Chapter Three: In Which the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly Consort
Glassy eyed, and deaf from the feelings and emotions swirling through her body, Fizzy stared at the bead of blood on her finger. The wound did not hurt but for a momentary twinge as the thorn pricked her skin. In fact, she felt like she’d gone three rounds with her favorite electronic device. Her satin thong did nothing to stem the tide of her arousal as it soaked through from her juices.
Slowly, she lifted the rose to her face and inhaled deeply. The velvet petals caressed her nose as it filled with the deep, rich scent of rose and something…else. Some illusive scent teased her.
Was it possible that this rose, arriving in the midst of a storm, could be her familiar? How was that possible? She carried to rose to her kitchen, looking for a vase but even after finding one and filling it with water, she was loath to release the flower.
The thorn pricking her finger had softened and now slipped from the hole in her skin. She felt the loss of that contact to her very toes. Some wicked emotion grabbed her and she had the urge to strip and to rub the rose against her nether lips, letting the bloom kiss the dewy petals of her womanhood. Fighting those base cravings—cravings new to her virgin body—virgin in the sense she had never accepted a man into her inner sanctum, though she’d often enjoyed her battery-operated “boyfriend.”
Fizzy carried the rose back to her living room, unerringly finding her way in the dark . She needed to find a flashlight. Or a lantern. Or the matches to relight the candles. Lightning flashed outside her windows but the thunder was now reduced to a grumble as the storm moved away. In that flash, she saw her face in a mirror hanging on the wall. And she saw the face of a man standing behind her. The same man she’d glimpsed outside her window.
She stuffed the fist holding her rose into her mouth to stifle her scream. In the next flash, the man was gone. Had she imagined that tortured visage? Was her cottage haunted? The petals of her rose caressed her cheek with velvet touches. Again that illusive scent washed over her, making her knees weak with longing. Stumbling into her living room, she sank onto the Country French sofa, carefully placing the vase full of water on her highly-polished coffee table. She knew she should put the rose in the vase but she could not. She felt strangely bereft at the thought of not touching the blossom.
Outside the cottage, three women gathered beneath the trees.
“She has passed the first test,” Amethyst, the good witch proclaimed.
“But she may yet succumb to the dark side.” Jade, the bad witch and so-named for her sickly green pallor, held out hope she could turn the newest witch to her side.
“Bah. She is a book witch with no power.” Agate, the ugly witch snorted and spat a wad of phlegm on the ground between the other two women.
Amethyst straightened her shoulders. “We have punished Rosenblum long enough. If he can win her heart, then his manhood shall be restored.”
Jade and Agate exchanged a long, heated look. “Who died and made you queen witch?” Jade tapped her thigh-high, black leather boot-encased foot against the muddy ground. The boots were knock-offs but her sisters didn’t need to know that. “I say we turn him into a slug and poor beer on him.”
Agate spat again. “That’s stupid, Jade. We need him to breed.”
“Ha,” Jade argued. “She is a virgin. She will not be able to handle his manliness if we restore it.” Her nipples pebbled as she remembered her time with the familiar. “My fingers could barely circle his steely shaft and even I wondered if he would fit.”
“Ha, but it did, didn’t it.” Agate sniffed. “It will take a virgin to procreate. Though she is not technically a virgin such that he will need a mighty thrust to break through her virginity. The joys of modern technology.”
“Our ugly step-sister is correct, Jade.” Amethyst’s voice was coated in sugar. “Let the game play out. If he wins her, we restore him. Agreed?”
When Agate spit this time, it was into her palm. She extended her hand to Amethyst. “Agreed.”
With distaste, Amethyst dribbled a bit of saliva into her palm and shook. The two then stared at Jade.
“Oh, whatever.” The bad witch spit into her hand and repeated the ceremony with each of the others.
In a final clap of thunder and flash of lightning, the witches disappeared.
The lights turned on with a suddenness that blinded Fizzy. Once her eyes cleared of sparkles, she clearly saw the rose nestled in her hand, two sets of its bracts curled possessively around her thumb. It had not wilted one whit, though she’d never quite been sure just what measurement a whit consisted of.
“What are you?” she crooned to the flower. “Why are you here?”
The leaves seemed to pet her skin and she shivered at the touch.
“Are you my familiar? I do not see how that can be. You are a rose, something fragile and transitory. Familiars are supposed to be…I don’t know. Something substantial. Like a black cat. Or…or…” Her face flushed. “When you first knocked upon my door, I thought maybe I’d been rewarded with a familiar like Poe’s raven.
As she watched, the rose’s petals curled up tight around its center. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt your feelings? I just…this is all so new to me. I don’t really know what I am doing, even though I have my diploma and everything.” Her eyes trailed across the table to the Book of Shadows surrounded by candles.
A shadow flickered in the corner of her eye and she turned her head. Hair prickled on her arms and the back of her neck. “Is someone there?” Her voice quavered and she tried to swallow her fear.
Some unknown force drew her eyes to the mirror. Her breath froze in her lungs as her heart hammered madly in her chest. That face—the one from the window and the one she’d glimpsed once before—stared at her, his hunger stark and needy. The reflection’s lips moved, mouthing words she could not understand. Oh why had she not studied lip reading? Her heart clenched and her stomach knotted. The image’s message was important. He needed…her. She knew it in the very depths of her soul.
Without her, the man would be lost. She knew this with a certainty filling her most secret heart of hearts. What evil spell trapped him? And where was he? How was she to free him? The face melted into remorse and then disappeared. She suddenly realized the rose no longer rested in her hand but now lay across the open pages of the Book of Shadows. Who? What? Where? Why? How? Her pulse raced.
She knew. The man in the mirror was meant to be her true love. Fate had delivered him into her willing hands. Fizzy picked up the rose and a frisson of electricity raced from her fingers to her heart. Staring at the flower, her soul bloomed.
“I will save you,” she whispered. “I love you. I don’t know how or why. I don’t know who or what. I don’t know where. But I will save you. I vow this to you on my very soul.”
So what do you think? Any guesses on how this will end? Lastly, we can’t forget to give a tip of the hat to the artist behind all of this, Jen who runs Cover Remix. Are we enjoying the spoof story? Only one chapter left!