Charmed to the Tenth

Eva LeMere sprang from her vanity and ran for her bedroom door. She stood like a goalie guarding the threshold, blocking her four dogs from entering her bedroom. The smallest was the most vocal, also the most difficult to keep out. They had reacted to the noise, come to investigate, to see if it might have anything to do with a threat or perhaps some food might be involved.

"No, you, out." She said to the little one she named Ruffian. Of all her dogs over the years, Ruffian seemed the most in tune with her and she rarely had to resort to such measures as actually talking to him.

She reached behind her and closed her bedroom door; effectively keeping her dogs out of her bedroom for the time being, so they would not walk on the broken glass and shred their sensitive pads. She mentally berated herself for breaking the mirror in her fit of pique. This was not how she expected herself to behave, at all, ever.

She walked down the hallway of her townhouse, down the flight of steps and into the living room where she kept a large bucket of toys for her gang, her pack, her family and her only friends. Her gang followed her, as they always did, excitedly anticipating her actions. The dogs all gathered around the bucket of toys and jostled themselves for ranking position; the closest to Eva was the winner of the mini competition. Eva reached into the pile of stuffed toys, rubber balls, tennis balls, half deflated soccer balls, squeaky rings and teething rings, and pulled out a handful.

She turned to her gang and said; "Ready guys? Now, no fighting, be good or I take them away again. Here we go." Then she tossed the pile into the air and quickly scooted out of the way. She wasn't wearing socks or shoes and, in their exuberance, her gang wasn't likely to remember not to step on her feet. She watched the ensuing mêlée with glee. Not many things made her giggle like this as when she was watching her gang happily lost amidst a pile of toys.

But then she remembered why she brought them down here, to indulge them with this free-for-all, and her smile turned to a frown. She went to the kitchen, gathered the supplies then went back to her bedroom to clean up the broken glass and the spilled perfume; the projectile that had broken the glass.

"Well I'm glad I was holding the Poison and not the Jo Malone when Other barged in." Poison was the oldest of her perfumes and it was past time to replace it anyway. Then she cocked a smile and thought how appropriate it had been that she was just grabbing the Poison to toss it in the trash can, when his image appeared. "Good Heavens, he better not be poison. I'm stuck with him no matter who he is."

The spilled perfume had already become overpowering, she was getting a headache. When she opened the window to air out the room, she noticed the beautiful sunset had turned dark and gloomy with a coming storm. The black and blue clouds approached from the east and they appeared to be bringing a huge amount of rain with them. The approaching storm made her smile for several reasons, primary among them, she loved thunderstorms. The overriding power of a thunderstorm was something that seemed to reach deep inside her and made her feel connected to all she surveyed.

She was also, once again, grateful to Providence that she hadn't bathed her gang this morning as she had planned to. Like washing a car, she felt, she always tried to time the bathing of the dogs with several days of sunny clear weather. Nothing worse than spending a few hours cleaning up the gang, then spending the next week cleaning out the mud from their paws and haunches every time they went outside; not to mention wet dog smell was something not even she liked.

Having cleaned up the mess from her tantrum, she removed her robe and walked naked into her recently renovated bathroom. She sank into the tub with a sigh and slowly she began to relax. It was still warm enough, even though it had been waiting for her since just before the Other intruded. She reached forward and turned on the hot water tap. Warm enough wasn't what she wanted. Hot and soothing was her goal. She gazed around the room in contentment; this was her favorite room ever.

The work and the fixtures cost more than she should have spent, but it was her private grotto. She had annexed the bedroom next to hers and had a soaking tub installed. It looked like it came straight from the decadent and self indulgent conveniences Marie Antoinette had been surrounded by. A little self indulgence for Eva would not cause a revolution, nor her head to be violently removed from her body.

The tub was cast iron, claw footed, eight feet in length, three feet deep, restored porcelain finish with a sloped back; it was her dream come true. In the corner of the room was a fireplace that was original in this old craftsman's bungalow, but she had it converted to gas. The sink was made of pink blown glass and made to look like a wash bowl resting on the green granite counter top.

The room did not have a shower installed because the contractor refused to budge on that point. Eva had found a crystal chandelier at a yard sale and fell in love with it. The crystals that had been chipped and broken or missing, she replaced and had it installed in the ceiling of her grotto. The contractor would not allow a potential fire hazard; even though the electrician assured him it had been grounded and made safe.

Why she knuckled under to the contractor, she couldn't say. He seemed so... fatherly? Not that she remembered what a father seemed like. But he was insistent so the shower stall she used daily, and the toilet she used more than daily, remained in the regular, un-updated hall bath.

The walls of her grotto were painted to look like stone flecked with pinks, browns and taupes. She had several Grecian statues, similar to those found in formal gardens, ranging in size from a few inches to three feet perched on shelves around the room. In front of both windows she kept ferns and hibiscus. The valances atop the windows also served as planters for the English ivy that flourished by sending vines trailing around the room chasing the sunlight with glee.

Yes, this was her room, designed for her comfort, a place where she would find peaceful rest, a place to reflect and rejuvenate. She needed this room to let loose the aches she absorbed from her clients; the hurt and the pain could become intolerable. She never cursed her ability to feel what they felt, she never wished it away. But she did need to release it, on a frequent basis. She was getting better at keeping the mundane feelings of those she interacted with at bay. Finally learning about sunglasses and how they protected her was the best thing that ever happened.

But she couldn't wear sunglasses with her clients; her children, those who were lost and those who'd been harmed. Children who were gifted prodigies whose talent isolated them, children who had been abused and neglected and needed to heal; these were her children. Her clients needed her and she was meant for them. She alone could reach them and what they buried deep inside. She brought out art supplies and taught the child how to use them. In the process she showed her clients how to release the ache, the shame, the fear, the rage, the blame, and the unrelenting pain. She showed them how to reveal what they needed to tell. She showed them the way to let go of the hurt that would keep them from growing up strong and whole.

But she had to be careful and not overwhelm them by pressing them to reveal before they were ready. Sometimes they needed that fear or that pain that kept their protective instincts on high alert. Sometimes they still weren't safe. She didn't question why they might not be ready; she didn't question why they might not be safe. She had to stay focused on what she could do, she had to let go of what she couldn't do. She couldn't help them to release and reveal if she couldn't maintain that balance herself. So she guided them into releasing only what they didn't need any more.

She had been working with Angel, a ten year old who had been alternately beaten, neglected and malnourished, when she bumped into her Other last week. So consumed in the child's fear and keeping it from taking over her own emotions, Eva had forgotten to put on her sunglasses as she left Angel's bedside. She wondered if the connection would have been made if she had remembered to put them on.

No matter, what's done is done and there wasn't a thing she could do to take it back. She wasn't ready for her Other, she wasn't ready to become consumed with his life, nor share hers. She had always kept herself isolated; even when the adults in her life insisted she make friends, she refused. She knew being too close to people would be dangerous for her. But she also knew she couldn't tell them that. Yes, it was difficult to go through life, feel what others felt, sense a common attraction that urged her to be friendly, and yet still keep people at a distance. She didn't feel that she had missed out; she never felt lonely or the pain of her isolation.

No, what she felt instead was the insistence of the various adults who took care of the strange child Eva had been, to prove she was normal. Apparently, having friends and forming attachments was the only way to prove her normalcy, so they would leave her alone and stop observing her so closely. Eva was delighted when children wanted to play with her and make friends. She hurt when she was forced to keep her distance, she felt their hurt.

Eva had vague memories and impressions of her family; she did have a family at one point. The strongest snippet of memory she retained just happened to be the only memory she has of her mother; a ten second movie in which she can see her mother, Aurore, helping her to brush out the coat of the family dog. Her mother's eyes were so warm and inviting, they shone with love. Between her mother's breasts lay the charm that Eva now wore.

They all had died in a car accident when Eva was twelve. She had lain in a coma for nearly a week, and when she awoke not only did she have no memory of the accident, she had very little memory at all. For an adult the memory loss would have been devastating, but for a child like Eva, it was something very easy to accept. She knew she had been loved and that was all she needed to know.

The foster homes she lived in were mostly nice. But they didn't understand her need to keep distant from people, her need to be surrounded by animals, or her need for art. It wasn't until she turned eighteen and was headed to college that she finally didn't have to pretend anymore. She had a scholarship from the university, a small monthly stipend from the state and a generous inheritance. She had a job at a veterinary clinic as nighttime kennel keeper that paid her well since she willingly spent every Friday and Saturday night bunked down with the sick and injured pets.

When she turned twenty-one, she got a letter and a box wrapped in brown paper in the mail. At first she was angry to learn that she had relatives after all, who never stepped forward when she needed them. But, as the letter explained, her gift came at a price. In order to protect the family, they had to split up. Aunts and Uncles were out there, watching, keeping her safe and keeping her gift from being used and abused by those who knew of her and wanted not to help, but to harm. It was the letter that helped her understand that her gift was to help, and only she would know who or how.

She reached into the box to pick up the charm; the very charm that once lay between her mother's breasts. Cradling the charm between her own breasts, mirroring the memory of her mother the love she had felt from her mother surrounded her, and she began to hum. It was a tune that was familiar to her, but she couldn't remember where she'd heard it. She sat on the floor of her studio apartment off campus and hummed for hours. She was not aware of the passage of time while she hummed, but when it was time to stop, she did. She wiped her eyes and felt for the first time in her life that all was as it should be, and all was well.

Lying in her tub, she reached over to the accoutrement shelf and grabbed the jasmine scented oil to add to her bath. She was now fully relaxed and emotionally cleansed, the jasmine would be the final touch before she had to get out and feed her gang. She lay back again and absentmindedly fingered the charm, stroking the red stone in the center. Her breasts, floating in the water, began to tingle. Her nipples peaked and ached to be touched. Lost in her relaxed calm, she arched her back in invitation.

She did not react when she felt the first caresses pulling and twisting on her nipple, nor when she felt the hand that wrapped around the whole of the other breast. Had she opened her eyes, there would be nothing there anyway. She remained relaxed and gave herself over to the sensations. They were delightful and new to her. She'd never ever felt like this and she was happy to feel this now, whatever this was.

Her breathing began to be labored, deep breaths that seemed to stay in her lungs longer than normal; exhalations that seemed to rush out faster than they should. Her back arched with her nipples above the water, the slow gyration of her breasts from side to side was barely noticeable until it grew, in invitation, in want, in need. A whimpering cry escaped on the inhale, a moan slid out on the exhale.

Her knees fell to the sides of the tub, of their own accord. She felt a soft caress begin at her knee and she gloried in joy as it ended on her mound. Not once in her twenty six years had she ever felt anything like this. Not once did she stop to think how she was feeling this now. She just relaxed and gave into the sensations. She knew all was as it should be.

Barely discernible movement began in her hips as the caress on her mound circled and pressed. It was welcome and wanted this feeling she had. There was something more, she could feel it waiting, lost in the sensations she had faith it would come. The water began to splash over the side as her hips gyrated and bucked. He breasts still tingled and her core was on fire. Her breath was elusive but her cries got louder. All built and built until she was thrashing and begging, "What? What is to come? Make it happen? I can't stand this anymore?"

She felt something enter her, it was big and hard. She knew what it was but not where it came from. It pounded and pummeled and it felt so darn good. Her eyes still closed she reached out to space, to where he was and begged him to keep going. This was something she never imagined anyone could feel. These feelings and sensations that were so foreign to her, made her feel whole, wanted, loved.

She built her movements, her shoulders, her hips, stronger and harder. Her nipples being tweaked and her mound being caressed, what was inside her got quicker and harder as it came and it went. It pushed her further and further, until, with a keening moan she was launched. She sailed, weightless, nothing but sensation. She took a deep strong breath and continued her flight, bucking and thrashing. God this was heaven, the thought.

Slowly, she calmed and sank back into the tub. Keeping her eyes closed she searched for the man. She didn't want to be alone anymore. Now that she knew, she had to be with him, have him with her. She longed to share her home and her work and even her grotto with him. Now that she knew, she wondered why it had taken so long.

"God Damn it." Jeff fell to the floor of his shower stall panting. He'd dropped his charm just as she reached her peak but before he had reached his. He'd planned to make sure she reached it again and again, but now that link thing was broken and since he had no idea how he'd made the connection in the first place, he didn't hold out hope he could get it going again, not in his state. He was erect and oozing, his moment put off he was angry and frustrated. There was no way he could calm himself right now.

After he brought himself to peak, he put serious thought into how this thing worked. How did he get from being able to see her to being able to feel her and, more importantly for now, how was she able to feel him? He shook his head thinking this wasn't likely something he would ever be able to scientifically verify, quantify or explain. Unless Eva had some answers?

But as he stepped out of the shower, the one question he had never thought of before hit him smack in the face. Eva who? What was her last name? Where did she live? How could he reach her?

Tomorrow was Saturday; he would get a chain for his and Kate's Charms first thing. He would wear his charm always and soon, he had faith, soon he would connect with her again. Only this time they'd talk and he'd make arrangements to find her and bring her here, where she belonged.