Water Witch

WaterWitch

Copyright  © 2014 By Amelia Bishop

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical reviews, or any other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real events, places, or characters is completely coincidental.

Cover photo by Dan Skinner

Thanks to Lina, Jan, B.D., and Kate, for editing, and beta reading, and general sanity-saving advice. You ladies are the best combination of honest and helpful, and I am grateful to know you all.

CHAPTER ONE

Bathwater covered my entire body, except for the tips of my knees, and lapped at my chin. I dipped my head back and let it soak my hair, too. Holding myself as deep and low as possible in the tub, I watched the water level carefully. With only a half inch of clearance, any sudden movements would send a wave over the edge and soak the rug. Scott would be home soon, and the last thing I needed was him knowing I’d taken another bath. Being a water witch living in a water restricted desert city sucked.

Scott knew I loved the water, he knew I needed my baths, and he tolerated it with a sort of head-shaking affection. He even called me his sexy merman, as a joke. But I’d taken a bath last night. And the day before. And snuck one in while he was at work the day before that.

I’d have to remember to pay the water bill next month before he saw it.

I closed my eyes and focused on the water surrounding me, imagined my skin soaking it in, my power drawing strength from it. I’d augmented the bathwater with a handful of sea salt, and dumped in flakes of dried kelp and sea lettuce as well.

I’d need to skim every piece out of the tub as it drained.

Ugh, stop worrying about nonsense
. I followed the first few steps of my meditation routine, just enough to relax yet still stay grounded in reality. I’d learned this method so early I don’t recall actually being taught. I remember doing it at age eleven, right after my grandfather died, when the sadness became too much. Back then I’d spend hours lying on the beach, letting the salty spray nourish me, floating on the edge of consciousness and imagining I could still talk to my grandfather. My mother never interfered, knowing how difficult it was for me to lose the only male role model in my life.

Later, in high school, I’d walk myself through the first few steps of my meditation whenever I was teased or bullied. Being an effeminate guy was bad enough, being openly gay made it worse, and being a witch sealed my weirdo status. No one knew that’s what I was, of course. They just knew I was different. “Quirky” if they were kind about it, “freak” if they weren’t. But I made it through, never showed my powers to a mundane human, and never drew attention to the coven.

I’d told Scott I was a “real” witch, knowing he wouldn’t believe it. He thought I only wanted to be a witch, thought I fantasized about it. Like it was some nerdy obsession or a cosplay I took way too seriously. He didn’t think witches were anything more than fantasy.

I was constantly tempted to show him my power, but years of secrecy held me back. Anyway, my water manipulation was only a minor talent. I could move small amounts of water, and certainly it would impress Scott to see that. If I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together, I would have showed him. But the truth was I didn’t trust him enough to give him that kind of information about me and my family. I wasn’t sure I’d ever trust him that much, honestly.

My main talents are divination and cleansing. I can do healings, as part of my cleansing skill, though not of physical wounds. And I had showed Scott that, once when he had the flu. I told him I’d heal him, and he smiled in a drugged-up hazy way and patted my hand and thanked me. I’d barely slept that night, nervous about having revealed my true nature to a non-witch. When he woke up the next day, completely free of the virus, he thought it was just a coincidence. I was so grateful for the second chance to hold onto my secret, I never demonstrated my skill again.

I let Scott believe I was just an everyday Wiccan and a wannabe witch, and I even tolerated his playful teasing. Living together I couldn’t hide my habits. He knew I performed Esbat rituals on each full moon night. He even learned the names of the Sabbats, and sometimes sipped wine while watching me perform a simple, modified ritual. But as six months in the desert turned into a year, and then two years, my rituals grew briefer, and my herb jars and journals collected dust. I was barely a witch anymore.

Goddess, I have to stop worrying about this shit.
I closed my eyes again, leaned my head against the tub, and stepped back into my meditative state. It had been a while since I’d really tried to have a vision. Weeks? Shit, maybe months. The realization filled me with guilt. I opened myself to one now.

***

The feet were long and thin, and left dark wet footprints on the wood floorboards. Strange, they didn’t really look wet. Maybe a little. Okay they were shiny, but not wet enough for such clear prints. I couldn’t stop looking at those footprints. I tried to move my focus up to the rest of the person, or the creature, that was attached to the feet. It took some effort. I saw a glimpse of leg, glistening and damp, and a swirling blue skirt made of something like grass or threads of silk swishing around a knee. The leg seemed masculine, though, and the torso matched that impression. Hairless, but definitely male. Pale and smooth, with sharply defined abs and square pecs, and a strong pronounced collarbone.
The face, look at the face.
But I couldn’t. My visions weren’t always in my control. Better to focus on what I could see, and remember it. A necklace, of gold braided chain, held a large nautilus shell dangling at his throat, beige and purple against his creamy flesh.

All his features appeared human, but somehow I knew he wasn’t.

A pale hand reached out to a cabinet.
I know that cabinet.
It’s my mother’s. It had been my grandmother’s, and my great grandmother’s before hers. It held our family treasures, and opened with a little silver key that my mother wore as a charm around her neck. I knew he wouldn’t be able to open it. The sight of this strange creature in my family home, so close to my things, frightened me. I had to fight down my panic and breathe deeply to stay in the vision.

He tried the small brass handle, and the door stayed shut.
Good.
I let out a breath. The damp, pale hand went to the waistband of the skirt and pulled out a tiny silver key.
No. Impossible!
And then I saw his face. A terrifyingly beautiful face. Long blond hair, cut unevenly, framed pale, chiseled cheekbones. His icy blue eyes glinted down at the key, and his thin lips turned up in a small, slow smile, revealing pearly teeth. As his hand brought the key into the lock he turned to me, another impossibility
—how could he know I was divining this?
—and as his eyes met mine, his mouth widened into a smile full of familiarity, as if he knew me, as if he liked me.

***

I opened my eyes with a shout, and splashed bathwater all over the floor.

Fuck.

That face haunted me as I dried myself and dressed. What did it mean? Was he a real creature? Or was he a symbol of something? Interpretation wasn’t my strong suit.

I dialed my mother with one hand, while I cleaned up the evidence of my bath with the other. Tiny flakes of seaweed had worked into the plush mat, and water soaked it. I held my palm parallel to the rug and called the water to me, drawing it up in droplets and collecting it in a quivering ball. When I had a palm-sized sphere of water, I dropped it into the tub, and repeated the procedure. It was difficult, and I frowned in disgust. This should be easy for me, I could have done this as a child.

My call connected, began ringing on the other end, but I didn’t expect my mom to answer right away. I focused my power and gathered another bit of water, only about the size of a grape this time. The rug was dry, finally. I started picking out pieces of seaweed and waited for my mom to pick up.

Seven rings and she still hadn’t answered. I smiled, imagining the old wall phone ringing and her yelling “I’m coming!” at it. She rarely picked up before the fifth ring, and usually it took more like fifteen or twenty before she saw fit to respond. I’d suggested voicemail a thousand times, but she refused.

She answered after the tenth ring.“Vinny!”

I laughed softly. Only my mom and my boyfriends called me Vinny. My grandmother called me Vincenzo. To everyone else, I insisted on Vince. “Mom, you busy?”

“Nope, just baking. Everything okay?”

“Do you have your key to the cabinet?”

There was a rustling of fabric, as if her sweater or shirt brushed against the mouthpiece of the phone.

“Yes. Right where it should be. Why? What did you see?”

My mother had grown up listening to, and depending upon, my grandfather’s premonitions. When I showed the skill, she accepted it without any doubt, and had always respected my visions. “Someone was in our house. A man, but he was all wet…like a merman with legs? I don’t know. Anyway he used your key and opened the cabinet.”

“Hmm.” I didn’t need a vision to tell me she was leaning against the wood paneled wall and chewing her fingernail. “What do you think it means?”

I sighed. The images in my visions were clear as day to me. Deciphering them was another matter. Interpretation was something my mother always nagged me to improve. “I don’t know. Does he sound like anything you’ve ever heard of? He was shiny, and wet, all his features were human but he didn’t feel human to me.”

“Water Fae, I’d guess. Assuming he actually exists, and he’s not some allegorical figure.” There was a hint of judgment in her tone, the implication that I should be studying more, putting more effort into my readings.

“Okay. Well, just in case he is real, be careful?” I dumped my wet towel into the hamper and walked into the living room.

“Of course.” She paused and I heard the faint tapping of the ancient plastic phone cord against the wall. I pictured her swinging it in a wide arc.
She’s worried.
“Maybe you should come home for a while? Did Scott get that transfer he’s been asking for?”

Scott’s possible transfer back east was the only Scott-related topic my mother ever willingly discussed. “Haven’t heard anything yet.” The front door swung open. “Oh! He’s home, I’ll ask about it and call you back tonight, okay? Love you.”

Scott dropped his briefcase on the table and smiled at me from the kitchen. “Your mom?”

“Yeah.” I hopped up from the couch and crossed the room to greet him with a kiss. His mouth tasted like peppermint gum and his suit smelled of the air freshener they used in his office building. “Hey, did you ever hear back about that transfer?”

He stiffened just slightly, and then kissed me again, wrapping one arm around my back.

I pulled away to look in his eyes. “Scott?”

“Did you take another bath today?”

How the fuck did he know that? “Yes. Just a small one.”

He raised his brows in disbelief. “Vince, you know we need to conserve water out here. Come on.”

“I know.”

He turned and hung his jacket on the back of a chair, and began to sort through the mail. How had he known about the bath? Or had he guessed? Do I smell like seaweed?
Fuck.
I narrowed my eyes at the back of his head. “What about the transfer?”

There it was again—a little tensing in his shoulders. “Is it bad news? Was it denied?” But I knew it hadn’t been. I’d begged him to apply for it, if they’d denied it, he’d have told me right away. Something else was going on.

“I rescinded my application.”

“What!? Why?” I stood like an idiot, my mouth hanging open, hoping for some kind of explanation that would make this okay.

“A better position opened up in Phoenix. I think I might get it. I’ll know next week.”

“Are you kidding me? Phoenix?”

“I thought you might like it there. It’s a bigger city; you’d have more work, for sure. And I’d be making a lot more money. Win-win.”

Win-win? Was he serious? He turned back to the pile of bills. Apparently, he was serious. “Scott.” I tried to keep my voice calm, to talk like an adult. “You know how important moving back home is to me. You know how much I need to be near the water, and how much I miss my family. I can’t believe you’d make this kind of decision without talking to me first.” There. That was good. Calm and rational, no reason to get upset, we’re both grown-ups here.

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to make decisions about my career.” He snorted out a little laugh, as if the idea was ridiculous, and shook his head without looking up from the mail.

I seethed and sputtered, and he turned to me with a challenge in his eye. I had a brief flash of vision. Not a premonition, a memory this time. From two years ago, the day I’d left home. My grandmother, questioning if I should move away with Scott. She’d asked if Scott ever appeared in my visions, and I’d admitted he didn’t. She’d given me a look that indicated the importance of that fact, and I’d smiled and told her not to worry. She had been right, though. Scott never showed up in my visions, not even one. And though I might suck at interpretation, I knew what that meant. I’d ignored it for too long.

What the fuck was I doing here? Sure he was hot, and so damn sexy with his smoky brown eyes and his slick corporate hairstyle. And he was sweet and fun in bed. But everything had been about him. He did what was best for him, and I just hung around, supporting him from the sidelines. I turned on my heel and went to the bedroom, got two suitcases packed before he came after me.

He leaned against the door frame casually, as if he was confident I could be talked down. “Vinny, I understand why you’re upset. Just look at it from my point of view, though. Moving east would be like saying no to a promotion. You wouldn’t want me to do that, would you?”