Malleable

"Yesss!" The last scream was muffled by his weight forcing her face and body down into the velvet cushions as his balls pumped his thick seed into her depths.

They weren't done. His cock raged hard, unsated. She heaved back, knocking him down onto the couch. One thin pale leg contorted, bending between them until she straddled his lap, still impaled. She began to writhe, hands entwined in his thick hair hard enough for his scalp to cry out in protest, hips working down on him in fevered, insisting circles.

Lips, tongue and teeth found one breast, already mottled with the imprint of his grip. He kept them locked on her, devouring, as the next scream erupted, this time from his throat as he again emptied himself, his seed, into her. Her body shook with a series of ragged spasms, inner muscles squeezing and sucking, drawing his fertilizing essence into her core.

Panting, sick to his stomach, he shoved her limp form off his lap, staggered out the door. The moon was full, cool, and uncaring as he fell to his knees, gut heaving without success or relief.

Grandma was speaking, again in her rural Indian Spanish. She stroked her son's head as he sat on the stoop in front of her rocker.

Miguel's voice was lower, sadder, without power. The vision cleared from Tosha's mind as quickly as it had descended. "Even then, unconceived, the boy's strength, his power, was...lust, sex. The brujo's spirit knew it had to be that night, that moon, and those two people."

The Brujo, he'd said: a male witch. What might be called a Warlock. One vowel and a world of difference from the most common female 'bruja.'

He looked up, his sunken, red eyes fixed on Tosha. He was no longer translating. Grandma watched him, a single tear running down one creviced cheek. "It had to be me. My blood, my forbidden lust, and my weakness, letting him into the world."

"But...how can we stop him?" Tosha was sure; there had to be a way.

"La negra bruja." Tosha wondered if Granny Garcia might somehow know just how much Spanish she understood.

"The black witch? Lucinda?" She asked before he could translate.

"And this." Manuel continued. He clambered to his feet, pulled out a long bundle, wrapped in an ancient-looking piece of thin leather. Like stained deerskin. He placed it on Grandma's lap, where her deformed, knobby hands began to unwrap it.

"It worked before, on the Diablero. The shape changer.The last brujo. He killed many, as a wolf, as a bear, as a panther. Grandma's great grandfather was still a boy, only eleven, when he killed the beast."

The twisted hands had competed their work, held an arrow in open, leathery palms. The fletchings - the feathers - were black, the wooden shaft stained, inky-dark for half its length. The point was what held Tosha's eyes, the point bound to the darkened wood with scorched-looking, dark sinew.

The point, shaped in a notched, faceted triangle like a flint arrowhead, reflected the firelight brightly. It was gold. Not golden in color, but pure precious gold.

"This gold had never been smelted. It was hammered to this shape from a single pure nugget, called from a mountain stream by a powerful bruja. The boy, my ancestor, made his own bow. He would wait all night with only his dog, alone in the dark, for the beast to come. It had already killed his family's horse and many goats, dragging the carcasses off and devouring the choicest parts.

"Then, as a huge wolf, it had killed his dog. The boy had heard the unholy howling in the night, then the fight as the dog defended his home. He had run, seen the end of the unfair battle, heard the shattering spine of the family's prized herd-dog and his beloved companion as the wolf-wizard threw the poor animal down on a large, jagged boulder. The dog had given one last, weak whimper as it died.

"My ancestor, though a boy, was the only one brave enough to leave the house at night. With a rope he tied their one remaining milk goat to a stake in the barren yard. He hid, watching, trying not to shake, as the she-goat bleated out her terror.

"His eyes had drooped with sleep in the still hours of the earliest morning before the beast appeared, a shadow among shadows. The brujo came as an enormous black panther.

"Remember. They didn't know it was a man. All anyone knew was that beasts were appearing, beasts like none ever seen, and terrorizing villages and farms throughout this valley. A wolf, a bear, and now the huge panther."

The old woman interrupted. "Only the cat. There was no wolf, no bear."

"That's how Uncle Rigo told it."

"Not when I could hear." She shook her head, grinned, revealing two lonely teeth. "Rigo could tell a good story."

"And you know I like to tell good stories too."

Another shake of her head, but no smile. "Not this one. This is not a story for fun. As it was told so shall it be told. As it was witnessed, as it was so."

A quick nod showed his acquiescing.

"The boy's eyes popped open when the goat went silent. He heard the soft, deep purring growl before he saw the darker shadow move. He waited, arrow nocked to his bow. The goat was still, a passive sacrifice as the shadow loomed above it on two dark hind legs.

"He pulled the arrow back and let fly. The scream that rent the air was horrible. The panther writhed on the ground, the goat suddenly finding her voice. Creeping closer, the brave boy could see the feathers of the arrow, and part of the shaft, protruding from the beast's heaving chest.

"The panther lurched to its feet, fell again. It fixed its horrible cat eyes on the boy, and gave one final growl. It ended with a death rattle, deep in its throat.

"By the time the boy fetched his parents from the safety of their small house, they could see by dawn's first light. A young man, naked, was dead on the ground, an arrow through his heart. They recognized him as a member of another family of brujas, from a neighboring village. When they pulled out the arrow, the wood was stained as you see it now: black with evil blood on the part of the shaft that had entered the beast's body.

"The brujo's family denied he had been a shape changer, a were-panther. They accused the boy of murder, but the villages all rose against them and chased the whole family away. None would shelter them, trade with them, hear their pleas. Their last act was to curse the boy's family, my family: the next brujo would be of our blood.

"That is why an elder has kept this arrow, passing down the secret, keeping it from even others of our family. We told the story but didn't know the golden arrow was near, with us still. But the whole family knew that the curse was ours and it was our champion who will stop the brujo when he comes, even though he be one of us. We will stop this curse. End it."

He paused, sighed before going on.

"We believed it would be one of our blood who would wield the arrow, but Abue says she now knows that is not so. That is why she knew you would come here. You are the champion who will end our curse. This is yours."

The ancient woman held out her arms, offering the arrow, resting still on the aged leather. Tosha took it, folded it back inside its cover. It did not even occur to her that she might refuse it.

"What about Lucinda?"

Miguel continued. "She does not know what part the black bruja will play, only that you need her. We need her. Somehow. But the golden arrow is your weapon now. And you are its bow. Above all and before all, Trust it and trust yourself."

"One last thing. The brujo was surprised by the gold once. Do not expect him to be fooled so easily with it: he knows it is in the world. He may even know we have it -- the little one learned so much by being quiet. Always listening, always watching.

———

Tosha went directly to Lucinda's. Coco had complained that they had moved into a broken-down rental trailer, and she knew exactly which one. It was an old 'singlewide' kind of trailer that sat off the alley, in the backyard of another, more conventional McAlister rental house. Tosha's aunt had lived here, in the front house with her cousins, years ago, and her uncle'd lived in the back, separated but close.

It had a patio hidden behind a green wall of potted plants. Or was it planted pot? and at least two room additions, plywood and recycled windows, hanging off the edge of the original 8-foot wide trailer's eaveless roof.

A scent of marijuana blended with other heady herbs permeated the air.

"Miz Tosha. So good to see my daughter's new teacher coming to visit. I trust nothing's wrong." The voice came through the screen door to the kitchen before it swung open.

The dark-skinned herbalist wore an ankle length multicolored dress, exposing her long, muscled arms. She was strikingly tall and definitely a woman, like Cheryl, and exotically beautiful like Coco. It was obvious she too did not wear a bra under her dress as the thin cloth molded around her full breasts, forming soft points at their ends.

She beckoned Tosha in with the sweep of a long, smooth arm, past a heavy, ancient butcher block, and guided her to a worn comfortable chair by the small kitchen table. This space was one of the trailer's additions, full of light from an abundance of mis-matched recycled windows filtered through the many potted and hanging plants.

What was going on? Lucinda gave off the same glow as her daughter, as Cheryl had. Maybe Tosha was the one who was off rather than everyone else. And she was so...horny! It was the only word for it. And for women. Three in one day. She should just go home, lock the door, and wait for whatever virus had infected her to run its course.

The tall woman brought her a glass of iced tea, one of two servings that sat ready on the butcher block, ice unmelted. Had she been expected? It wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen today. The first sip was herbal, almost spiced.

"As nice a surprise as this is, and a welcome one, there must be a purpose. What can I do for Miz Tosha today?

With a second, larger sip of the fragrant drink, Tosha paused for a deep breath and began. She was surprised at how the words tumbled out.

Tosha relayed what she had learned from the old bruja and Mr. Garcia at the Garcia house. What she had seen and heard in class and after following the two girls, and the brief time in Cheryl Mueller's office at the bank. Without consciously deciding, she left out two details. She made no mention of the arrow with the golden point other than in the old story of the child and the panther She also avoided revealing her recent puzzling attractions to women, especially to Lucinda ans her teenage daughter.

Lucinda nodded, still standing, almost flowing around the kitchen as Tosha spoke. She didn't speak until the teacher stopped. "All occult users have certain strengths, certain means, that best manifest their power, if only symbolically, metaphorically. This shape-changer used the form of an animal. Literally. Mr. McAlister seems to use lust and sex to gain power over others, especially women.

"You were a virgin at the time? Hmm. And he didn't take you? Once he starts, he needs to finish. You're unfinished business, girl, even if he wasn't ready then, to come into his power. No pun inten..."

Tosha offered a wry smile. "Yeah. He was ready for something, believe me. Maybe those were his 'power pants' he came in."

Brief laughs cut the tension.

"It makes sense he uses Ganga. It can lower inhibitions and increase the libido. And concentration. Open doors that might otherwise stay shut. But you say he breaths the smoke into their lungs?"

Tosha nodded, looking out one of the kitchen windows. "He held my head by the back of my neck, massaging it when he blew the smoke in, letting me inhale it. I saw him do the same thing to Coco."

"Hmm. What did you feel before the smoke? Is this where he massaged you?"

"Oh." The tall woman's fingers were warm, almost electric, but somehow safe, calming.

Lucinda had moved up close behind her, now stroking over the exact same place.

"Yes. That's the spot." Tosha's voice trailed off, already relaxing into the touch. The effect was not so much erotic as soothing. Very, very soothing. Which left room for quite a bit of erotic. And comforting almost to the point of intoxicating. "That's d-definitely the spot."

How could she have ever forgotten how his touch felt here? Why had no other attention to her nape done anything close to this? At least until now.

"Oh. My!" The gasp escaped her when kiss Lucinda bent down, pressing soft lips to the spot in place of her fingers. A thrill sang through Tosha's belly, continuing even after the kiss vanished.

"Hmm. I think..." Lucinda paced again, circling the butcher block before stopping in front of it. Tosha tried to clear her thoughts, calm her racing heart. A deep part of her longed, ached for the suddenly absent touch and the brief brush of those beautiful lips.

"Yes." The bruja nodded again. "I can make an amulet - or two, to protect us both. The right ingredients, the right intent, and the right location. Three rights to right a powerful wrong."

She was moving again, from basket to hanging plant, out the door to a raised bed of more herbs, ones that must need more direct sun. Back at the butcher block, she worked a big, ancient looking knife, the broad cleaving blade almost black, still rough from the hammer blows that had shaped it long ago.

Careful, rapid, practiced slices, then chop, chop, chop. Lucinda's focus was intense, as though Tosha wasn't there. It left her feeling ignored, kissed and abandoned.

Heavy shears came out, cutting into scraps of thin, soft leather. Then the deft fingers worked a large, curved needle and thick tread, quickly stitched up two small leather packets, each with a blend of the herbs inside. Together, the two didn't fill her pinkish palm, so much lighter than the skin on the back of her hand.

Tosha, still feeling the warmth of the kiss, clearly sensing the now-familiar, sensual glow around the woman as she worked, watched closely. Even still, she wasn't quite sure of what she'd seen. Briefly, as Lucinda pinched the cut and blended herbs up off the butcher block's surface, she thought there had been a tiny dark swirl, a quick spiral of shadow, trailing down from the herbs or perhaps up from the old wood surface.

"There." Lucinda produced two lengths of supple leather strapping, the width of a pencil. The end of one was fished in through a gap in Lucinda's stitches, out through another. Practiced motions positioned one packet at her own throat, a blur of fingers formed a choker, a snug necklace, tying a knot of leather behind her long graceful neck.

Tosha found herself wanting to kiss at that neck right where the knot was, where Lucinda had kissed, where Tony had stroked her. Any questions about the shadowy swirl seemed trivial at best.

"Your turn." Lucinda was holding out the second handmade amulet. Tosha was suddenly nervous. The idea of approaching the beautiful witch woman who attracted her so was almost overwhelming. More and more, in a matter of hours, she had started to accept the reality of supernatural elements, beneficial and not. Accepting this packet of magical protection, if that is what it was, seemed a step in a direction she might never retrace.

She stood, took the first step, and it was the only one needed, for now. Lucinda closed the rest of the distance, slipping behind Tosha. Nimble fingers seemed slower than they'd been at their own neck, now touching, brushing, nearly stroking as much as anything so practical as tying a knot.

A shudder passed through her, too deep and too reflexive to suppress. She thought she heard a soft snort of laughter behind and above her, close and intimate. A rich but subtle scent reached her, tempting her to lean back, against the lithe body she knew was bare under the thin dress.

She felt off balance, out of control. Passive. That wasn't the Tosha she knew. She needed to take back -- what? Control? Initiative? Almost.

Volition. That was it. What had Granny Garcia said, or Miguel? Trust yourself. And the arrow. She wasn't flotsam, an unstirred leaf swirling through the eddies of a burbling creek "Is it tied?"

"Uhm...yes." The voice behind her was still silky smooth, but Tosha knew she had caught her off guard by the nervous jerk of the fingers. She spun in place, staying very close to Lucinda as she turned to face the taller woman. The leather pouch felt surprisingly solid, hefty at her throat. The matching one was straight in front of her gaze.

She started up into lovely, deep eyes. "Why are they on the front when Tony's power or whatever comes through the back of the neck?"

The eyes dropped, for only an instant. "Smart girl, Miz Tosha. My Coco has a teacher wise beyond her years. A protection like this is a counter -- rather than trying to out muscle Mr. McAlester's strength in its place of greatest power, we counter it. We place our strength, our reinforcement, where he is weakest, opposite his strength. We are opposites to him, opposition. And must embrace that role, as women, as brujas."

It sounded reasonable, enough, if you accepted all the completely irrational events around them.

Another breath of Lucinda's scent reached her. Tosha's hands reached up to the amulet in front of her eyes. They tugged lightly on it, pulling the wrinkle-less bronze face, those deep eyes and wide, sensual lips down to her own. Lucinda didn't resist.

"Come here." It felt good to take control again. "Kiss me."

Tosha was shocked, pleased by her own boldness. God, yes, she wanted this, but asking -- no — commanding what she wanted was a step well beyond where she squally went. Again, there was no resistance, no hesitation. Lucinda leaned down enough to bring their lips together. It took no time at all for two tongues to join in.

Lucinda's taste was an extension of the scent. Captivating, strong, but...passive. Faintly earthy, leaving Tosha wanting more. Tongues moved more quickly, exploring deeper. A small whine escaped from one of them but it was unclear who had made it. Without her bidding, Tosha's hands slid up lean hips ans passed a slimmer waist.

Lucinda moaned when the hands found firm, full breasts and the hard nipples that crowned them. Long arms crushed the two together before spinning their joined bodies in a tight turn. Lucinda leaned in, pinning Tosha to the butcher block.

The amulet felt warm at her throat. A different kind of heat reached out to her from behind, from the worn heavy wood of the chopping block. She saw again that wispy, ephemeral swirl. Was the pouch of herbs trying to protect her? From what? Or who...Tony. It was him. He had been here, touched this wood.

The rising heat felt wanton, welcoming, wonderful. She felt a hint of that Something. The something that had been missing all these years. That she'd longed for.

It was hard to think, to do anything but feel. Now soft lips were kissing at her neck, following the path of the leather strap, retreating further from the thrumming heat of the amulet.

Tosha sucked in a ragged breath, her core shuddering. How could she be turned on, this close to...Tony! He was the common thread.

"Let me." The voice was low, near the range of hearing. "Let me make you feel good."

It was Lucinda, murmuring between kisses. But not just her. "So good."

It was a voice she wanted to give in to. "Like no one else can, sweet Tosha."

To surrender and let it take over.

No!

Volition. Will. She could, she must act.

Knees weak, she pushed Lucinda away, twisting free of the lips and hands and temptation. "No. I'm...sorry. I can't. This isn't right."

Just moving away from the ancient wood cleared her thoughts a little. She paused at the door. Shook the leather pouch. "Thank you. For this, and, uh, for, uh, yeah."