled. Suddenly he turned in her direction.

Felicia ducked even lower and sucked in her breath, afraid to exhale. Crouched behind a dense shrub, she was certain she couldn’t be seen, but when she snuck a peek through the foliage, Elmo was staring in her direction. Then he smiled, a telltale smile which seemed to signal that he was not only aware that someone was hiding, but actually knew who it was.

He cocked his head to the side, as if to say “
really?”

Felicia hesitated a bit longer, feeling sillier with each passing moment, then slowly rose to her feet, a timid look on her face.

Elmo chuckled, a strange muffled sound that for some reason reminded Felicia of an overstuffed teddy bear. Once again she felt comforted by his presence, which seemed nothing but good and wholesome and organic, and she stepped forward into the witch’s yard.

As she approached the cabin, Elmo pushed the door open and held it politely. Felicia entered, feeling a bit shy but strangely confident. Somehow she knew she’d be welcome here.

Granny Dola was sitting in her rocker near the fireplace, weaving a choker from thin strands of soft gray leather. Her fingers moved in rhythm with the rocking of her chair, adding a weave with every rock.

“Right on time,” the old woman said, and with a final twist of her fingers she completed her task and held up the finished necklace. “This belongs to you.”

Felicia hesitated.

“Go on, dear, it won’t bite. And it’ll do no one else a speck of good. It was made for you. Specially for you.”

Felicia took it, admiring how intricate it was and how much work must have gone into it. It was very much like the one Ruta wore, except for the type of leather. She turned it around and around, examining the complicated weave, which seemed to have no beginning or end. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“The weave is a very old and very special pattern. It was taught to me by my mother… who learned it from her mother… and so forth… back to the days before nations. Back to before the Christians came.”

Christians?
Felicia tried to make sense of the reference. Was it simply a matter of time… or was there some pagan significance?

The old woman smiled, a smile laden with mystery and delight, and once again Felicia felt a little uncertain about the woman’s true motives. She had never been superstitious, but anything even vaguely Satanic creeped her out. Still, she knew that Wiccans protested any suggestion that they were Satanic or evil in any way. It was, they claimed, simply an ancient religion.

“Put it on,” the old woman cooed. Her soft European accent reinforced Felicia’s impression of her as a gentle old grandmother.

Felicia took the choker and tried to put it on, but after draping it around her neck she couldn’t find a way to fasten it.

“How do I…?”

“Here, let me help you.”

Felicia leaned forward and the old woman’s fingers made a quick knitting motion at the back of her neck. Her touch was as light as a feather, but in just a few seconds the choker was secure.

Felicia was surprised by how well it fit, and how comfortable and light it was. She barely felt like she was wearing anything. As if it was a natural part of her.

“I’m not sure I’ll know how to get it off and on. You’ll have to show me.”

“You don’t ever take it off. Even in the tub when you bathe. It won’t shrink and it will last as long as you do. It’s the key to your power.”

“Power?” Felicia was intrigued but a little suspicious and skeptical. “What power?”

“The power you drank into your body with the potion. The power you drank into your soul.”

Felicia’s uneasy feeling returned, along with memories of the stories she’d heard about the old woman’s darker exploits.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, dzhevchinka. But first there’s one more thing…”

The old woman grabbed Felicia’s wrist and before she knew what was happening she’d pricked the tip of her finger with a hatpin.

“Ow!” Felicia cried. “Why did you—?”

“Shhh…” the old woman quieted her, then she moved Felicia’s hand over a small mirror in her lap. She gave a slight squeeze and a drop of Felicia’s blood plopped onto the glass surface.

The old woman released Felicia’s hand and bent low over the mirror, studying the pattern made by the spreading blood, humming and murmuring strange exclamations as she discerned whatever it was telling her.

Soon the old woman chuckled. Elmo stepped closer, peering down at the mirror with a puzzled look on his face.

Granny turned her face up toward Felicia, sporting a playful grin.

“Meow,” she cooed.

Felicia just looked at her, more confused than ever.

The old gal’s not a witch. She’s a bona fide nutcase.

“The cat is your swoopyeh.”

“My what?”

“Your totem,” she replied. “Your guardian spirit. You possess the spirit of a cat. Just as Elmo possesses the spirit of a bear.”

“A bear?!” Felicia remembered the face she saw on the night of her attack. That big furry face staring down at her.

She looked over at Elmo, who glanced shyly at his toes, a secretive smile on his face. There was no way what she was thinking could be real. But she thought of the way he looked outside, raising his head and sniffing the air.

No way. No effing way.

“Now you possess the gift,” said the old woman portentously. “No one can hurt you now. Not if you use your gift wisely.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I could tell you but you’d never believe me. Not until you see it for yourself.”

“See what? Please stop talking in riddles.”

“This evening, when the sun goes down, you must sit before a mirror and paint your face. Choose your face paint wisely.”

“Paint my face?”

“Like a kotka. A cat. Any cat will do. Tabby. Calico. Or simply black and white.”

Holy shit,
thought Felicia,
the old gal is certifiable.

“And when the night is over,” the old woman continued, “You must sit and face the very same mirror as the sun returns to the sky. Only then will you become human again.”

81

“Not so fast, young lady.”

Felicia paused on the staircase, clutching her schoolbooks defensively.

Laurie stared at her imperiously. “You haven’t explained to your father and I where you were last night.”

“There’s nothing to explain. I went out after the show with some friends to celebrate. You and daddy always say I should be more sociable.”

“Sociable? That doesn’t mean hanging out past midnight on a school night. It was almost two in the morning when you walked through that door. We didn’t know what the heck happened to you. Do you know how worried you had us?”

Apparently not enough to go looking for me,
Felicia thought. “Sorry.”

“That’s all you can say? Sorry? You’ve always been such a levelheaded girl, Felicia. I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come.”

“One night out and you’re going to crucify me?”

“Oh please. Don’t go getting all drama queen on me. Your father and I just want to make sure that—”

“That what?”

Her mother thought for a moment. It all seemed so silly.
Of course Felicia will be alright. She’s just a normal teenage girl. So she had a little extra fun with her friends.

“Nothing. Just be careful. We love you.”

“And I love you too. Let’s just forget last night, okay? It was nothing. Just one crazy night. Please don’t get mad… I’ll be totally honest with you… I had a glass a wine… and I felt dizzy. I had to wait til I felt better to walk home.”

Felicia felt funny lying to her mom. She never lied.
But then again, maybe it’s not a lie. Maybe I did have wine. Maybe that’s what Granny gave me to drink.

She wondered if she had made a mistake by not telling them what really happened.
There’s no way I can tell them what really happened now. They’d never believe me if I changed my story.

“I thought it was something like that,” her mother said knowingly. “Call it mother’s instinct.” She smiled proudly. “We didn’t even have a chance to tell you how good you were in the show. We were both very proud of you. I mean that. You were wonderful, Felicia.”

“Thanks,” Felicia said humbly. And with that she ran upstairs to her room, her head spinning with possibilities as she flopped onto the bed.

Don’t let your fantasies run away with you, girl. Old lady Dola’s obviously a nutball and if you start believing her bat-shit nonsense you’ll end up hella-crazy just like her.

A cat indeed. Jesus.

But the memory of that bear face hovering over her was not so easy to dismiss.
And how did I end up in the old lady’s cabin if someone didn’t carry me there?

But a bear… a bear that’s really a boy? It’s crazy.

Elmo probably carried me. I’m sure he’s strong enough. After I hallucinated the bear face. Yes. Of course. I was for sure in a state conducive to hallucinations. I was gone.

Or he could have been wearing a bear mask. Yes. There you go.
But where would he get such a real looking bear mask? Certainly not in any shop in this town. And he’s not on the internet, is he? Not in that cabin. I don’t even think they have electricity.

Maybe he killed a real bear and made the mask. Like those Viking berserkers. Didn’t they wear animal skins? Or he could have bought it from some hunter.

But something in her wasn’t satisfied. She was grasping at rationalizations, not explanations. Even if she could explain the realistic appearance of the bear’s fuzzy snout, there was nothing human about its gamy smell.

What if it is real? What if there really is real magic in this world… and Granny really is a witch? There are all those stories about her… they had to come from somewhere.

She opened her Macbook and googled “witch.” After checking out countless links she found herself looking up “shapeshifter.” Buried among useless links for software and games she found “reptilian shapeshifters” including videos purporting to show newsmen and political bigwigs shifting right on camera—flashing slitted reptilian eyes that made her think of Ruta.

She paused a video on a close-up of a so-called reptilian face.
That has to be Photoshopped. Of course it’s Photoshop.

You can’t be taking this seriously, Felicia. If you are then you are really sincerely nutzoid.
But something in her wanted to believe. She found herself checking the projected time of that evening’s sunset. 
A little after seven. Hmm…

That forced her hand a little. If sunset was due any earlier that evening she’d have a valid excuse to ignore Granny Dola’s instructions. She’d be stuck at the dinner table with her parents when the sun went down. But now she had no excuse not to. Dinner would be over well before sundown. She’d have plenty of time to finish eating with her folks, get up to her room and paint her face like a cat.

Like a cat. A frigging cat.

Jesus, am I really seriously considering this?
She knew she was. If she didn’t try it tonight, it would be tomorrow. Or the next day. It was just a matter of when she’d give in to temptation.

How can I not at least give it a try?

Oh well. If I’m about to make a fool of myself by attempting to shapeshift into an animal, at least nobody will know about it, except me. Even if my folks barge in while I’m wearing the stupid make-up, I could claim I was preparing to audition for a role in “Cats.”

81

“Felicia, you’re eating like a bird.”

“I’m on a diet.”

“Diet?” her father exclaimed, “You’ve got to be kidding.” Her parents exchanged concerned glances.

“You can’t be serious,” her mother said. “You’re already skinny as a rail.”

“Do we need to be concerned, Felicia?” her father added. “You’re not anorexic, are you? You don’t want to be anorexic, trust me. Anorexics grow hair on their backs, did you know that? You want to get all hairy like a monkey?”

“I’m not anorexic. I’m just exploring healthier options.”

“Healthier options?” her mother responded, more than a little defensive. “We eat perfectly balanced meals in this house. You couldn’t get better nutrition.”

“That’s right,” her father added. “You should be thankful. Your mother’s an excellent cook.”