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Hotel Motel, Green Vallis, Wisconsin
As far as first dates went, this wasn’t the worst. Yes, the half-snake, half-woman wanted to eat him, but at least she didn’t spend three hours listing the faults of her ex-boyfriends. Bruce MacGregor watched the thick tail slither along the floor from his place underneath the motel bed.
Bachelorhood had worked well for centuries. He saw no reason to change things now just because every other member of his extended family had started falling in love and getting married. He wasn’t looking for his fíorghrá, his true love. Bruce liked the idea of love, just like he enjoyed a good novel. But, at the end, the book always closed, and it was on to the next adventure.
Like all MacGregor warlocks, he had his needs. Sexual energy gave power to magick, but there were other, less complicated ways to fuel their powers. Magick did not materialize out of nothingness, though it looked like that’s what happened to outsiders. No, the energy had to come from someplace. That was why they had chosen to live surrounded by the forests of Wisconsin. They could take tiny pieces of life force from the forest as a whole without damaging a single tree.
Bruce liked to think his more animalistic, primal nature didn’t control him. He lived simply. He didn’t need to use much energy.
If he wanted a woman to hook up with, he didn’t need his family’s help finding a date. That didn’t stop them from trying to play matchmaker. Well, some of his family played matchmaker. The others were using it as an excuse to prank him.
The snake’s tail moved along the end of the bed toward the motel room window and then back again as Echidna paced. Magickally conjuring the woman out of Bruce’s painting was his Uncle Raibeart’s idea of a joke. Now Bruce had to lay perfectly still until the creature got tired and returned to the wall where she belonged.
Why couldn’t he have painted a hot, non-committal fairy or something? Or a woman obsessed with watching demolition derbies and UFC? That could have been cool.
Though, he supposed it could be argued that Echidna was the perfect woman. Her top half wasn’t bad to look at. She was badass. Self-sufficient. Handy in a magickal battle.
Bruce heard a long hiss and frowned.
And hungry.
She paced into the bathroom.
Could tails technically pace?
When Echidna didn’t immediately return, Bruce pulled himself out from under the bed in the opposite direction. He rolled onto his hands and knees before pushing off the floor toward the motel room door.
The second his hand touched the metal knob, he heard a loud hiss.
When he turned, Echidna was in mid-strike. His warlock magick surged forth in defense like a blue cloud to push her back. The creature slid a few feet but quickly regained her balance.
Echidna resumed her attack, hissing angrier than before. She thrust up on her tail, nearly
reaching the ceiling. Her womanly top half was naked with arms that spread wide to brandish clawed fingers. The tail started at her waist, making supple flesh morph into scales. The greenish brown of her skin mimicked her tail. She wasn’t beautiful in a classical sense. Well, honestly, she wasn’t beautiful in any sense unless you were into monster porn.
“Easy there, love.” Bruce smiled as he tried to soothe the woman inside the creature.
Echidna was immune to his charms. She hissed louder, diving forward with outstretched hands. Her tail swung around, slapping him on the back of his knees. His legs buckled, and he flung onto his back. The air was knocked out of his lungs.
His shirt and kilt stuck to the floor when he tried to roll, gluing him down.
Echidna’s jaw unhinged as if getting ready to devour him.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I have a rule.” Bruce used his magick to bring the mattress between them before thrusting the creature back. “No kissing on the first date!”
A loud splat sounded before the mattress thudded against the wall.
Bruce peeled himself off the floor, realizing he’d slipped in wet paint. The muddy green ruined the carpet in trails where
Echidna had slithered across. It caked the back of his thighs and uncomfortably plastered the kilt to his skin. He cautiously walked toward the mattress against the wall and peeked around the edge before forcing it back. The painted image of the snake woman was plastered on the wall, her mouth wide and her clawed hands outstretched. A mirrored image smudged the mattress and a section of the comforter that had not fallen completely off when he threw it.
This was not how he had painted her.
In fact, it was better.
Bruce frowned as he stared at the new painting. This begged the question, could the pursuit of art kill the artist?
“Not today, sweetling,” he whispered to the creature.
Damn. He wished he had painted this new version.
His attention went to the unfinished background. The landscape was the same, except for a shadowy splotch. He leaned closer. The anomaly looked like it could have been a woman in the distance. He stroked his thumb along the head shape, causing a smear of shoulder-length dark hair.
“What are ya doing, love? It’s not safe in there,” he whispered, trying to lean closer as if that would bring details into focus. He felt drawn to the smudge as if he had met the imaginary woman in a dream.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cory,” Maura exclaimed behind him.
Bruce glanced over his shoulder to the motel doorway. It was an old nickname, one he wished they’d forgotten already. So what if he had a phase in the 1980s where he dressed like the actors from a popular vampire movie? He’d been bored. Though it had gotten them to stop referring to the time he joined that farming commune.
Bruce was a searcher. He liked immersing himself in hobbies. Right now, he was painting the motel room walls to annoy his sister.
His sister glared around at the mess before her eyes went to him. She groaned, lifting her hand as if to block the view of his ass. “Ugh, pull your kilt down. No one paid to see a naked arse.”
Bruce chuckled and nodded toward the parking lot beyond the door. He jerked his kilt down to hide his painted backside. “Tell that to Uncle Raibeart. It looks like he’s in the middle of his nightly performance.”
Their naked uncle ran past, waving a kilt over his head like a flag. “To victory, laddies!”
If an army followed him, it was invisible.
Maura sighed and leaned against the doorframe to watch the parking lot. “I really thought marriage would tame him. At least Mrs. Uncle Raibeart keeps her clothes on in public. Maybe she’ll rub off on him. ...
