The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller (24 page)

***

Upstairs in her room, Felicia buried her face in her pillow and cried for nearly an hour. Her shoulder muscles ached by the time she stopped her sobbing.

At last all cried out, she rose and crossed to her mirror. It was well past sundown. She wasn’t planning to transform. She just wanted to remember who she was. To add up how much of her was still left, after giving so much away to Nelson.

She sat staring numbly at her reflection.

The girl staring back was a wreck. Despite the power that Granny Dola had bestowed on her, Felicia looked weaker than ever. Her flesh was fuller due to her increased intake of protein, but she looked pale and wan and drained of her lifeforce.

She wondered if it was her feline nature draining her lifeforce, or her human side?
Is this the devil’s price I must pay for dabbling in the Black Arts? Or the result of Nelson and his own devilish cruelty?

She gazed listlessly at her bloodshot eyes. Ringed by dark weary circles, they looked like the eyes of a zombie. As she continued staring, the image in the mirror slowly turned black, and suddenly the glass was filled with images of Nelson. Felicia saw him kissing her softly and stroking her with seemingly genuine love.

Then the mirror fogged over and she was back at the Point, cold and hurting as Nelson in his Halloween mask moved in for his cheap stolen thrill, his eyes glazed in a druggy stupor, blazing in demonic triumph as he forced himself on her.
Into her.

A sharp spike of pain exploded in her loins like a devilish reminder, then suddenly she was back. Staring at her own reflection again.

But the eyes she saw staring back were not human eyes. They were the eyes of a cat.

And the feelings she was feeling were not the rational thoughts of a human. They were the angry heat of an injured animal. Anxious to strike back. To destroy the cause of her pain.

Her fingernails dug into her vanity and scratched deep into the wood. As she realized what she was doing she was shocked to see long talons extending from her fingertips.

The sight of the strange animal claws on her fingers sent an emotional shock through her nervous system.

In an instant her fingers were normal again. And when she looked up at the mirror her eyes were human eyes again.

She sat staring quietly at herself. The girl she saw looking back would never be free from her private hell until her enemies were dead and gone. But right now there was nothing she could do about that.

Until the winter weather clears, I can’t risk going out at night and leaving my bedroom window open. My folks’ll notice the cold draft blowing in and discover I’m missing.

She considered other options, but finally gave up. As frustrating as it was to postpone her revenge, she couldn’t do otherwise.

Emotionally exhausted she dragged herself to bed. And collapsed in a death-like sleep.

241

“Witchcraft. Who can tell me something about witchcraft?”

Felicia was surprised by the question. The class seemed surprised as well, for no answer was forthcoming. Finally one smart-ass piped up from the back of the class.

“Witches are ugly old crones with warts on their gigundous noses.”

The class laughed. Felicia didn’t.

“Thank you, Gerald. An astute observation as always.” Mrs. Hadley crossed to the blackboard and pulled down the world map. Witchcraft wasn’t in her study plan but she thought the provocative subject might inspire her less enthusiastic pupils. Most seemed to think history began with the invention of the cell phone and youtube. “There’s been a lot of talk around town lately about the disappearance of one of our more colorful residents. I was hoping we might use this opportunity to examine the social and political aspects of witchcraft. Does anyone have any thoughts on that?”

“Witches were persecuted as a form of political terrorism,” said Gina Campbell. “The male chauvinist rulers of Europe and America needed to suppress it because they were threatened by the power it allegedly gave its practitioners. Who were usually women. So witchcraft threatened the male dominated fabric of society.”

“Very good, Gina,” Mrs. Hadley said, “Since you used the word allegedly I assume you don’t believe that witchcraft is real.”

“Of course it was real, in the sense that people practiced it,” Gina answered. “But that doesn’t mean there was any real magic involved. With the oppression of women and gays being the official policy of Medieval states and the Church, I would bet that most witches were just lesbians sneaking around, poking each other with their broomsticks.”

The classroom exploded in laughter. Mrs. Hadley was speechless.

Felicia finally felt compelled to speak up. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it as a hoax. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’.”

Mrs. Hadley was happy to have the discussion back on a productive track. “You quote Shakespeare, Felicia. Do you think the Great Bard believed in witches? He wasn’t exactly a rube by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Witches. And ghosts,” Felicia said. “I think he believed in them all. Otherwise he wouldn’t have used them in so many plays.”

“Shakespeare lived in the Dark Ages,” said Gina. “People were idiots then.”

“No,” Felicia corrected her. “Shakespeare lived in the Renaissance. A time when mankind had reached a very high level of development. Some might even argue it was when we peaked as a species. And that today we have devolved. I wouldn’t disagree.”

“I guess Shakespeare believed in fairies too,” smirked Gina. “Have you read Midsummer Nights Dream?”

“I guess he did,” Felicia said calmly.

“Well,” Mrs. Hadley said, “Felicia is right that he lived in the Renaissance. However, that period is more renowned for its arts than its science. So we can safely assume that Shakespeare, like his fellow citizens, did believe in the supernatural. Things which we know today are bunk.”

Felicia bristled inside. But bit her tongue. Most of the town already thought she was loonie.

“Witchcraft is an abomination,” blurted Helen Blanton self-righteously. “It says in the Bible that witches should be burned. They’re followers of the devil.”

Laughter and catcalls erupted throughout the room.

“Well” said Mrs. Hadley, “It seems skepticism is our societal norm.”

“No. Sanity is,” someone called out.

Helen’s voice rose, shaky with anger. “Go ahead and laugh. But the older folks in this town know all about old Granny Dola. And the stories they tell are all true. People who crossed her were cursed and died. And she never sets foot in the shadow of any church. When she used to come to town she’d always cross to the other side of the street.”

The skeptics laughed again. But some kids were getting edgy.

“Helen, you can’t really believe that,” said Mrs. Hadley. “We live in an age of science and reason.”

“I believe it because it’s God’s word. If you don’t believe it I feel sorry for you. You need to read your Bible. You all do. Before it’s too late. Before Satan takes your souls.”

The bell rang. The kids hurrying out laughed at Helen and made mocking spooky noises. Felicia remained seated, emotionally riled.

“Hold on a minute, class. For homework I want you all to write a two hundred word essay on a belief from the past that has since been debunked and which we no longer believe in. Choose whatever subject you want, from Bigfoot to flying saucers.”

As Helen walked past on her way out she looked down at Felicia… and her eyes went wide.

Felicia gazed up at her. Her slitted cat eyes gleaming.

Helen turned abruptly and stumbled anxiously towards the door, losing herself in the crowd.

Felicia lowered her head, not sure but strongly suspecting what the frightened girl had seen.

“Felicia?” Mrs. Hadley walked over and stood before her.

Felicia drew a deep breath and finally looked up.

Mrs. Hadley calmly handed her a file. “I’m running late, dear. Would you mind dropping this at the principal’s office?”

“Sure,” Felicia replied, relieved when the teacher just smiled at her. “No problem at all.”

241

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ruta. “Really. It’s just your body and mind trying to find the balance between your human and animal selves. I went through a similar phase in my first few months. Remember how much school I missed last winter? I had a hard time stepping out of the house in cold weather without my blood freezing up and making me all sluggish.”

“How did you fix it?”

“I didn’t. I just bundled up when I had to go out, and after a month or two it passed on its own. I guess my system finally adapted. When I asked Granny she told me it’s a phase that everyone goes through. So stop worrying. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Stop worrying? I know Helen Blanton saw something already that freaked her out. I’m not sure how I’d explain away having cats eyes to anyone who mattered.”

“Well, you said it happened when you got pissed off, right? Maybe you should get some xanax or something. At least for the next few months.”

“Did you take them?”

“No, but…”

“But you didn’t want to be turned into a pharmaceutical zombie. Neither do I.”

“I don’t know, Felicia. I wish there was something more I could do to help.”

“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I just have to control my feline temper. Maybe some breathing exercises or something. My mom’s into yoga. I’ll check out her DVDs.”

“There you go. Yoga’s really good for you; you should be doing it anyway. I take classes here and the teacher’s really impressed with my flexibility.”

“Hello! Does he know you’re a snake girl?”

“I guess that helps, huh?” Ruta laughed. “Uh oh, gotta go. I promised the parental units I’d go to some wanky dinner party. I think they want to impress my dad’s boss with how hip they are to have such a freaky daughter. Speaking of which, what’s that music I hear in the background?”

“Oh,” Felicia rolled across her bed to check the CD cover, “Rhea’s Obsession. Initiation. It kills. You want me to burn you a copy?”

“No, thanks. No more bootlegs for me. I’m trying to watch my karma. I’ll put it on my birthday list. After this dinner party my dad will owe me big time.”

“I miss you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Felicia hung up and stretched out on the bed. She felt an itch and rolled onto her back, wiggling her spine to scratch it.

Her body felt loose and limber. The exotic music she was listening to seemed more vibrant than she’d ever heard it. She let it overwhelm her and slipped into a sensuous trance.

When the song ended her consciousness returned. She found herself lying on her back, with her arms and legs drawn up over her.

Someone knocked gently on her door. She rolled onto her side just in time as the door cracked open and her mother peeked in.

“I’m doing laundry, Felicia. You have anything to add?”

“No, mom, thanks.”

Her mother left.

Felicia sighed and rolled onto her back.

Jesus. Next I’ll be growing a tail.

241

At last...

Felicia had been counting down the hours since the extended weather forecast showed Spring lurking just around the corner. For the past two nights she’d slept with her windows open wide, testing to see if her parents would notice any cold drafts and come scurrying into her room to check the source. Not only did they not come to investigate, they made no mention of anything amiss at the breakfast table.

The worst days of winter were over. The kids at school had already ditched their winter coats in favor of hoodies and jackets. Wally even rolled up on his ratty dirtbike, happy to kiss the school bus goodbye and make his seasonally adjusted entrance with an obnoxious blast of noise and smog.

It was time for Felicia to resume her blood hunt. She had no excuse not to, and no other way to vent the passionate hatred that had been festering in her soul through the winter months.

As sundown neared she locked her bedroom door, booted her powerbook, and pulled up a picture of the cat she had chosen for her first foray in months. She studied the shape of its spots carefully, and took care to paint the properly shaped rosettes.

She had considered taking the form of a lightning quick cheetah, figuring it would give her the best chance of running down Wally as he rode his motorcycle along some lonely stretch of country road. But she researched carefully before making her selection, and was glad she did.

With claws and footpads designed for fast traction on flat ground, the cheetah wasn’t built to climb trees like other cats. It wouldn’t be difficult to leap from her window to the tree outside and make it down to the ground, but getting back up to her room might have proved impossible.