Witch Panther (Chapters 1+2)

      Chapter One



I pulled the sides of my dark curly hair into a bun that settled on top of my head. I hated my hair. It reminded me of who–what–I actually was. Ever since my own goddamn grandmother put a curse on my head because she blamed my mother for my father’s death, no one has been treating me the same. Not even myself.

I stared at the book I was supposed to be studying. The pages were old, yellowing and smelled like moth balls and old people. No doubt my mother had stolen it from some crone. Besides the book, there was a calendar. I sighed again as I looked at the day of the spring equinox, marked in all-capital letters: “EQUINOX! BETTER GET PREPARED AT MIDNIGHT!” For the effort, I tried to draw a smiley face. When I was done, it looked like it had been made by a goblin.

I grimaced and grabbed my pen again, taking notes on how to make bee-wax stew. Yum, yum. You were only supposed to drink–yes, drink it–when you got cancer or a life-threatening illness that you were, no doubt about it, going to die from it. All, and then the actual bee’s wax in the soup would do the rest. Side effects included dry nausea, gas, and lack of sleep. It could be fatal if someone prepared it in the wrong way.

When I was done taking notes on bee-wax stew, I skipped a page for doodling and started on heating cauldrons. This was made back in the 1400s, mind this thing. Still, my mother wanted this whole 1,000+ page book to be finished in notes by the end of three years. The number three was a magic essence for me. For three days, I was cursed to be a panther starting on the spring equinox and Halloween. I had to get this cursed book done in three years, and in three years I would graduate from Witch Academy, in Great Britain. I was sixteen years old. I know, six isn’t the number three, but its three added to three. So that makes it in the “three” list for me.

I felt sickened as I opened the door to go to the animal room. Yes, the animal room. Consisting of old green fire dragons that we get our scales from, bees, lizards, newts, mice, and monkeys. My mom was an animal grabber for our world, and was paid very well to supply animals that our kinds of shops need to sell things to my fellow people.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a witch. Sixteen-year-old Kari Armstrong, for that matter. Cursed to be a panther for three days on Halloween, three days on the spring equinox. No one else has my curse. All of my witch friends deserted me when I told them the truth, except for Mae. Mae thought it was very cool, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

I don’t believe in boyfriends, or love. Boyfriends are too much trouble, and love is just pointless to believe in if you won’t be able to explain why you have fur and a tail six days a year. Not to mention that they think you’re pulling an awful joke until they actually see the change. By then it would be too late and the panther side of yourself would think for the first time seeing your boyfriend: Food. Yum, yum. And the rest is history.

“Kari!” My mother calls. She blames my granny for putting this curse on me, but she never bothers me on why I have to leave starting at midnight. I simply leave my pile of clothes on the counter that night and when she sees them the following morning, she automatically understands. That’s why I’m grateful to have an understanding mother.

I sigh and run down the steps to see her. “Yea, mom?” I ask. She smiles at me and motioned to the man beside her. I freeze. The man is Principal Mandarin, the principal of Witch Academy. He was a witch-faerie mix, and everyone can tell by his slightly blue skin. He smiled at me and motioned for me to sit. I sat automatically. “What’s up, Prince M?” I ask. A lot of students at Witch Academy call him that.

Principal Mandarin smiles at me. “Actually, Kari, I wanted to have a talk with you. Of why you always refuse to have classes for three days during the spring equinox and Halloween,” he said, sounding apologetic. I keep the smile plastered to my face. My mother looks panicked now. This obviously wasn’t what she thought he was going to say.

“Well, um, it’s not that I don’t want to receive the best quality education that Witch Academy can give me, Principal,” I began. He nods in understanding. “It’s just a tradition in our family to celebrate Halloween and the spring equinox for three days. I like to stick to that tradition, as my father taught me to preserve our family traditions, Principal Mandarin. I don’t mean it as an insult to the school.” I felt bad that I had played the father card, but it worked. Principal Mandarin nodded, smiling from ear to ear.

He took out his briefcase and opened it, reaching inside for something. I watched in fascination as he took out a scroll, handing it to me. “For you, Kari Armstrong, pureblood witch.” I take it slowly and open it. It was a $95.0 scholarship of literature to Ancient Magiks College, the best College the Magik world could offer. I was only a junior in high school, but I was delighted.

“Thank you!” I cried. Principal Mandarin smiled as I squealed and gave him a hug. When I pulled away and hugged my mother and showing her the scholarship. When she saw the amount, she nearly cried.

“Be warned; the vice principal is a goblin,” he said jokingly. I laughed. When my mother started crying, Principal Mandarin left us to be alone with the money. My mother gibbered through her words of praise. When she straightened up, she told me to go take out my joy on my notes. I was too happy to complain, so I ran back up there and went to work on noting how to make a proper heated cauldron. Even though witches today used storage portals.



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                            {Background music: Tourniquet – Evanescence}



Two days later, it was nearing midnight. I always started changing at midnight. I walked down the hall to the porch, where the wood was bathed in yellow light. It was almost too good that I lived in a neighborhood of witches, faeries, vampires, and a shifter that turned into a jaguar. No goblins, but at least five spirits that the faeries used for testing.

Stripping down to nothing in the kitchen, I neatly placed my clothes on the counter and walked out to the back balcony, where no light escaped. I walked down the stairs, stubbing my toes a few times, until I reached the log pile. Fingering the wood grains, I got down on my knees and hands and waited.

I heard the automatic church bells–my panther hearing was kicking in–ring three times. Then six. Then nine. And, finally, twelve. My stomach tightened into a knot and I heaved what little of dinner I had had. Whenever it was the spring equinox or Halloween, I almost never ate anything. This was why.

My bones cracked as some of them bended to a breakable point to form into a panther’s ribcage, and my fingers were popping as they shrunk into little nubs. Long hairs sprouted out of my body everywhere. Black hair slowly started to spread, and I kept coughing up just saliva now. Vomit was on the logs and on the grass. My nose was slowly jutting out and the nostrils shortening, and then lengthening when the tip shrunk into a cat’s nose. It was all I could do to keep from screaming in agony. By now, doing this over three hundred times, I should’ve been used to this. But the pain always was new and fresh as if it was my first time.

I dug my paws into the ground when my tailbone lengthened with the panther skin wrapped tightly around it to become very long. I felt it touch the grass, and black hairs were slowly reaching my tail, too. Whiskers pushed their way from underneath me to sprout six times, three on each side of my panther nose. Again, with the “three” list.

If you think turning into a panther must feel like Hell, then turning back into a human feels like Tartarus. My muscles stretched and accommodated to this new form while I lifted my head, tasting the air. The whiskers were the last part of of the panther transformation. That part, at least, felt like a small pinch.

I made a soft purr. Luckily, there were no cars at this time of night. It was safe to cross the road. I ran and jumped over the concrete guardrail, going into the second lane. I crossed from there into the forest, where I took a deep breath of the musty, woodsy smell. I opened my eyes sharply as I smelt deer. Stalking quietly, I never stepped on a twig because of a panther’s enhanced night vision. Crawling under a log, I saw it.

It was a doe and a fawn, together. The fawn was nursing. It probably was still a newborn. I licked my nose to keep it wet. When an animal’s nose is wet, it means that it is not only healthy but it makes the nose work better. I moved from under the log to go downwind so that the doe wouldn’t see me, but then a breeze ruffled my fur and the doe looked up, her soft velvet eyes piercing the forest. If she ran, I’d give chase and probably kill either her or the fawn. Maybe both.

Then there was a panther’s growl that had not come from me. The doe took off with the fawn at her side. A snarl ripped from my throat as I gave chase, looking around for the other panther. It was a male, I could smell it. Also, the creamy smell of the doe’s milk for the fawn lingered in the air. A buck joined them, and then bravely stood in the way of my claws while the doe and fawn ran off into the forest. The buck was probably the father.

His antlers hit my side and I fell away, but his antlers were no match for my night vision and my claws. They hooked into his faze and the buck gave a scream of pain. I decided to put the animal out of its misery quickly. My fangs latched on to his jugular and he quickly went limp. When I was tearing meat from the ribs, the male panther that had challenged me for the deer stepped out of the shadows. I pulled my lips away from my teeth. My muzzle was damp with blood, and some of it that was stained onto my nose dripped down my milky white canine tooth. I snarled a warning to him.

If this stupid male cat wanted to steal my food, he would get a surprise. He simply stares at me, and it’s then that I realize that his eyes are not that of a cat’s. They are a bright blue, while mine are a dark brown. He has pupils and whites, not the original all-color for cat’s eyes.

Was the male like me? Cursed to change from a human every Halloween and spring equinox? I finish chewing the flab of meat and stop crouching to face him in the eyes, walking up so that he can see the whites of my eyes, too. The male obviously sees it, for his eyes widened and he gave a hiss of surprise. I stalk away back toward the buck.

Even though I have made a miraculous discovery, I’m still not the type to share.

The male panther hisses again, and sends me a picture through his mind. It’s what pack animals do, and I’ve heard of animals communicating through pictures, but I’ve never actually watched it happen. Until now.

The picture shows a group of panthers, all with human eyes, hunting in a group and taking the prey back to a clearing, where there are piles of prey. Like a pride of panthers. All like me. And then, when I merely look at him and chewing the leg’s meat, he sends me another picture. It shows all the same things, just with me in the pack. I send him back a picture. It’s blurry, as my panther form can remember the humans, but I can’t remember the names.

I send him pictures of a woman with dark, curly hair and a book, a room full of monkeys, lizards and mice. The picture of a tall man with blue-tainted skin, and a piece of paper with black scrawling on it. It mainly said, I have someone to come back to.

The male nodded, and my concentration went back to the buck. Suddenly, I wasn’t that hungry anymore. After forcing down at least ten more hunks of meat, I sneezed on the buck. Kicking dead leaves over it, I stood up on my legs and walked away. I had two more days of this to go through.

Suddenly, I smelled another panther. Not this male that was standing in front of me, but another. Two more panthers stepped out of the forest stealthily. I hissed at them, my ears matted to my skull, and my claws became unsheathed. They came closer, eyeing only the covered buck. I swiped at the female who came too close, and she jumped back in surprise. The first male made a noise of protest, and together the first male and the female herded me by a tree.

I wanted to snarl and attack. Three more panthers were showing up. They started to tear at my uneaten buck. No! No! That was my prey! Mine! I snarled and swiped the female across the face, running over to protect my kill. I bit and tore at two, and I knocked the third away. Spitting at me, the one I had knocked over tried to swipe me across the face. I dodged it and opened my mouth all the way in a roar that would make fully-grown humans fear it.

Finally, five more appeared, all growling at me. The first panther to have challenged me ran in front of me, hissing and jerking his head in all directions. My eyes darted from panther to panther. They were all black, but some had spots on it and some had chocolate brown parts in their fur. They all, however, had human eyes.

Then, one by one, they all stopped. If there was an emotion that I would’ve used to describe it, I would’ve said disbelief. Then, one by one, they all came to me with their ears up and friendly, not in the flat, defensive position I had seen earlier. The panthers all sniffed me, and their noses lingered on my eyes. And, slowly, they stepped back except for one.

It was the female that I had swiped across the face. She gave me one warning snarl, as if to say: Okay. You’re one of us. This is your only chance to leave, or you die. It was enough said. Furious that I had lost my catch so easily, I bolted, ignoring the light footfalls of pursuit. As I jumped over a log, I had enough time to open my mouth and taste the air. Yes, it was the male that had saved me from being torn to panther shreds.

I unconsciously found myself running toward a house that dimly registered in my mind. I skidded to a stop and watched the unmoving house, and then ran uphill, the opposite way. I hadn’t noticed that the male had stopped following me. I just wanted the three days to be over with already. Being a panther had its downsides.

Sometimes I was absolutely positive that I was slowly dying from the inside.

This was one of those moments.



      Chapter two



The three days were over, and the rest of my hours I watched the clock until it was ten minutes to midnight. Then I ran as fast as I could to the house that had always seemed so familiar; the one with the log pile. It gave me a sense of security. I crawled beside it and waited the remaining five minutes.

The church bells rang. I was getting my human memory back. I gritted my teeth as the long and painful process of turning back into a human began. My tail was always first. It snapped and popped numerous times while the fur slowly quivered and shrunk into my skin to become hard and knotted. I stifled a cry while my tailbone shrunk and went back into the little stub of bone that it was when I was in human form.

My claws popped as the knuckles enlarged and the joints unfolded, the furry stubs for fingers growing longer to show human hands. I bit my lip with my still cat-canines and blood ran. Ugh, I hated blood. I coughed, and my nose shortened and my cheekbones emerged in a painful crack. My stomach heaved up fur balls and unwanted bones and indigestible hides and organs that I had had from a fierce badger. Poor thing had to have its brain pierced multiple times before it died. The remains were green-yellow and looked disgusting. My muscles stretched half their size to the normal size of human muscle mass.

The whiskers were being sucked under my skin, and my legs stretched the skin, borrowing the extra skin that’d been used for the tail to accommodate the leg bones. My hip severed itself from the ribcage to hang by the top of it, therefore giving me legs. Likewise with my arms, the extra bone that had made up my hackles on my neck slid down to my arms, and it felt like you were the chalkboard when long nails squealed down it. The bone being borrowed joined with the ball joint of my forearm and created my arms. The wrist bone melted from the second arm bone and created the joints that connected the arms with the hands.

I lay there, trembling and naked, in the grass. I had a feeling that someone was watching me, but I didn’t care. The after-effects of the change were still going, and I was too sore to feel paranoid. Finally, I pushed myself up and walked up the steps, almost falling numerous times. I reached the screen door soon enough, and fumbled with the slider handle. My mother always left these unlocked whenever she knew I was gone as a panther. I finally got it open, and then closed both doors, locking the second one. I blindly made my way to the kitchen, where a fresh pair of light pajamas was in the place of the clothes I had been wearing the last time.

I gratefully took the PJs and trumped up the stairs. When I reached my bedroom, I threw on the clothes and fell into bed. I was asleep before my body hit the mattress. I fell into a deep sleep. My only dream was that of the male panther with the bright blue eyes.

The next day, I woke up but kept my eyes closed. I wanted to fall asleep again. Soon, though, my mother opened the door and looked in, checking to see if I was in there. Through my eyelashes, I saw my mother smile in a relieved sort of way and gently close the door, walking down the hallway without any sound.

Finally, my alarm rang for eight o’clock. Groaning, I searched around for it and ended up making the machine fall to the floor. The sound was muffled but still kept playing an awful country song. I pushed myself to sit up on the mattress, reaching up and turning it off. I set it on the tabletop and fell back onto the bed, looking at the posters of Evanescence stacked up. And even more posters of panthers. Right above my bed, where a pillow would be and my head lay, there was a drawing done by me of what I thought I looked like when turning into a panther. It wasn’t that good.

I was lost in my thoughts for a minute, and then a bird from the animal’s room squawking in what could easily define my mother killing it for its talons or something brought me out of my reverie. I sat up and walked over to my closet, shifting through the items of clothing inside of it.

Soon, I trudged down the steps. My mother smiled at me. “Honey, how was it?” she asked me with tender concern. I stared at her dully. What could I say? She had no idea of what I went through. I couldn’t say: It went great, Mom. I love this curse. But I couldn’t say: Why do you care, person? It’s the worst thing in my life, if you only knew! either. So I just shrugged and mumbled that it was okay. I poured myself a bowl of cereal, opening and closing my mouth numerous times. That squirrel and badger I had eaten were lingering on my taste buds.

The doorbell rang. “Oh, now who could that be?” my mother fretted, walking away with her high-heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I continued eating. The cereal tasted bland and soggy on my tongue. I heard muffled whispering, and my mother’s noise of surprise. The kitchen was about five feet away from the front door in this house.

“Kari, love? Someone’s here to see you!” my mother called. I rolled my eyes, dropping the spoon in the neglected bowl of cereal. I was chanting spells I would have to write soon when I walked there. When I reached my mother, though, I stopped. There, smiling and standing in the doorway, was a brunette boy. When he saw me, his grin got possibly even wider and he extended a hand.

“Hello there, Kari. I’m Jacob Richards. It’s extremely nice to meet you,” Jacob said sincerely. I reached out to take his hand. After we had properly introduced ourselves, my mother asked if Jacob was new to this neighborhood. What she really wanted to know if he was a legal member of the Magiks world, so that we could be comfortable with each other instead of pretending. Jacob grinned again. He did a lot of that.

“Yes and no, ma’am. My parents were killed when I was young, you see, so a group of very close friends and relatives–in a way–have taken care of me ever since.” My mother gasped in despair. I rolled my head, turning around to go get my jacket. It was cold. When I got back, my mother was ranting on how he was such a poor, darling gentleman. I rolled my eyes again.

Jacob was answering everything politely, but he what he was really doing was staring at me. Intently. Like he was amazed I was bothering to even stand there in the same room with him. My mother seemed to realize that the door was open, so she invited Jacob in.  I ran ahead to clear all visible rooms of Magik evidence. My mother distracted Jacob by asking about his extended family. When it was acceptable and I came back, my mother led Jacob to the living room. I sat down in a chair. My mother and Jacob sat down in the couch across from it.

Was that just me, or did I see regret in his eyes? Wait. Wait. I backtracked and looked at his eyes over and over again. I started hyperventilating. He saw my reaction and a grim, bitter smile ruined his features. “Excuse me, I forgot to . . . um, put away the cereal box,” I said hastily. I put the cereal box away first, then the dishes.

Finally, I ran up the stairs and closed the door, leaning against it heavily. I couldn’t think straight. So I just sat in my beanbag chair the whole time, thinking over the events of the three days when I had been a panther. I didn’t go downstairs the rest of the time Jacob was there.

Finally, my mother called me down, her hands on her hips. “What is with you?” she asked me. “I mean, I know you just came back, but that was no way to treat a guest!” I stared mutely at her. When she stopped her ranting and sighed, I took my chance to speak.

“Right. Sorry, Mom. But did he leave?” I asked. My mother nodded, throwing up her hands and walking away, giving me a half-hearted order to do my notes on the book made in the 1600s.

Right. When I trudged back to my room, I finally realized what had made me react so strongly. Seeing his eyes. Well, of course his eyes. But they had something that made my mind just go: Hey, I don’t know you? Because it was only too obvious.

Jacob Richardson was the male panther that I had met in the forest.

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