Date: Tue, 28 Jun 1994 10:58:48 EDT Are you wondering why FoDs don't look worried about the FK Wars? Perhaps we have a secret weapon... Samples by Skin Pretty by Pam Rush "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy -- " "Yes, Jenny, I heard you the first time!" "Mommy, look what I caught!" "*You* caught?" Myra Schanke tugged playfully at her daughter's long braid and laughed softly, "My goodness, I would have liked to have seen that!" "W-e-l-l...the house wards caught it, but I found it. Look, Mom, it's the biggest dead thing I ever saw!" "Jenny, that's not polite; don't say 'dead thing'." Myra sank gracefully down beside the unconscious form prone upon the floor under the opened attic window. Gingerly, she turned the lolling head enough to examine the face and noted the bold features, the pale, glazed eyes, the colorless, spiky hair and especially the partially extended fangs exposed by the upper lip, which was curled in a ferocious but frozen snarl. "Oh, dear," she sighed, "what a nuisance. Jenny! Don't touch!" Myra swatted at her daughter's extended fingers. "You don't know where he's been." "But, you -- " "And I am going to wash my hands, too." "Mommy, is it a zombie?" "No, love, you know better than that. Zombies are deader than this, with mild to severe disintegration, poor personal hygiene and tearing and chewing dentition. Look at the fangs; this is a vampire like your Uncle Nicky." "But, Mom, it's a lot deader than Uncle Nicky and it's aura is all different." "*Him*, Jenny; it's a gentleman vampire, not an 'it'. Your Uncle Nick is an exception to the rule; most vampires are more like this. Can you see his aura?" "Yes, Ma'am. It's black and jaggedy and all the light sinks into it...and mean...and mad at everybody and, and...kinda...something like oily -- " " -- untrustworthy. That's pretty good, honey." "Yeh, but it's nothing like Uncle Nicky's. His is kinda purple-y and swirly and...sad but kind, like Tommy's." "Jen, Nick's aura is *not* like your turtle's!" "Yes, it is; and Uncle Nick's skin is dry and cold and his pulse is real slow like Tommy's, too." "Hmm. Maybe you have something there, sweetie," said her mother, suppressing a chuckle, "but, please, don't ever tell Nick you think so! I doubt he'd feel flattered." "What are you going to do with him, Mom?" asked Jenny, rolling her eyes at their undead catch. "Send him back where he came from, I hope." Myra sighed, and pushed her heavy hair off her face. "I guess a woman's work is never done. Run get my bag for me, Jenny, and, uh, _The Whole Earth_ will do, I suppose." In minutes, the excited nine year old was back, lugging a large, pink sample case boldly lettered "Skin Pretty" in gold script in one hand and clutching one thick and one thin volume to her side with the other. She plunked down the bag with an exaggereated gasp and handed her mother _The Whole Earth Wicca_ before she collapsed to the floor with a thud, flinging open _Teaching Little Fingers to Spell_ with a self-important air. "Are we going to put a spell on him, Mom?" "I think the ward already hit him pretty hard, don't you? Mind the 'Wiccan Rede' and do no harm. I'm just going to plant a suggestion -- and encourage it a little bit. I want him to forget he ever came here and, I hope, wipe out whatever notion he had that made him come in the first place." "Why did he?" "I'm not sure. I think he may be someone your Uncle Nicky knows -- one of his less desirable acquaintances, I imagine." Myra flipped quickly through her spellbook. "Let's see...Foreseeing. Farseeing. Raising the winds; raising the dead -- well, that certainly would be redundant! Weather forecasting. Clouding men's minds -- as though you need a spell for that! Dreams...hmm, that might work." Her finger followed the recipe across the page. After a moment, she started pulling an exotic assortment of items out of the pink case. "I can help. I know how." "I know, but you have a few more lessons to learn before you get your own Skin Pretty bag. Be patient and study hard." "Oh, Mom, that's what you always say!" "Yeh? Well, when are you gonna listen?" Myra continued to arrange her magical apparatus and goods in a carefully constructed pattern across the floor; an old, heavy, silver cup was the centerpiece. "Cups for dreams, right Mom?" "That's right but be quiet now, Jen. You know this takes concentration..." * * * * * * * * * * * Sometime later -- although time itself had meandered considerably during the past minutes...or hours...or whatever -- Myra clapped her hands together sharply and then leaned back, relaxing a little, her head tilted to one side to consider her handiwork. The figure on the floor was now enveloped by a faintly luminous, golden haze, barely discernable to the mundane eye. The body, which until now had sprawled like a marionette without strings, gathered muscle tension, twitched a few times and finally sat up jerkily. Although the glassy look of unconsciousness never faded, the vampire slowly arose. Jenny gave a tiny squeak when he continued ceilingward without pausing until his feet were several inches above the floor; then, rotating in mid air until he was nearly horizontal again, he floated towards and out the opened window, attaining a respectable velocity before he finally disappeared. "Oh, it worked! That was neat!" "Yes, it was pretty neat, even though I say it. He was already having bad dreams -- I simply suggested that he was having another one and that he really wanted to go home and stay there. Somewhere deep inside he was really anxious about finding home again anyway." Myra stretched and eased her position. "Whew, that took longer than I thought it would and the floor is getting harder every minute." "It looks a lot easier on tv, Mom. Samantha just wiggles her nose and..." "Everything looks easy on tv, honey, but that's make-believe. Real-life magic takes lessons and hard work. Now give me a minute to center and catch my breath..." Myra moved fluidly into a full lotus position and closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling very slowly. "I can trance now, Mom." "I bet you couldn't with your daughter talking to you." "Oh. Sorry." Myra continued her exercise for perhaps two full seconds. "Dad can trance, too, Mom." "Oh, really?" "Yeh, he does it almost eveyr night after dinner while he's watching tv." "Oh, yes; that's sort of a family thing. All the men in your father's family meditate like that." "I can help put everything back in your bag, Mom." "Yes, I guess you may as well. Let's see whether you know where everything goes now," her mother agreed, abandoning her pose and scrambling to close the window. "Why does everyone in the coven keep all their thermagi...thaumagi... --" " -- thaumaturgic." "Yeh, thau-ma-turgic stuff in Skin Pretty bags, Mom?" "Because it's innocuous, dear, just like Skin Pretty sales meetings every week!" Her mother giggled at some grown-up joke. "What's in...innoc'ous?" "That means it won't worry Daddy." "Is catching a vampire tonight innoc'ous?" "Well, it is one more thing we won't worry Daddy about, right?" Suddenly Jenny's eyes rounded and she looked uncharacteristically alarmed. "Mom! Could a vampire *hurt* Daddy?" "No, sweetheart, Daddy is well warded and so are we. Since Dad started working with Uncle Nick, I've been very careful. Now come on, slowpoke, it's way past your bedtime." Jenny's eyes lingered on the patch of night sky visible through the shadeless window. "Flying looked pretty neat, Mom. I can't wait 'til I can fly." "Oh, get real, Jen. You know you *can't* fly. Not until you're sixteen." "Oh, Mom, that's what you always say!" END Dedicated to Sherry Crabtree who will be appearing in the Masquerade at RiverCon '94 (Louisville) as a white (?) witch and who, in the two decades and more that I have know her, has never finished all the lessons in "Teaching Little Fingers to Play."