What’s New Pussycat(31)

Don’t think about your mother, forget your father’s stupid words, Martine, and think. You can’t go back to Derrick’s with a bellyful of magic. Who knows what could happen. You don’t know the first thing about it other than Escobar uses it to gain rank and build his army of nutbags. Get rid of it before you hurt someone!

Purge. She had to purge. Pacing back and forth, she tried to forget the biting wind, lose herself in the memory of the few stories her mother had told her about how she’d stored and ditched magic.

If only she’d listened instead of shunning her legacy.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and focused. Purge. How to purge? Stick her finger down her throat?

Her hands went to her belly, as round as if she were going to give birth at any moment. It moved beneath her hands, growling with discontent at being captured. What would happen if she expelled it? What kind of magic was it? She’d never had magic retrieved from her when in human form.

When Escobar sent her into the realm, she never remembered much about her visits upon return. It was all like a hazy dream—a vague, floaty event where she only saw blurry images she could never quite piece together into something clear. But Escobar retrieved the magic from her cat form.

Oh, God. What to do?

The snow began to fall harder, fat white flakes of stinging cold against her face as she paced to keep warm, all the while her belly rolling, making noises akin to an angry, caged lion.

The pain began shortly thereafter, clawing at her insides as though it was trying to fight its way out. Panic seized her again when she doubled over and fought a scream.

Jesus, what would Derrick think if he found her like this? Surely he’d try to find her. She’d vanished right under his nose. He’d want answers—who wouldn’t?

Martine, focus! You’re going to freeze to death and it won’t matter what Derrick thinks unless he favors brain-dead popsicles.

And that’s when Escobar’s words came back to her. When he relieved her of the magic, he always chanted the same thing.

“Hand to me the powers that be.”

Right?

She shook her head, wrapping her arms over her breasts. Shit, Martine. What if that isn’t right? Why did you spend so much damn time tuning things out instead of being present? Escobar was forcing you to do his dirty work and you hid beneath the covers like a coward!

But what choice did she have other than to try? She had to get it out.

Just as she wondered what would happen if she didn’t at least give it a shot, her stomach heaved, shifted, distorted, her skin stretching, pulling unbearably tight.

And then her belly began to split as though she had some alien baby needing birthing.

Stuffing her fist in her mouth to ward off a scream of agony, Martine stumbled, tripping over a stump.

She threw her hands out to brace the fall and as she did, she bellowed without thinking, “Hand to me the powers that be!”

The earth shifted, rumbling and groaning as she landed hard against a fallen tree, tearing a stinging gash in her arm.

As she looked to assess her injury, her mouth fell open of its own will, as though it were on a hinge and someone had pulled it open. Her lips spread wide, her throat grew so tight she couldn’t breathe.

When her hands reached for her throat was the moment lava erupted from her mouth, hot and thick, roaring in an eruption of color and sound, spraying everything in front of her.

Trees lit up as though strands of lights had been wound around them, the sky exploded with colors of pink and purple, illuminating the snowflakes still falling furiously.

And a man with wild sprigs of hair streaming from his head.

Her lava vomit highlighted a large man, hair covering his body and face in only random patches, his hands holding a bunny, a look of complete guilt in his eyes.

As she spewed the last of whatever the hell had just projectile flown from her mouth, she coughed, sputtering and choking.

Then she burped, long and loud. So loud, the release of air echoed, the acidic taste on her tongue bitter and hot.

Martine, head rest between her legs, was sucking in the frigid air when a hand fell into her line of vision. A hand with patches of hair. “I’m Jerry.”

She coughed again, wiping tears from her eyes, her teeth beginning to chatter. “I’m naked.”

“Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

She fought for another breath. Jerry. She remembered Derrick mentioning a Jerry. “O…okay.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” And she didn’t know. What the hell had just happened? Her hand went to her belly, never very flat to begin with, but flatter than it had been when she was swollen with ill-gotten magic. She sighed in more relief. She was beginning to heal already.