Boots (3 page)

"What's the matter, babe? Got crabs?"

"Shut up, Leo." Joey's scratching became frantic.

"Those new briefs? Did you wash them first?"

"No, dammit, I didn't. They came packaged. Why would I wash them?"

Leo stopped toweling himself dry, watching Joey with a wary expression. "'Cause they use like, bug spray on imported stuff. Can play hell with your skin sometimes. Take 'em off, babe. You're making me itch."

"You just want me naked."

"Yeah, well--holy fuck!"

Leo's eloquent expression of disbelief leapt out when Joey pulled the briefs down to expose sunburn-red skin covered in angry, swelling blisters. Some of those had begun to ooze from Joey's scratching. The sight of those blisters on his genitals made even Kasha wince in sympathy.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Joey reached out, but his lover backed away in alarm. "Get the car, Leo! You have to get me to the doctor's. Leo?"

"I don't think so, babe." Face drained of color, Leo's voice came out thin and shaking. "Who the hell have you been whoring with?" He began throwing clothes into a bag, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater as he rushed around the room. "Fuck! And I've been screwing you, you little slut. If you've given me some nasty new kind of VD, I'll--"

"You'll what, Leo? Dammit,
help
me! I haven't touched another man! For all I know,
you
gave me this!"

Kasha waited until Leo had stormed out of the apartment and Joey had flung himself onto the bed, swearing and whimpering. It was all he needed to see. The boy would have to figure out for himself where relief lay. A kasha could only interfere so much. He slipped out the same way he had come in, by the cracked kitchen window, and hurried down the street. Willem would not have approved, which was why he would not be telling him.

The dry goods store stocked just about everything, even kid-sized boots. Willem scanned the assortment with amused confusion.
How do you pick out boots for a cat?

He had no idea what Kasha would like. A work boot? A pair of shitkickers? Dress boots? It hadn't occurred to him to ask and now, faced with too many choices, he wished he had brought the cat along. He shook his head on a chuckle, imagining how the store employees would react to the large, crazy man in the footwear section asking his cat which boots he liked best.

He rejected the ones that looked like water might ruin them right off, and then became stuck between flashy and practical. For some reason, he felt Kasha would prefer flashy, but given their current housing situation, practical made more sense. He finally compromised halfway on a pair of Ariat cowboy boots in black, tooled leather. The price was a little steep for such small boots, but he had made a promise.

"For your little boy?" A middle-aged woman in a maroon dry goods employee smock gave him an encouraging smile.

"No, ma'am. I don't have any kids." When she looked at him oddly, he added, "For my nephew." There, that sounded a lot less cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs than "for my cat."

"You must be the favorite uncle, then," she said with a laugh.

"Yes, ma'am, I guess so." Willem felt his face heat. God, he hated lying about anything. It tied his insides into painful knots. He bought a little black cowboy hat to go with the boots and a few food staples to last a couple of days. Lying made him cringe, but having anyone, especially a cat
he
should be caring for, believe they had to provide for him made him feel about a quarter inch tall.

Back out on the sidewalk, he hitched a ride out to the self-storage facility. His unit was paid for six months out, so no need to rush finding a new place. He'd heard of desperate people living in their storage units, and if his hadn't been so pitifully small, he might have considered it. Hell, it was cheaper than apartment rent. All his furniture and household belongings stayed with Joey. He hadn't had the energy to fight him over who actually owned what, and the remainder of his worldly possessions boiled down to his clothes (not many), a few framed pictures (likewise), and his tools.

Sad, really. If he died under mysterious circumstances and a forensics team searched through what he had left behind for some clue, they'd leave after five frustrated minutes. Nothing. He would leave behind nothing.

He switched out dirty clothes for clean, stuffing the dirty socks and underwear in the laundry bag he kept in the unit.
Probably should get to the Laundromat soon.
Then in a quixotic moment driven by his conversation with Kasha that morning, he retrieved his gas-powered soldering iron, his tin snips, and the spools of solder wire.

The urge to create surged up in him, as it hadn't in months. Strange how those months coincided with his relationship with Joey. He hadn't realized it before.

The cabin's front stoop was perfect for viewing the lines of magical confluence that veined the nearby mountains. Most mountains served as points of convergence for lines of magic force. Some, like Fuji or Mauna Kea, gathered magic to them like greedy collectors. Others, like these modest mountains surrounding the town of Honeybole, were simply natural meeting points, intersections of magical roads.

While the magic had always existed here, the noise and filth of the strip mining machines had masked the lines for many years. Now, in the newfound silence, it became possible to find the paths again. Kasha knew if he could see them, so could others. Beings of power, lesser ones but still enough to be dangerous, were drawn to such places.

He shivered as a cloud ran ragged fingers over the sun. Other spellcasters were here. They made no effort to hide their power, not like the old days when magical beings were modest and cautious, when humans were more aware and knew them on sight. Now, dear gods, a kasha could live without shielding for over twenty years as a brewer's cat with no one the wiser. He shuddered at what else might be out there.

The sun broke through the clouds and Kasha straightened, his heart leaping. Willem rounded a bend in the path, striding up the mountain like a young Beowulf, the light sparking in his red-gold hair.
Gods, but he is beautiful.

If Willem had honored his request, tonight he would be able to give himself to his new
heki-sama.
He had wondered sometimes if his long exile might have negated the strict forms, the rules of his existence. In some ways, yes, but in Willem's arms the night before, the crushing aversion thrust through his head like a lightning spear. He needed to be Willem's, by ritual consent, before he could offer himself.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," Willem said with a hint of a smile as he approached the door. He did seem more himself today, still so sad, but steadier, perhaps.

"It's about time. I've been waiting hours for you." Kasha padded in behind him when he unlocked the door.

"I only have two legs, and I had some orders to fill, didn't I?"

Kasha stared at the pack, tail twitching in anticipation. "And did you?"

The little smile returned. "You want dinner or you want what I bought you first?"

Incredible. The boy is teasing.
"Curiosity may have killed the cat, but enforced patience will surely give him a stroke."

Willem plunked down on the floor with his pack. Altogether too slowly and carefully, he began to pull things out. Tins of tuna, a can of beans, another of peas, a box of oatmeal all emerged one by one.

"Do I have to climb in the pack myself?" Kasha snapped.

"You're as bad as a kid at Christmas." Willem chuckled, but he relented and pulled a shoebox from the depths of his pack. "I hope these are okay."

His large, callused hands lifted the lid to reveal a lovely pair of black boots. They had to be boots, of course, since shoes would be too difficult to keep on his feet in any convincing way, even with magical intervention, but these were perfect. The rich scent of new leather filled his head as his eyes wandered over the patterns embossed on the surface. Just elegant enough to suit his tastes, but tough enough to escape being effeminate.

"They'll do."

Willem laughed. "So glad you approve. But I'm not done yet."

The second box contained a black hat that Willem plopped on Kasha's head. With a bit of magic resizing, the miniature Stetson fit perfectly. "Thank you, truly. Would you put the boots on as well?"

"You can't do it?" Willem's forehead creased in a puzzled frown.

"I could, but it's just not done. These boots are a gift from you?"

"Yes." The puzzled creases deepened.

"Forgive me, Willem. Where I come from, this is the custom. It symbolizes several things, not the least of which is that you give them of your own volition."
And binds me to you so long as you do not demand them back.
But to tell Willem that would require more explanation than he was willing to provide at the moment.

He leapt up onto the nearest chair and sat human-wise with his back legs dangling over the edge. A shaft of sunlight surrounded Willem, giving his skin a luminous quality and Kasha spotted the instant his sea-gray eyes softened in acceptance.

Despite his efforts to remain aloof and calm, anxiety and anticipation overcame him, and he began to purr. Luckily, Willem seemed to mistake the nervous reaction as encouragement and gently slid the right boot over his paw. The adjustments he made this time were to his foot and not the boot, but, oh, it felt right. It had been so long.

He held his breath, readying himself, when the left boot and foot mated. Still the sudden rush of power made the room pitch and spin. Magic flowed into him, increasing his being. Soon he would be too large for the cabin, too large for the mountainside.
Gods, oh, gods, it's still there, all at my paw tips now! I am immortal! I am the demon who rides the lightning! I am...

His.

One look at Willem brought him back down from his magic-induced high, back into the physical body he inhabited.

"Are you all right?"

Some men who had claimed him had done so for selfish gains, for power and wealth. Some had done so out of lust. But Willem, sweet boy, had no idea what he had done. He was simply giving footwear to his demanding cat. "Yes. Thank you."

Kasha leaped down from the chair to stand on two legs. He tried a few steps and did a slow pirouette. "So, do they suit?"

"Never was big on the cowboy look, but on you, it looks good." Willem gave a satisfied nod. "You're a very handsome cowboy. Cowcat. Cowboy-cat."

"That was perhaps the clumsiest compliment I've ever received. But thank you all the same. Now, I believe you mentioned dinner?"

A couple of tins of tuna and half a box of crackers later, they lounged in their blanket nest in front of a roaring fire. Kasha had placed his hat up on the table, but refused to take off his boots. If they ever had a bed again, that would have to change, but for now, Willem didn't say anything.

While Kasha dozed in a warm ball next to his thigh, he dug out his tin snips and the three empty tins, two tuna, one sardine, which he had washed out in a nearby stream. Shapes formed in his mind, tiny geometries that would link together to form the whole he intended. Spatial manipulation had always been as natural for him as breathing, the one thing he did well. His father had tried to steer him toward drafting and civil engineering, but the books he had tried to read had been so dry and his high school drafting classes had lulled him to sleep.

He was well into cutting tiny triangles from the tuna can, when he realized one bright green eye peered out at him from beneath Kasha's tail.

"Do you mind if I watch?"

Willem shrugged. "Why would I mind?"

"Some men don't appreciate an audience while they create."

He reached over to scratch Kasha behind his ears. "I don't mind. Really. Gun's kids used to watch me all the time." This was why he only had one of his creations with him. Whatever he made usually went to a patient, watching child.

When he had what he believed to be all the necessary pieces, he took out the soldering iron and wire and started assembling. A pair of tweezers would have made the work easier and neater, but he managed, joining each meticulously cut shape to the next. The almond-shaped pieces cut from the green portion of the sardine company logo became the eyes. The most delicate triangles cut from the tuna can became the ears. White half moons from the nutrition information box formed the little socks on the front paws.

Darkness surrounded their little oasis of firelight by the time he had finished. He put down his soldering iron and rolled shoulders stiff from hunching over his work. Though Kasha had watched the whole process, he still felt shy when he presented the finished piece.

"There. What do you think?"

Kasha tipped his head to the side with a slow blink. "It's... me."

"Yes."

"Willem, I... that is, no one's ever... "

"You don't like it. I'm sorry." Willem reached out to take the little metal cat away. Kasha's paw shot out to stop his hand.

"No. I like it very much. I'm simply... surprised." Kasha petted him, his velvet pads soft against Willem's skin. "Your technique is extraordinary. Quite astounding."

Willem struggled to determine whether the praise was serious or if the sharp-tongued cat was poking fun. Hard to tell with cat expressions. "Oh. Okay, then." A huge yawn snuck up on him. "Bedtime, for me, at least. Don't you want to take your boots off to sleep?"

"No, thank you. I'd like to keep them on, if you don't mind."

The little metal and wire cat was exquisite. How could such large, powerful hands create something so delicate, so elegant? Kasha lay on his side, staring at the miniature sculpture after Willem had dropped off to sleep. No one had ever thought of him as anything but a tool, an instrument of fate. Certainly, no one had ever taken the time to craft a likeness of him with such loving care.

If he had been able to weep, he might have. Even without tears, regret shadowed his heart. This one would be difficult to leave when the time came. Though perhaps the time they did have could ease both their loneliness. Yes. Willem needed more than a change in fate. It would cost him nothing to give him that.