Boots (7 page)

"Were you forced into service?"

"No, ma'am. I serve because I must, but this one I serve willingly."

"Whom do you serve, pretty kasha? A sorcerer? A necromancer? And what does your master want with us?"

"I serve the artist, Willem Aufderheide. He has long been an admirer of your beautiful house and gardens, and he sends me with a small gift." He reached into his hatband, pulled out Willem's crane, and offered it to the old woman.

She approached slowly, perhaps more from impaired mobility than caution, but tendrils of powerful magic preceded her, ghosting over Kasha, prodding at him. He drew slow breaths, willing his body to relax, his tail to stay smooth and still. He had no ill intentions to hide, nothing to fear.

With an age-curled hand, she took the crane, holding it in her palm to examine it. "It's a princely gift. His work?"

Kasha nodded.

"It's lovely. Tell him thank you, from all of us. Come inside, pretty kasha. It's too cold out here to talk."

Hat in paws, he followed the three witches, the youngest positively beaming, the middle-aged one still scowling. He sat human-wise on the kitchen chair offered to him, back legs dangling over the edge, tail politely curled in his lap. The old witch offered him catnip tea while she poured chamomile for the humans, and the four of them sipped and chatted. He discovered they were Natt, Ettermiddag and Morgen Engelstad, mother, daughter and granddaughter, and that their family had owned large tracts of the land around Honeybole for nearly two hundred years.

"Aufderheide," Ettie said into a pause in conversation. "Isn't that the beer family?"

"That is my lord's family, yes," Kasha admitted.

"So a brewer managed to claim a kasha?"

"His father was the brewer, ma'am. Willem is a man of more... unusual talents."

"Obviously." Natt, the grandmother snorted, and then grew more serious. "I knew Horst. He was a hard man, but devoted to his craft. I was sad to hear that he passed."

"He leaves a void." Kasha found he did miss the old bear. Strange that he would.

"And into void something must rush to fill it," Natt said softly. "And when we don't see to it, sometimes what we don't wish rushes in."

"My lady, you mean something beside a philosophical statement, I believe." Kasha shifted in his chair as fingers of shadow crept along the floorboards.

"I wish I didn't," the old woman said. "Though maybe if your Willem is powerful enough to ensnare a kasha, he might help with this."

"Perhaps, my lady, you might tell me? I might intercede for you with him."

The three witches looked at one another. Morgen finally spoke. "See, Grandma owns a second house, on the other side of the hill. It's supposed to be my house, if I, you know, decide to have kids and stuff."

"But something moved in there, changing the deed, registering the property as his," Ettie continued.

"Something?" Kasha's ears twitched.

"An investment banker."

"A lawyer."

"An ogre."

Kasha blinked, trying to make sense of the conversation. "Three somethings?"

"No, all the same one," Natt explained.

"An unpleasant investment banker has seized the property with the help of his attorney?" Kasha felt a headache coming on.

"No, silly kitty." Morgen giggled. "The scumbag's an ogre, a real one. Not the nice kind from that movie. But he's also a banker and has his law degree. He just kinda took the house and we can't budge him."

"An ogre," he repeated. "Truly?" But he found himself not as surprised as he should have been. That explained the darkness he had felt in the mountains, the gathering of power that had disturbed his dreams. "How do ogres acquire law degrees?"

Natt shrugged. "I assume they take all sorts at law schools, if they pass the exams."

"Maybe even online, who knows?" Ettie shrugged. "No one would ever catch sight of him then."

"Hey, Gram?" a new voice called from the hallway, a deep, male voice. "Have you seen the cable for my amp?" The disembodied voice resolved into a beautiful young man, lean and athletic, with thick waves of chocolate hair and a guitar slung over his shoulder.

"I can't keep track of your things, Teddy," Natt said with weary exasperation.

"Well, I--holy crap. That is one freaky cat." The gorgeous male, Teddy, presumably, stared at Kasha with hazel eyes gone huge as dinner plates. "I mean, he is a cat, right? And not some poor dude Aunt Ettie turned into a cat?"

"No, he's a cat, stupid," Morgen said with a contemptuous eye roll.

"Never know around here." He gave Kasha a tentative wave. "Hey, Mr. Kitty, how's it hanging?"

"Quite comfortably under the tail, thank you," Kasha answered after a sip of tea.

Teddy grinned. "Hey, I like him. Lots more fun than your usual guests."

"Good to hear, young sir." Kasha hopped down from his chair and handed his mug off to Morgen. "Thank you for the tea, kind ladies, and for the lovely visit. As to the issue we discussed, I will put it before my--Willem. I'm sure he'll wish to help."

Natt gave him a nod. "Thank you. We wouldn't want to put him in a bad spot, but if there's anything he could suggest, we'd be grateful."

Kasha gave the ladies a little bow and left by the backdoor. On his way out, he heard Teddy ask, "So who's this Willem dude? Is he cute?"

The visit couldn't have gone better. The witches were friendly and interested in the arts. They had a problem with which they required assistance, a house standing empty, and a visiting relative who was not only gay and breathtakingly handsome, he was apparently looking.

Perfect. All the elements were there for Willem: patronage, housing, and the possibility of a new love interest. Now he merely needed to pull the players together under just the right circumstances.

When he reached the cabin again, he was exhausted and out of sorts. The brief visit to the ogre's house had drained him badly, all his power going to shielding his presence. The witches' neighbor was not merely any ogre. They could be stupid, ravenous louts, but, no, this one was old. Canny and powerful, he wore his magic like a carefully selected wardrobe, only showing what he pleased.

Kasha felt the layers underneath, though, and was frightened for the first time in many years. This one shifted shapes as easily as if he changed his shirt. He wondered if his promise to the ladies would be one he could keep, or even one he should try to keep. It might endanger them all.

Rest first. Things will be clearer in the morning.

Unfortunately, rest had to wait as well. Willem had reached the cabin first, his anger emanating from under the door.

"Oh, marvelous." Kasha hesitated, briefly considered staying outside, and then decided he was better off facing the confrontation and possibly having the storm blow over before he collapsed on his face.

He pushed the door open to find Willem pacing in front of the fire. He whirled when the door creaked, fire in his eyes.

"Damn you, Kasha! What the hell did you do?"

"In what regard, sir?" Kasha shut the door and went to the fire to warm his paws.

"Don't hand me that! To Joey! He was all curled up, whimpering in pain when I got there today. Don't even tell me it wasn't you!"

"It was a small conditional spell, my lord. Nothing more. How is he now?" He found himself unable to look at Willem. It hurt to have him so angry, more than it should.

"He's... fine." That seemed to temper Willem's rage. "He's fine. But that's not the point. He sure as hell wasn't when I got there. And why is he fine now?"

"Conditional. A certain act triggers the spell. A certain act rescinds it." Kasha lay down on his side, trying to keep his eyes open.

"So what triggered it?"

"Putting on his underwear."

Willem made a disgusted sound. "Oh, that's low. God. And how did he break it?"

"What did you do while you were there, my lord?"

It seemed Willem was too angry even to notice the title. "I... talked to him. I held him. He said it felt better when he thought about me."

"Yes. You were the crux of the spell. Retribution for the hurt he had caused you. When did the symptoms vanish?"

"When... " Willem's voice finally regained a normal pitch. "When I forgave him."

"So it is done. He will be well now."

He had hoped that was the end of it, but he found himself seized under his forelegs and dangled at the end of Willem's arms, facing his still angry
heki-sama.

"How can you be so fucking casual about something like that? You hurt him!"

"And he hurt you."

"The one thing has nothing to do with the other!" Willem gave him a little shake. "You don't go around hurting people for revenge!"

"It was for you," Kasha pleaded softly.

"I don't care what it was for! You don't use your magic to hurt anyone! Ever!"

"Fine."

Willem pulled him closer so their noses were a mere breath apart. His voice had plunged to a deep growl as he went on. "No, not fine! You promise me! Never again!"

Kasha heaved a weary sigh. "I will not use my magic for harm while I serve you. This I swear on the gods of earth and sky."

"Well... good. All right then." Willem's grip eased, concern creased his forehead. "Kash? You okay?"

"No. Not entirely. I just need to rest by the fire."

Willem placed him gently on the hearthstones. Darkness crowded his vision, and he knew this was not merely exhaustion. The blackness hit him from time to time, cold and bitter, though normally after battle, or after he had been freed again. The timing made no sense.

If he were human, he supposed they would call it depression. The word didn't seem quite adequate for the crushing despair. He felt his body melt from fur to skin. Distantly, he knew he lay in his human male form now, naked on the stones except for his boots. He found it difficult to care where or what he was.

"Kash? Damn... " Willem's voice reached him from the end of a gray tunnel.

A blanket settled over his chilled skin. "It will pass. Let me be."

But Willem, being Willem, did no such thing. He gathered Kasha up and held him in his lap, wrapping the blanket close around him. "You're so cold. Are you sick? Do demons get sick?"

Kasha couldn't bring himself to answer. A sickness of sorts, he supposed, if past failures and pain oozing up from the depths could be called illness.

"Give me the slippers, Yorukaze."

"Yoritomo-sama... please! I have been faithful!"

"The slippers. I have no more need of you, demon."

"Did you not say you loved me, my lord?"

"Pillow talk. Surely you knew that."

Faces faded, but the voices stayed with him, clear and sharp. Sometimes cold or fearful, sometimes full of contempt or occasional regret. Humility, yes, he had learned something of that. He knew his place by now. But sometimes the voices grew too loud again, drowned self and shattered confidence.

"Should have said something. I'm so sorry."

The deep, sorrowful voice reached through all the others, dragging him back to the fireside, to strong, gentle arms. Willem rocked him, stroking his hair.

"I shouldn't have been so hard on you. Not when you feel this bad. God, I'm sorry." Willem's face appeared through the shadows, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "You going to be okay? Can I get you anything?"

"Always... such a considerate boy," Kasha whispered, forcing the words through the dark sludge pressing on his lungs.

"She took her life rather than be with me! Of what use are you, wretched demon?"

"I cannot command love, majesty. The illusion of it, perhaps--"

"Then why did you not give me that? Thrice cursed churl, why did you not bespell her, make her mine?"

"There are things I cannot do, majesty."

"Cannot?"

"Will not."

"Give the damned boots back! Begone!"

He fisted his hands in Willem's shirt, desperate for his solid warmth. "Willem... "

"Easy, easy, deep breaths. I've got you."

"Hold me tight. Please! I'm... I can't... everything's shifting."

Willem's arms closed around him. Soft lips traced over his cheekbones, his eyelids. "It'll be all right, Kash. You're right here with me. Look at me."

"My lord, your hands... so much blood... what have you done?"

"Easily washed, my kasha."

"But they came in good faith, under flag of truce."

"And you led them to me. It was well done. Lambs to the slaughter."

He surged up from the dark, gasping, clawing toward the one point of light so far above. "Willem!"

"I'm here, I'm here. Shh, shh."

Willem's lips closed on his, gentle but insistent. His mouth answered with wild hunger, seeking to pin the present down, clinging amid the storm surge of memory. Willem, Willem, his touch seared Kasha to his soul. Where his fingers traced, bands of white sunlight trailed behind, filling the dark empty spaces.

He opened his eyes to find he had pinned Willem on his back, half the buttons ripped off his shirt. Panting, he kissed the red marks left by his nails on Willem's chest. "Forgive me."

"You back with me now?"

"Yes."

"No big deal, then. Kinda nice to drive someone that wild."

He searched Willem's face in the firelight. "Did I bite you?"

"A little growling, some teeth, but no biting." Willem reached up to stroke a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His eyes held quiet amusement and concern, but no fear.

"I'm sorry about your shirt."

"Guess you'll just have to take it off the rest of the way now."

Kasha gave him a solemn nod. "It's really the only sensible thing." He undid the last three buttons with exaggerated care, fingers ghosting over Willem's skin. When he tugged the tails out, Willem half sat up to help him slide the shirt from his arms.

Large hands stroked over his thighs. "You want to take your boots off, Kash?"