Page 13 of Wedding the Werepanther

Before I can answer, my phone beeps with a reminder chime, and I pull it out with a feeling of relief. “Oh, I gotta go!”

This evening is the weekly Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club meeting, and if I’m going to find a way out of my newly married sitch, I know exactly who to ask. It’s time to crowdsource this shit.

“If Shadow asks, I went to town.” I grab a protein bar and head for the front door. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

It’s only a five-minute drive, since I don’t live far from the bookstore. But then, the town is so small, no one lives very far from anything else.

Downtown Ferndale Falls glows with color and life as the evening sunlight slants across the town green and highlights the fronts of all the adorable little shops painted in a rainbow of colors. When I first moved here a couple of years ago, the town was nearing the end of a slow slide into obscurity, with a reduced population and only a few businesses still open. But now the sidewalks and stores are full of people.

Only it looks like something out of one of my video games, because half of them are fae.

I always kinda wonder what it must be like to be a non-magical human, since the town’s magical protection spell makes everything look “normal” to them. But I wouldn’t change this view for anything in the world. For a fantasy geek like me, it’s a dream come true.

Shadow fae swoop out of the sky to land on the green. Their hazy black wings suck back into the tattoos covering their bodies, leaving them looking like supermodels, all tall and fit with long flowing hair. The ones new to Earth tend to come in two main varieties: either covered in black fighting leathers like a band of hip goths or wearing flowing diaphanous gowns of Faerie silk that make them resemble elves straight out of a fantasy movie.

They’re not the only fae around. Tall wood nymphs wave long arms in graceful arcs, like branches swaying in the wind, their willow-leaf hair cascading around their shoulders. A troupe of small, light-green gnomes tumbles across the sidewalk in a series of handsprings and cartwheels, moss and mushroom caps covering their heads. They slip past a hulking dark-green orc, who looks grumpy as shit but still stops to let them pass.

A flock of pixies leaves the coffee shop, Grounds for Celebration, and zips across the town green, leaving behind a streaked afterimage of bright blue lines, their tiny wings fluttering so quickly they’re a blur.

I wrote pixies into my last game, but I didn’t make them exactly like the ones we have here, because no one will ever believe that fae could be as obsessed with human food as these guys are. They came to Earth for the pizza and even opened a pizzeria!

The flock disappears into Slice of Life. They must have caffeinated at the coffee shop to get ready for the dinner rush.Pixies pumped up on espresso is now totally a thing that happens regularly in my life these days.

I flipping love it.

The door to Faerie opening in Ferndale Falls not only saved the town, it’s also the best thing that ever happened to me. I became a witch, even if I didn’t know what my witchy power is until now, and I get to live surrounded by the types of magical creatures I used to dream about.

I slide my vintage Volkswagen Beetle into the first available parking space. I Touch My Shelf stands only half a block away, its pretty purple front decorated with burgundy and dark-blue gingerbread trim, but I turn toward the town green instead of heading straight to the bookstore.

Lush green grass covers the open lawn in the center of the area, bordered by flowering bushes and trees. And flowerbeds. Can’t forget the flowerbeds.

Only some of those flowerbeds stand empty, because…

A flash of pink and orange catches my eye as a swirl of movement dashes out of a stand of rhododendrons to run across the grass. It’s a small herd of tulips running on little root feet, their long leaf arms waving as their pink flower heads bob. A group of miniature pumpkins rolls across the ground beside them, and a flock of pink paper hearts flies overhead.

I might have been feeding my animating magic into Victoria for a good year or more, but I now know these are the other things I’ve made. Hell, I animated the walking tulips on the exact same day I first heard I might be a witch.

I think a part of me has always known I’m the one who made them, but until now I didn’t let myself believe it because I wanted it too flipping much. I wanted to be a witch, to have powers, to be someone special, just like the heroes of the fantasy books and games I love.

As soon as I reach the green, I sink down to sit cross-legged, letting them swarm all over me. Hearts flutter around my head like butterflies, and pumpkins bump against my thighs before plopping onto their bottoms to turn their little painted faces to look up at me. But it’s the tulips who tug at my heartstrings the most, gathering close, their little leaf arms stretching toward me like they’re asking for hugs.

“Hi.” I brush my fingers over soft petals and pat the firm tops of pumpkins, trying to touch everyone. The hearts land on my shoulders and arms for a few seconds each, their lobed halves lifting and falling in slow motion like butterfly wings that can’t quite manage to be still.

Little zips of magic shiver through me with each touch, giving them all a little top-up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize what I was doing when I made you,” I whisper.

The tulips wave agitated arms and dance around me, the pumpkins slide several inches away, and all of the hearts fly up into the air.

“No! I’m not sorry I made you,” I blurt, rubbing at my face as I take a deep breath and try to figure out how to say this the right way. “I’m sorry it wasn’t on purpose, because you’re flipping fantastic.”

The hearts land on me again as the pumpkins press close. Then the tulips surround me, bending forward to lean their little flower heads against my legs, leaf arms hugging.

Tears prickle my eyes as my throat tightens, their easy affection not something I’m used to.

Not something I’ve ever let myself admit I want.

Admit I need.