2 Amaris: The Biology Lesson

The loud ringing of my phone wakes me up. It echoes around my studio apartment and bounces off the walls. That's what happens when you spell a place into being soundproof and untraceable, it keeps all the noises in.

"What?" I answer groggily. "I was sleeping."

"It's past eight," comes Sabrina's disbelieving reply.

"And? It's my day off." It's not. My coven doesn't really do off days, you're either working or you're slacking. But I had specifically told Sabrina that my grandmother had called me last week and basically begged me to go visit her.

She's super old and still living in her small house in a small town named Small Brooke an hour outside the city. She raised me after my mother died giving birth to me. She's also a powerful witch, and it's not a good idea to put off a witch, much less a powerful one.

"There's a new gig. They asked for you specifically. This real estate developer, big bucks. And I hear it's a werewolf he's after."

A gig is different than a job in our coven, they're code words.

A job is a legal bounty hunt with pay that will cover the bills but not luxuries. The bounty is handed off to the proper authorities and a check is mailed to our coven headquarters.

A gig is less legal and twice as dangerous. But the pay is excellent. And we get to keep half as opposed to a third, which is the going rate for a job. And the bounty? Well, they're either dead or in the hands of the improper authorities.

"How big we talking?" I ask.

"As big as you can get out of him." I can hear the greediness in her tone. I love that about her because it's one of the things we share in common.

"Listen, Lita said she has something important to tell me before she passes. I'm going to see her at ten. Schedule the gig meeting at two, I'll be there."

"Your grandmother has been saying she's dying for as long as I've known her. It's been eight years since I met you, Mar."

I chuckle because it's true.

Lita tends to be a little over dramatic, but she has a right to be. Although recently I'm not sure how dramatic it is to think you're dying when you're a hundred and thirty-one years old. That's at least sixty years past due for a human. But just right for a witch.

"Just schedule it, Sabs. I can't put off Lita again. This is already the third time I had to reschedule. If I try again, she'll probably boil me alive."

She huffs and relents. "Fine. But try to get a bunch of money out of him, ok? There's a new pair of red bottoms I want and my car has a bumper scratch since this idiot human let her kid steer a shopping cart."

"I will."

"Ok, I'll send you deets. Say hi to Lita for me and ask her if she's seen anything good." Then she hangs up and I have to push myself out of bed.

I'm glad Sabrina called me or I may have ended up being late to Lita's. Heavy drinking and partying late does that you. How Sabrina managed to wake up at the usual time all chipper and ready, is beyond me. That girl is a freak. Bigger than even me.

I stumble into my bathroom and haphazardly take off my underwear and bra, far too dizzy to remember the spell that can do it for me. What I need is a cold shower and a good mouth rinse to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth and the taste of whoever I made out with at the club last night.

About half an hour later, I step out of the shower feeling completely refreshed. Then with a snap of my fingers, I'm dressed and my raven waves are dry and hanging to my chin.

Before heading out, I still give myself a look over in the long mirror.

The frayed, black denim skirt I'm wearing falls to mid thigh no doubt due to my taller than average height. Paired with a pleather halter top that ends at my rib cage. Hey, I spent good money on a belly button piercing and it deserves to be on display.

Then my eyes keep roaming up until I'm making eye contact with myself in the mirror.

My cat eyes are staring back at me.

I do mean that literally.

They're big and round. Their color seems to change sometimes, but regularly they're green with specks of yellow. Under some lighting they even look blue or slightly violet. And of course, the slitted pupils that can change shape. They stand out against my dark hair and darker hue.

The thing is, all supernaturals have the ability to turn into an animal.

Werewolves into wolves.

Vampires into bats.

Witches into cats.

But our animal features aren't supposed to be a permanent fixture on our faces. Sure, sometimes werewolves' eyes start glowing with strong emotions. And, sure, sometimes vampires' eyes turn into the beady red of their bats'. And witches sometimes call forth their cat's eyes to see better in the dark or whatever. But then they fade to their normal color and shape.

That's not the case with me.

My cat eyes are my normal eyes. I was born with many feline features. Eyes aside, there's also my pointed ears that resemble a cat's. I have a small heart-shaped face and high cheekbones. Lita used to tease me by saying that, not only do I look like a cat, but I act like one too. Like staring at people with a concentrated intensity, walking lightly and enjoying salmon. There's also the nose twitching, but that's neither here nor there.

Unlike regular witches, however, I can't fully transform into a cat. If I try, a terrible pain overcomes me and I black out.

It's not really necessary though. I already have the agility, balance and senses of a cat. Being able to transform completely would be the cherry on top, but superfluous. Since most witches only transform to have the aforementioned abilities.

With a sigh, I leave my bathroom, grab my pitch black round sunglasses despite the gloomy morning, shoulder my backpack and exit my apartment.

I lock the door behind me and mutter the protection spell under my breath.

"Refugio."

That's not Latin by the way. It's Spanish. Spells, contrary to popular belief, are quite simple and don't require a dead language. They require a clear image of what you want it to do, a trigger word and the language you're most comfortable in. Some spells are so simple and frequently used, you don't even need a trigger word, just a gesture. Like finger snapping.

There's set spells that everyone learns. Then there's personal spells that you program yourself. There's also black magic spells; that doesn't mean they're evil. It means they're terribly hard to do and should only be performed by a capable witch. Or serious injury and/or death is inevitable.

Refugio is a combination of a set spell and a personal one, based on a black magic one.

The original spell holds your place of refuge in a different dimension, the door works as a portal and links it to the dimension you want to live in. It's untraceable, but if someone were to somehow find it, it teleports the intruder to a different pocket dimension from which they'll never escape unless the caster wills it. Mine just cloaks my apartment and makes intruders pass out and wake up with diarrhea in a bathroom with no toilet paper.

I was twelve when I created it. It hasn't failed me in the years since.

"Good morning." My neighbor —a middle-aged mom with two kids— from across the hall smiles politely albeit forcibly at me as I pass her by. She's always scandalized by my outfits and, if her husband or teenage son are with her, she always covers their eyes and scowls at me as if it's my fault they're looking at me hungrily. If it's her daughter, she makes sure to make her look at me so she knows how she's not supposed to dress.

That's the thing about humans: they always worry about the wrong things. That's one of the few things on which all supernaturals concur. Humans are strange creatures.

I acknowledge her with a nod then wait at the elevators.

Sunglasses already on and bitch face too.

°°°

Lita's home is idyllic.

The log cabin stands at the edge of the woods at the edge of Small Brooke. All the windows are circular, the door is too. It's surrounded by rose bushes and marigolds, moss has monopolized the roof and sides. Like nature is trying to reclaim the area. And in a way that will become apparent soon, it has.

It adds to the cabin's charm, if anything.

I stand in front of the door and snap my fingers. Then a harp starts playing a beautiful melody until the door opens and Lita beckons me in.

"I'm in the kitchen, Amaris!" She's the only one who calls me by my actual name. Nowadays, she may be the only one who knows it. Even Sabrina who's been my friend since I started bounty hunting with our coven only knows me as Mar.

I shake the rain off my studded leather trench coat then step inside.

Now, for anyone who's never been to Lita's home before, stepping in for the first time is a whole ass experience. For starters, the exterior is by no means a correct representation of the interior.

Lita is a sweet old witch who loves baking and gardening. But she also loves opulence. Extreme opulence. So while the exterior is cute, small and quaint. The inside is lavish, huge and modern.

That black magic spell I mentioned earlier, this is a different version of it. As soon as I stepped through the door with an invitation, I was transported to a pocket dimension where it's always sunny and the grass is always even and green and Lita's house is actually a château on the French Riviera. Had I burst in without announcing myself or without invitation, I would have walked into the actual cabin in Small Brooke, desolate and more nature than not.

But like I said. Black magic requires capable witches and Lita is more than capable.

There's a faint squeak with every step I take on the marble floor. I fast walk through one long hallway that displays painted portraits of past Del Valle witches.

When I finally make it to the kitchen, Lita's small figure is at the oven, pulling out some pumpkin empanadas.

Her hair used to be raven like mine. But it's long since been lost to silver —really silver. It glimmers under the light. It's stark against her darker hues, too. Her chocolate eyes fall on me.

"Hola, m'ija," she smiles and places the tray on the island to cool down before pulling me into a hug and kissing both of my cheeks. "Take those ridiculous glasses off. You don't need to hide your eyes from me."

I quickly comply, placing them on top of my head. She doesn't believe in repeating herself. "Hola, Lita. How are you?"

She shrugs. "I've been better. I feel myself starting to go." She says this as she moves with ease and spryness.

"Lita," I start with a sigh, "don't say that. You'll probably end up outliving me."

She shakes her head. Turning serious so quickly it gives me whiplash. "No, m'ija. I won't. I saw my future. Just as I saw yours."

Some witches are born with special abilities. Lita is a seer. Meaning she can see snippets of people's future —the rarest and most sought out ability. It's how she made a small fortune. However, when it comes to me, she doesn't like telling me my future. So now that she's brought it up, it takes me aback.

"Did you want me to come so you could tell me what you saw?" I question skeptically.

She shakes her head. "No, I called you to tell you your past because I saw your future."

"That's cryptic," I chuckle. "But I was there for my past, Lita. You have nothing to tell me I don't already know."

She cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. "Really? So you know what your father was? And why Evanora died giving birth to you when mother and infant mortality rates are nonexistent in witch communities?"

I gape at her. This is definitely not where I was expecting this to go. We never talk about my mother. And we especially never talk about my father. The latter has more to do with the fact that no witch is ever raised in a two-parent home. Like I said, witches don't settle down with men. We hook up and have daughters, that's it. So never talking about fathers isn't all that astonishing or irregular a practice. Why is she bringing him up now?

"No…?" I drawl.

"Then sit down," she nods to the round table out on the veranda. "We'll talk while the empanadas cool down."

"Um, ok. You're kinda scaring me, Lita." I respond as I shrug off my coat then snap my fingers. It disappears from my hands and now hangs in the coat rack in the entrance closet. Then I take my seat outside. There's birds chirping and the sun warms my skin. A beautiful setting for the impending bad news Lita wants to tell me.

She smiles sadly but doesn't otherwise say anything as she pours me a cup of champurrado. Then she takes the seat across from me and slides me the cup. "I left out the cinnamon sticks, just like you like."

"Gracias. But, please, just tell me what you want to tell me. The suspense is killing me."

She nods understandingly. "There's a reason you are the way you are, Amaris. Your eyes, your ears, your inability to transform."

I take a sip of the drink before responding. "Yeah, a genetic condition or something. Right? That's what you told me when I was like five."

She sighs. "Yes, what I didn't mention then is that I know exactly what the condition is. And that it's not even a condition. It's just biology."

There must be a confused look on my face because she continues. "Your father was a werewolf, m'ija." She says without sugarcoating.

I don't even think I heard her right.

She certainly doesn't give me time to process before she goes on. "He loved your mother and your mother loved him. They didn't share an affinity bond, but that didn't matter. He ignored custom when he married someone outside the bond, a witch no less, and your mother ignored custom by marrying. They lived happily together in his home in the woods. They didn't bother anybody and nobody bothered them. And then she became pregnant and experienced first hand why supernaturals don't cross-breed."

"And why is that exactly?" I ask, still not fully processing what she's telling me.

"Supernaturals' DNA doesn't work the same as humans, the more mixed theirs is the less likely there'll be problems. It's the opposite for us. And we don't have dominant or recessive genes. By mating with a werewolf, your mother made your body the battleground between two dominant natures. Your witch side won in the end, by sacrificing your ability to transform. So long as you don't try to turn into a cat, your werewolf side is dormant."

"What will happen if one day it wakes up?"

Her face turns grave. "When you were younger, it would make you black out. But now that you've chosen to be a witch, it will tear you apart and you will die a terrible death."

"Why are you telling me this now?" I whisper. Trying hard to swallow the lump forming in my throat, but failing miserably. My voice is horribly strained, it cracks at the end.

"Because I saw your future. And I need you to understand that even though physically you are a witch. Biologically you are still both witch and werewolf, which means you're subject to werewolf phenomena."

"What does that mean?"

She shakes her head. "I've already said too much." She stands from her seat and brings me some empanadas. "Let's enjoy these. This will be the last time we eat them together."

°°°

*473 William's Ave. Suite 20 2pm

B puntual!!!!!!! $$$*

Sabrina's text dings as I make my way to the train station after hearing Lita's declaration.

Werewolf.

How is that even possible?

Although, now that I think about it, being part werewolf would explain my reaction to the full moon. It makes me restless, bursting with energy and nowhere to put it. Actually, that's not entirely true, I know exactly where to put it. The problem is finding someone up to the night long challenge. I haven't found one yet.

*On my way now* I text Sabrina back. I'll be early if anything, it's barely noon. I'll be back in the city in an hour and I'll still have an hour to kill. I could teleport. But I enjoy train rides and teleporting requires concentration and my mind is too overwhelmed at the moment for that.

*What'd ur gmom tell u?* Sabrina is quick to respond. Then immediately after *did she say something about my future???*

*Nothing*, I lie, then, *didn't ask*.

*You bitch!!! :( *

I roll my eyes at her text then shove my phone back into my pocket and place my glasses back on my face. My eyes are already strange, I don't need people seeing that I'd been crying on top of that. I'm already tragic.

By the time I get back to the city, the rain is pouring relentlessly. It makes me wish I was back at Lita's, soaking in the sun and eating empanadas. Of course I doubt she'd invite me in again so soon after everything she told me. She enjoys her privacy. Especially now that she's old and claims to be dying.

With an internal eye roll, I snap my fingers and feel encased in warmth as my outfit changes to my professional one.

My sunglasses, backpack and trench coat stay but my denim skirt is replaced by a pair of red slacks and the halter top by a tucked in white blouse. My combat boots for a pair of white ankle ones. A black umbrella, too, appears in my hands, already open. I had it on already before but the coolness of my cat's eye gemstone is actually felt against my skin now.

Lita gifted it to me when I was a little girl. I've worn it ironically for most of my life. The cat's eye, that is. It was my way of laughing at myself before others could. But now it brings me comfort and I don't go anywhere without it. Especially since it's a charm and it helps me in my line of work and brings peace of mind.

It provides protection against jinxes and small time hexes.

I have it clasped in my hand when I reach the address Sabrina sent me.

It's a business building for luxury office spaces.

That's strange. I assumed it would be a hotel or something similar. Clients usually want to maintain a level of anonymity, especially if they're putting a hit out on someone. Although, now that I think about it, Sabrina had said the client is a real estate developer, why would they offer that information up before the first meeting?

Something doesn't feel right about this.

I'm about to call it off when my phone starts ringing.

It's Sabrina, I can tell before even looking at the caller ID.

"Sabs, did you vet this guy before taking the gig?" I answer.

She scoffs. "Of course I did. Do you take me for a noob or something? He totally checks out."

"It's a business building." I tell her. "The address you sent me. That's weird. Something is off, I can feel it. My witchy senses are tingling."

"Mar, he's legit. An associate of last week's client. He said he didn't mind meeting in his office because he trusts that we are professionals who know how to be discreet."

I groan and look up at the building again. It is located in a high-traffic area of the city. The population here is predominately human, which means they probably won't try to jump me or something similar. It also means the client is most likely a human, as well. So if it turns out this is a set-up, I can take him and anyone else.

"Fine, but I swear, Sabs, if I don't like the guy I'm walking."

"Alright, but just remember that if you walk, you're walking away from thousands of dollars. And didn't you tell me you wanted a motorcycle?"

I had told her. I was half drunk at the time, too, but after sobering up the desire didn't go away. "Yeah, Sabs, I'll keep that in mind. I'll talk to you after, I'm about to go up."

It still doesn't feel right.

I give my surroundings a final look over. For a second, I feel like someone is watching me, but I remember that people have a tendency to watch me no matter what I do. So I push that feeling out of my mind and make way inside.