The Seven Year Witch Page 4

  “I…” Marilyn hesitated. Saying something like that probably made her as egotistical as H. McGlade. But why not? What the horse was saying was true. “I suppose so.”

  Marilyn, I think you might be an empath.

  A tingle worked its way up Marilyn’s arms. She had heard of empaths. Not the humdrum human kind. Or the more gifted Shifter kind who she heard made excellent sex therapists. But witches who had the power to sense others’ emotions. The most talented among them could manipulate the feelings of others and even absorb the magic of other witches.

  Witch empaths were very, very powerful. And very, very rare.

  “No, I can’t be.”

  Why not?

  Marilyn didn’t know. Right then, she felt as if she could be that awesome. That it was possible. That anything was. But that couldn’t be real. It had to be a result of the glamour of the city and the solace of the park and the incredible sexual desire emanating from a certain horse.

  “So I'm not hearing your thoughts. I'm feeling what you're feeling?”

  The horse nickered.

  “I… I… I don’t know.”

  Skeptical, eh? Only way to find out for sure is to do some experimenting. How do you feel around me?

  “Um…” Heat climbed up Marilyn’s neck and settled in her cheeks. “I’m not sure I want to say.”

  Attractive?

  Marilyn fluffed her hair before she realized what she was doing. “Um, maybe.”

  Sexy?

  Marilyn inched her skirt up on her thighs. Catching herself, she pressed her knees together and sat up straight. “I guess.”

  Horny?

  “We've just met.”

  So? Isn't this back-and-forth turning you on a little?

  “You're a horse.”

  We're both sentient, emotional beings, and you can sense how attracted I am to you. Is it wrong for me to hope that I turn you on a little?

  Marilyn was feeling it more than a little. She was gripped by the mad urge to go all Catherine the Great on her faithful steed right now. All she lacked--according to legend--were the ropes and pulleys. “I don't know if we should keep talking like this. I'm feeling…”

  Aroused?

  “You don't think this is all pretty weird?”

  I think you’re sensing my feelings and mixing them up with your own, and since I'm aroused you're getting aroused. And I don't think it's weird. I think it's exciting. Have you ever found yourself attracted to studs before?

  “You mean hot guys?”

  Nay.

  “Nay? Heh. I see what you did there. Wait, do you mean have I ever been attracted to horses? Goddess, no!”

  Good. Amazon frowns on that sort of thing. But just to make you feel better, I’m not a horse.

  Marilyn frowned for a moment, then it all made perfect sense. “You’re a Shifter.”

  Yes. And you are an empath.

  Marilyn let that thought settle in her mind. Could it be true? Could she have a rare magical power like that and had just failed to recognize it until now?

  The clip clop of hooves slowed then stopped, and the carriage driver turned to leer at her. “Let me help you out, ma’am.”

  Marilyn, meet me tonight.

  “Where?” she asked the horse.

  The carriage driver motioned to a bronze statue of a girl sitting on a mushroom. “This is where you said you wanted to go. The Alice in Wonderland sculpture. We have arrived.”

  “Thanks, but I was talking to the horse.”

  He shrugged and leered at her cleavage.

  You’ve heard of Studio 54?

  “I thought it closed when the 80’s did.”

  The nightclub is above the old Studio 54. It’s called Upstairs at Studio 54. Imaginative name, right?

  “No.”

  You’re right. It’s kind of stupid. But I like to get my dance on, so I’ll meet you there.

  A little shiver of excitement fizzled over Marilyn’s skin, and centered between her legs. The idea of meeting this Shifter in his human form for a night on the town was really quite insane, but she felt amazingly attracted to him. Impossible. She’d never even seen him as a human. He might be hideous.

  Or worse, he could be gorgeous. The kind of guy who could only belong to a beautiful, skinny, thin, slender witch. What would she do then?

  Marilyn was so preoccupied with her own self-doubt that she never answered, a fact she didn’t realize until the horse clopped away.

  See you later!

  And as Marilyn stood there, watching the dull, brown carriage ride off into the park, the attractive, sexy, horny feelings faded. All alone, she stared at the bronze sculpture wondering how she ever could have felt so confident and powerful when she was still nothing but an overweight, meek, nice, pun-loving Seven Year Witch.

  “You have every reason in the world to feel confident.”

  Marilyn glanced around her and saw no one who could have spoken. “Okay, who is it this time? A bird Shifter? A rat Shifter? That squirrel over by the tree? Don’t tell me, I’m feeling your thoughts, too?”

  “No, that’s just silly.” The bronze girl sitting on the mushroom stood up and stretched, and Marilyn realized it wasn’t a girl at all, or a statue, it was the happy young woman she’d met walking into the park.

  “You’re… You’re…”

  She looked at Marilyn as if she was speaking gibberish. “We met earlier. I’m Alice.”

  “In Wonderland?”

  “Sometimes. Other times I’m Alice in Central Park. And let me tell you, Marilyn, you would be nuts not to go to Upstairs at Studio 54 and get yourself some of that Shifter. Did you see him? He’s hung like a horse.”

  Chapter 4 – I Love the Nightlife, I Love to Boogie…

  Since having a sculpture talk to her was a different experience for Marilyn, she decided it was best to do what Alice said, and she…

  Oh, who was Marilyn kidding? Charley had a cute nose and a nice--if shaggy--mane, and she felt good about herself when she was around him. So while she was not going to start crushing on another species—not, not, not—she decided it would probably be a good idea to check out the dance club, and Charley, in the (human) flesh.

  Hopefully, when he shifted, he didn't shrink too much.

  So leaving Alice to her tea party, Marilyn hailed a cab (since she was still not too sure about her poofing abilities), asked for a seat belt extender, and found her way to Upstairs at Studio 54. She was about to walk in the door, when a mean-looking man blocked her way.

  “You’ll have to go to the back of the line.”

  She followed his pointing finger to see a line of sparkly, skinny people stretching all the way down the block. They all stared at her, superior sneers, smug smiles, and annoyed glares on their faces.

  Marilyn felt superior, smug, and annoyed. Wait, that wasn’t her. She felt inferior, humble, and apologetic. She wished she could slink away.

  “Marilyn? Is that you?”

  Marilyn turned toward the voice and nearly ran into none other than Baba Yaga, emerging from the club and decked out in full Madonna.

  “Oh, your Baba Yaganess, you look… you look…”

  The powerful witch leader did a twirl, showing off her braid-wrapped ponytail, gold corset, and breasts so pointy they could take out an eye from twenty feet away.

  “So what brings you to New York City, Marilyn? You can’t be here for the fashion or dancing. I can’t imagine you dancing. Although that dress looks nice. A little retro for me.” She snapped her fingers. “You’re here for the restaurants, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, I’m meeting someone.”

  “On the street? As in street walking? I expected that from Sassy--fornicating is her everyday superpower--but not you.”

  “I’m meeting someone inside the club.”

  “Upstairs at Studio 54? They only let skinny, fabulous people in.”

  “Now you’re just being mean.” Marilyn knew she shouldn’t talk that way to Baba Yaga, but it was ei
ther that or start to cry, and that would be worse.

  “No, really. That’s the bouncer’s job. He only lets in the powerful, the movers and shakers, and the skinny girls wearing fabulous fashion. I’m all of the above.” She gave another twirl, running into a member of her warlock posse and blinding him for life.

  Marilyn looked at the long line of smug, skinny, fabulous people. Baba Yaga was right. Marilyn would never get in. Which meant she would never see Charley again.

  “I’m not trying to be mean, Marilyn,” Baba Yaga said. “But if you try too hard, there’s always a chance that you’ll be disappointed. And getting disappointed all the time must be so… disappointing.”

  “Maybe I can come back after…”

  “After what?”

  “Zelda said she would help me. She promised to heal my metabolism and make me like other witches.”

  Baba Yaga stared at her. “She what?”

  Despite getting criticized for repeating things more times than she could count, Marilyn recapped Zelda’s promise for the witch leader.

  “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? It’s brilliant. So why are you wasting time? Get back to West Virginia and get yourself healed.”

  Marilyn forced a smile to her face, although it was the last thing she felt like doing. She should tell Baba Yaga the rest. That her magic wasn’t strong enough to poof. That she needed to soak up the city magic so Zelda wouldn’t soak up Marilyn’s rotundity. That she doubted there was enough city magic in the whole world to make her into a normal witch.

  She couldn’t even get into a dance club!

  But since the wise Baba Yaga probably knew all that, Marilyn made some lame excuse about a craving for lox and eggs from a nearby deli and scampered off down the street.

  The city that had seemed so full of promise and excitement and glamour now felt lonely. And as she caught glimpses of the smiling people walking beside her on the sidewalk and heard the music of their laughter, she knew the feeling was all hers.

  She’d never be a real witch.

  She’d never poof or fit into anything smaller than a couch cover.

  She’d never find love, and she might as well not even try. Trying only led to disappointment, after all.

  “Marilyn?”

  At first she thought the voice was a feeling, then a hand brushed her shoulder. She turned around and looked straight into one of the strongest male chests she’d ever seen.

  Not that she could actually see his chest. He was clothed, after all. A nice polo shirt with the Ralph Lauren logo embroidered on it and everything.

  “I thought you were going to meet me at the club. But when I arrived, you were walking away. What happened?”

  She skimmed her gaze upward to the man’s face. He was gorgeous. Not in a conventional, male model sort of way, but in a unique, somewhat shaggy, kind brown eyes sort of way. “Charley?”

  “In the human flesh. What do you think?”

  “I think… you’re beautiful.”

  “Studly, Marilyn. Or handsome. Something manly.”

  “Sorry. Studly.”

  She tried to maintain eye contact and not check out his package, but in her mind's eye she kept seeing him as a horse.

  Don't look, she thought. Don't look don't look...

  “Go ahead and look,” he said. “Then I can look at your cleavage.”

  She glanced down at his crotch while he checked out her boobs.

  Nice.

  “Nice,” he said. “And I have to say, it's also nice facing you, rather than pulling you around in a cart.”

  “Because I weigh a ton,” she said, sighing.

  “Because I can gaze into your eyes when we talk. Your insecurity is adorable, but you still feel it, right?”

  “Feel what?”

  “My desire, Marilyn. Can you feel it?”

  She could. “Yes.”

  “So let's drop the fat comments, and focus on that, shall we?”

  “Deal.”

  They shook on it. And she couldn't help but notice how big his hands were.

  “The bouncer turned you away?” Charley asked, jolting her back to the humiliating experience she’d rather forget.

  “He would have.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m fat, Charley.”

  “I thought we agreed to see beyond that.”

  “I'm trying. But with the bouncer…” Marilyn frowned. “You think I’m getting others’ emotions mixed up with my own?”

  “I do.”

  “I want to see myself the way you do. Really. I want to feel as confident as I did in the park. But after talking to Baba Yaga, I just can’t fool myself. I am what I am.”

  “Baba Yaga?”

  Marilyn explained her chance meeting with the witch leader.

  “Maybe you’re only fooling yourself when you’re around skinny witches who are jealous of you.”

  Marilyn let out a very un-fabulous snort. “Baba Yaga is the utmost. Beautiful, powerful…”

  “And she needs to tell you you’re fat, put you down, why?”

  Marilyn had no clue. She’d never thought about it that way. “Because I am?”

  “No,” Charley said. “There’s another possibility.”

  “What?”

  “That your witch friends are picking up your feelings about yourself, and that’s what they’re reacting to.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Will you try an experiment with me?”

  “Will it cost money?” she asked, thinking about her poor, bedraggled credit card.

  “Nope. Free.”

  “Does it involve breaking the law?”

  “None I know of.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Not unless you want it to.”

  Marilyn wasn’t sure about that last answer, but she agreed to try the experiment anyway. She was feeling better about herself since she’d left Baba Yaga, and she suspected she was picking up on Charley’s good vibes. But when he led her into a swanky apartment building with a uniformed doorman, she figured there might be a catch.

  “Who lives here?”

  “I do.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Where did you think I lived? In a barn?”

  She supposed that was exactly what she’d thought. She followed him into an elevator with glowing granite walls and floor. “The apartments in this building must cost a fortune.”

  “They do.”

  “But how…” She stopped herself. Asking a guy how much he made was rude at best. So not like her. It was as if she had suddenly become as outspoken as Zelda.

  “You want to know how I afford it?” Charley said.

  “Um, yes.”

  “I’m rich. Really rich. I made a fortune betting on the ponies.” He grinned at her. “Wanna know how to make a small fortune in the horse industry?”

  “How?”

  “Start with a large fortune.”

  The elevator door slid wide, and the most comfortable room Marilyn had ever seen opened up in front of her. Rustic, wood paneling covered the walls. Straw-colored shag carpet stretched across the floor. And the furniture was all oak and leather.

  “You do live in a barn!”

  Charley glanced around as if seeing his apartment for the first time. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I guess you’re right.”

  “It’s charming.” Marilyn said, and meant it. The rustic space made her feel comfortable immediately.

  “Want something to eat? I have just about everything, and anything I don’t have we can order out for.”

  Marilyn’s idea of a perfect date didn’t include a guy watching her eat. She just knew he would be counting calories in his head. “I don’t know...”

  “Don’t be self-conscious, Marilyn. I like a girl who eats like a horse.”

  “I’m that transparent?”

  “It’s clear you are determined not to be comfortable in your own skin.”

  Was that
true? Maybe. Definitely. “It won’t be a problem long, I hope. Not as long as I keep soaking up the city magic and feed my mojo.”

  “Why are you so concerned with feeding your mojo? Seems you have plenty of mojo to me.”

  “I don’t. And my friend Zelda said she would heal me. But my mojo has to be stronger or she will absorb my rotundity.”

  Charley just stared at her.

  Marilyn supposed she should explain. So she told him about Zelda’s healing powers and the glitch with her metabolism and the Circle of Fabulous.

  “How do you know when your mojo is ready?”

  “The forces of nature will attempt to rip off my clothes.”

  He winked at her. “Don’t want to miss that.”

  Marilyn gazed into his warm, brown, lust-filled eyes. Being naked never thrilled her, but to be exposed for these kind eyes didn’t seem like such a scary idea. In fact, it was kinda hot.

  “So, are you up for trying an experiment?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I thought we might do a little horsing around.”

  “Like sex horsing around?”

  “Exactly like sex horsing around.”

  Charley kissed her, his lips nibbling hers at first, then probing deeper, and Marilyn was glad she was sitting down, otherwise she wasn’t sure her knees could hold her upright. When the kiss ended, she struggled to catch her breath.

  Despite Marilyn’s reticence to strip and plunge into a magic mirror for a chess orgy makeover, she was pretty open to sex. Witches as a whole were a freewheeling bunch, probably because they could never fall prey to STDs or unwanted pregnancies, and the witch community embraced fornication just as they did any other force of nature. And although fat shaming was big in the witch world, slut shaming wasn’t a thing.

  So in the interest of feeding her mojo, and because she was feeling a mad urge to write Marilyn Pferd in the margins of a notebook like a teen with a crush, and because it had been four years, Marilyn answered yes.

  “Like pony play?” teased Marilyn, who’d once walked in on Roger the rabbit Shifter watching a porn movie involving a couple dressed only in saddles, bridles, and bits. Must have had something to do with his sex therapy practice.

  Charley gave her a wink. “You can be the rider.”

  Marilyn remembered the last time she rode a horse. The sickening crack. The jolt. The whinnies that pierced like screams. The giant wheelchair her parents were forced to buy the poor animal.