Ruthana stood, smiling impishly at the turgid state of my groin. Then, to my surprise, told me, “I want you to meet Gilly.”
Oh, God, I thought. My organ—up till that moment as hard as a ramrod, quickly lost rigidity, much to Ruthana’s amusement. “I’m sorry,” she said with another smile. “We can restore it when needed.” I hadn’t realized her sense of humor was droll.
“Okay,” I said. Regretfully now. “But why do I need to meet Gilly?”
“If you’re to stay,” she said.
“Stay?” I reacted. Without thinking.
“Don’t you want to?” she asked, concerned again. “Don’t you want to live with me?”
The thought excited and alarmed me at the same time. “Yes, of course, I do,” I told her. And meant it. “But I’m not…”
“One of us?” she said, not asking; telling.
“Yes,” I said. (My penis was completely flaccid by now.) “I thought I could before. When you said I wasn’t completely human.”
“You’re not,” she told me.
“But you said when Harold—Haral—gave the gold lump to me, that was why it didn’t turn into dust.”
“That’s right,” she said.
“Well, then.” I didn’t get it, but I didn’t want to argue with her.
“Don’t worry,” she said.
“But I do,” I went on. “I want to stay with you, very much. But I don’t see how.”
“We can change you,” she said.
Now I was really set back on my brain heels. Change me? What on earth did that mean?
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. Another quick kiss. She said then, “I’ll send for Gilly.”
Send for him? “You know where he is?” I asked.
“I’ll send for him,” she said, as though case closed. It didn’t matter where he was. She’d send for him. Another scrap of evidence. Ruthana had powers. Change me. Send for Gilly. Period. Whoa.
She turned and looked into the distant woods. I saw no particular alteration in her face. No squinted eyes, no tightened lips, no lines or ridges on her brow. Just … looking into the woods. Without me noticing any physical tensing, “sending” for her brother. Correction. Stepbrother. I wondered, for several seconds, whether she had any family of her own.
It didn’t take long. I was primed for an elephant charge through a bamboo forest. Not a sound. He didn’t even approach us from a distance. Abruptly, he was there. Had he just materialized in the air? I couldn’t tell. It happened too fast. He might have—as Ruthana did—darted up to us from the woods. On the other hand, he might just have materialized in front of us. Magic was becoming matter-of-fact to me. By then, I could believe—and accept—anything at all.
What did Gilly look like? Well, he was solid, not, as Magda had suggested, imaginary. Dressed in green, Ruthana’s height. Nowhere as attractive as Ruthana. She was stunningly beautiful. He was—how shall I put it?—acceptably masculine. Black-haired (very thick) and black-eyed, his features regular though undistinguished. It was his expression that set him apart.
Mean.
Clearly, he had no regard for me—unless it was hatred. (His expression chilled me.) He seemed ready to pounce on me at a moment’s notice, prepared to throttle me fatally.
But instead, he glared at Ruthana. Eyed her up and down. Incestually? I thought, tensing. I couldn’t very well box him, naked. But no, it was with disgust, contempt. Because I was naked? No doubt. Why hadn’t Ruthana had me dress first?
Gilly’s first words. “Changed yourself for this?”
“I want you to leave him alone,” she said. No plea. An order.
Was that a faerie snicker? It sounded more a snort. “Leave him alone?” he said. Utterly disdainful—even arrogant.
“Leave him alone,” she said. Her tone was firm and unafraid.
An eye duel then. If flames had been exchanged between them, I would not have been surprised. It was a tournament between equal enemies, or were they equal? No. Because Gilly backed off, lowering his glowering gaze. No doubt of it. He was, at least, unable to contest Ruthana. At most, afraid of her. And she loved me? This powerhouse faerie? Unbelievable. Yet I had to believe it.
“Now I want you to shake his hand,” Ruthana said. A calm, but definite, command.
“I will not,” Gilly said. No, snarled. If he had shape-shifted to a wolf, I swear I would not have been taken back. Terrified but not surprised.
“Then go,” Ruthana said, “and the gods protect you if you ever hurt him.”
Gilly looked at her with hatred. “Just stay out of my way,” he told her. “Or you die.”
With that, he was gone. Dematerialized. I knew it now. Could Ruthana do the same? I felt sure she could. And the prospect of staying with her malevolent stepbrother lurking in the background, I must say, unnerved me.
Ruthana saw my obvious distress and came over, put her arms around me. And, in an instant, powerhouse Ruthana had been revived as my loving angel. Only for a moment did I question my sanity in trusting her so completely. Then Mr. Manhood reasserted his (uncontrollable) upstanding presence.
Before the obvious occurred, though, a smidgen of rationality remained with me, and I said to Ruthana, “Will you tell me something?”
“Of course, my love,” she said. I felt grateful that she didn’t call me “darling,” as Magda had.
“You spoke about—changing me,” I said. “How?”
“In size only,” she answered. “I have to, Alex. I don’t like being human. I’m not used to it. It makes me unhappy.”
“So you’ll make me smaller,” I said.
“Yes, we can,” she said. “But only if you’re willing.”
“Oh, I would be,” I said. Then—cautiously—“Would it hurt?”
She laughed. “A little bit,” she said.
I think I winced. “What would I feel like?” I asked.
Another childlike laugh. “Smaller,” she said.
Oh, boy, I thought. Smaller. To remain with Ruthana, I’d have to resemble one of the little people.
In brief, become a faerie.
Chapter Twenty-two
It happened then. The inevitable. Ruthana sat on my lap. I slipped inside her easily. I wondered briefly if that meant she wasn’t a virgin. I didn’t care. I knew that her mind, with regard to me, was virginal. Don’t understand why I knew it. I just did. This was the first time she had had sex this way. With total love. She told me so later.
Her movement was slight. Her breathing quickened—but to such a small degree, that I could barely notice it. Also minimal, the sounds of passion she made were scarcely audible. I was struck by the difference between Magda’s gasping, hissing, and moaning and Ruthana’s delicate arousal. My initial inclination had been to thrust and withdraw determinedly—as I did with Magda. Ruthana’s tranquil approach subdued me, and I realized that animal-like huffing and puffing were unnecessary. We were making love, not lust.
It ended quickly. Virtually motionless, we climaxed together—the only moment I heard an audible “Oh!” from her. Not to mention my pathetic groaning. Ruthana, smiling, kissed me tenderly. I had never known such simple ecstasy. No carnality. No lecherousness.
Heaven.
* * *
In several hours, my heaven turned to hell.
It happened this way.
“I have to go back,” I told Ruthana.
Her expression, up until then blissfully secure, tightened into a mask of fear and disappointment. “Alex, why?” she asked.
“I have to say good-bye to her,” I answered.
The disappointment was obliterated by sheer dread. “But it isn’t safe,” she said.
“Is it safe here?” I asked.
“Yes, it is,” she answered. “We can protect you.”
“Gilly, too?” My question was labeled: Distrust.
“Not him,” she said. “He’ll leave you alone. I’ll protect you. So will Garal,” she added quickly. (Garal—Haral—was there a connection?) A look of pleading
tensed her face. “Please, Alex. Don’t go back. It isn’t safe.”
I put my arms around her. “You thought I meant to leave you,” I said. I kissed her gently.
“I did,” she said. “But now, I’m frightened. She’s a terrible woman, Alex. A dangerous witch.”
“Well, first of all, I’ll never leave you. Never,” I told her.
“Thank you, love,” she said. “I’d die if you did. But now—”
I stopped her with another kiss. “I have to say good-bye to her, Ruthana. I’m not sure she attacked me.” I put a finger across her lips to stop her protest. “I don’t mean I think you did it. I know you didn’t. Maybe (the notion sprang across my mind) Gilly did. Doesn’t he have the same power as you?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. “Not as much. If he did, he would have attacked everyone in Gatford, he hates them so much. But none of us is capable of such attacks. We wouldn’t even know how to do them. So it couldn’t have been Gilly. Alex, I’m telling you it was the witch. They were witch attacks.”
I was affected twofold. On one side, I was duly impressed by Ruthana. She had never spoken to me at such length. On the second side, I was discouraged that my “inspiration” regarding Gilly was null and void. So it had to be Magda. And here I was planning to go back to her. Momentarily, an image of a fly returning to a spider’s web flitted disconcertingly across my mental eye. I resisted it. I had to return to Magda, bid her a grateful farewell. Dangerous or not, I had to take decent leave of her. She was carrying my child, after all. I felt bad about leaving Magda with the baby, but how could I possibly stay with someone who had used black magic to attack me? I had to end things with Magda. Ruthana didn’t understand. I had to explain.
“Ruthana, let me tell you why I have to go back,” I said. “To say good-bye,” I added quickly, seeing the expression of alarm on her face once more. “She’s been very good to me. She healed me, for heaven’s sake! I had a terrible wound on my right hip and leg; I got it in the trench in France, a shell explosion. Part of me was torn apart; you never saw it, thank God. And she healed it! Maybe she used a witch’s ritual to do it, but she did it, I was completely healed. I’ll always owe her for that.”
“But,” she started.
“Let me finish,” I said. “Magda has been very kind to me for the past few months. She treated me as though she was my mother. [Don’t ask me if I slept with her! my brain pleaded.] She cooked for me, took care of my clothes. We talked. We took long walks together. It was all very pleasant. I never felt in danger. Not for a moment.” I avoided any mention of the manuscript.
“I’m making it sound as though I plan to stay with her,” I reassured her, “that isn’t it at all. It’s just that—very likely—she has no idea what happened to me. I went for a walk and disappeared. She’s probably upset by that. So please. Don’t think, for a second, that I want to leave you. I don’t. Not at all. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I managed a smile. “I’ll even get small for you.”
My attempted jollity failed to reach her. And I knew I had to tell her. It was wrong for me to keep it from her. Absolutely wrong. “Ruthana,” I started. She gazed at me worriedly, as though she knew I was just about to tell her something awful.
Which I was. “Magda is—” I couldn’t say the word. “—with child.”
She stared at me. Speechless.
“I know I should have told you before,” I said. “I was afraid to.”
“Why?” she asked. So guilessly, I wondered if I’d heard her tone correctly.
“Why?” I asked. It sounded more like a demand, although I didn’t wish it to.
“You think that we didn’t all assume that you and she were—?” Now she couldn’t seem to say the word.
“There was no love involved,” I said. “No, that isn’t true,” I amended, determined that she hear the truth now. “I won’t take back everything I said about her. There was love at first. Magda gave me love. I believed her.” That was true as well. “Later … it was different. I became afraid of her.”
I took her hands in mine. “She had a son who died in the war. She wanted me to replace him.” I gritted my teeth. “In every way,” I said. “Which I did, God help me. I did.” I drew in a feeble, gasping breath … “If you can’t forgive me, I’ll understand. I will. I swear I will.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked away from me! I was astounded. Had I failed the entire explanation? I stood, aghast. Was my return to Magda to be permanent? All sorts of dire possibilities crossed my mind. Magda would never forgive me. She’d know exactly what happened. I’d rue the day. In spades.
Not so. To my amazement, there was Ruthana in front of me again. She was holding a small vial in her hand. She held it out.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Protection,” she said, “if you must go.”
She went on to explain that the vial contained a powder. Shockingly, I discovered, it was the powder that had probably blinded and killed Mr. Brean.
“I don’t want to kill her, Ruthana.” I drew the line. “I just want to say good-bye to her.”
“I don’t want you to kill her,” Ruthana said. “I don’t like killing. But you have to protect yourself. In case—” She hesitated. “—she goes after you,” she finished.
“Ruthana, I don’t think she’ll ‘go after’ me,” I said. “She loves me.” Seeing that expression again, I added, “Well, she said she did. I don’t know.”
Silence then. She continued holding the vial. Reluctantly, I took it, slipping it into my jacket pocket. (I forgot to mention we were dressed by then. We’d remained comfortably nude for—I estimate—more than an hour.)
“I’ll take you out of the woods,” she said.
I shivered. Was she accepting my departure too readily?
I should have known better. Moving close, she wrapped her arms around me, holding tight. “Remember what I said,” she whispered. “If you don’t come back, I’ll die.” I knew she meant it. It was a frightening admonition. Not a warning or a threat. A statement of her love. I had to respect it.
One more fervent kiss, and then we started through the woods, hand in hand. In a short while, unopposed in any way, we reached the path. It was far from the spot where I’d entered the woods. My god, did it all take place today? It seemed much longer.
We held each other for at least a minute. We kissed. “Be careful, my love,” Ruthana said, an audible break in her voice. “Use the powder if you have to.” It sounded as though she meant when you have to. I put aside that possibility and kissed her one last time. “I will come back,” I assured her. “It’s going to be all right.”
Little did I know.
I left her and walked out onto the path. As I started toward Magda’s house, I looked back at the woods. Ruthana was gone. Had she walked away—or vanished as Gilly had? Whatever way she’d disappeared, the sight was unnerving. Did she think—was she convinced—that I’d never return? No way of knowing. But the very possibility was distressing to me. I just realized that the word “distressing” contains the word “stress.” Which is why—no vast discovery—the word implies the presence of stress. Bravo, A. Black! Candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature! Not.
Where was I? Back on the path, returning to my witch’s house. Hansel and Gretel rolled into one. Why can’t I take this more seriously? I was feeling pretty damn serious walking back along that path. I really did have no idea how Magda would treat me when I told her I was leaving. She’s been so—yes, it’s the proper word—sweet to me the past few months.
But now? This?
I was almost to the path that led to Magda’s house when I heard the call. “Alex!” Shrill. Overwhelmed.
Magda came rushing up to me. Her face flushed and wet with tears. I knew instantly that my departure was not to be the easiest task in the world.
“My god, my darling, where did you go?” she asked, sounding breathless. “I’ve been out of my mind!”
Oh, dear, I
thought. Simplistic reaction. But I couldn’t allow terror to invade my system. If I did, I’d never get back to Ruthana.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It was difficult to speak coherently. So—as I usually did—I lied. “I’ve been walking,” I told her.
Stupid lie. “For hours?” she asked. She didn’t sound distrustful, only flabbergasted.
“It’s a long path,” I continued lying. I hoped it was long.
“I know,” she agreed. She embraced me torridly, and I was—pointlessly, no doubt—aware of how different her capacious breasts were from Ruthana’s. “My god, you frightened me,” she said. “I thought the faeries had gotten you.” Now that really dismayed me. The faeries had gotten me. One of them, at any rate. How was I going to get back to that one now?
“No,” I lied thrice—I was getting deeper and deeper, into the quicksand of prevarication. (I advise you to avoid it; remain on the solid, smooth ground of truth.) How would I get out of it? For a moment, I considered using the powder right away, blinding Magda and retreating into the woods.
I couldn’t do it. I renounced the impulse. It would defeat my intention, destroy my purpose. Which was an honest one. Even now, I appreciate that. Hurling the powder into Magda’s face at this point—when she had been so kind to me—would be, at best, contemptible. I would never forget such a moment of cowardly surrender. I was more in debt to Magda than that.
So, instead, I tried to console her as we walked up the path and across the lawn to her house. We went inside and sat on the sofa. I held her in my arms, her voluptuous warmth affecting you-know-who. (I keep telling you I was only eighteen, not a whit mature!) Only when I compelled my distracted brain to rein in did Mr. Johnson (I believe that’s what they call him now—I have not the slightest know-how why) manage to allay his automatic traverse toward inflexibility.
He dropped like a stone when Magda told me, quietly, “You’ve been lying to me.”
“What?” I muttered. The numbskull I was.
“You heard,” she said.
“I didn’t lie,” I lied. Poor, pathetic me. How was I ever going to get back to Ruthana?
“You did,” said Magda. Firmly. “You’ve been in the woods again. With that faerie girl.”