Spell Cat by Tara Lain Page 0,77
like the name Alvin. And since I kind of grew into my ears, I thought I might change to my middle name. Would that be okay?”
Chen shrugged. “Sure. It’ll be tough to get used to, but I can try. What’s the name?”
“Ryder.”
Sammy stopped. Bloody fucking hells. Pictures of the new, improved Alvish riding his ass with what was likely his new and improved cock almost sent Sammy into an orgasm.
Alvish call-me-Ryder looked at him. “You all right?”
Sammy started to walk again. “Sure. I thought of something I need to do later.” That would be to get away from this dream walking, can’t-ever-have-him friend before he blew in his jeans.
They came up on the history building. Alvish/Ryder stopped. “So I’ll see you guys in Dr. Barth’s class, okay?”
Sammy waved. “Laters.”
Chen nodded toward Ryder and kept walking with Sammy. “Can you believe it? Man, if I didn’t know he was human, I’d think that change was downright supernatural.”
“Yeah. Me too. But if he was a witch, Killian would know. Hell, you’d know.” Sammy wouldn’t know, since he couldn’t discern a witch from a groundhog.
Chen gazed up at Sam. “How’d you know about him changing? You didn’t see him.”
“One of my paintings.”
“No shit?”
Sammy nodded. “First time the prophecy ever applied to me. But even this prophecy was no great shakes. I would have seen Alvish—I mean Ryder—as soon as I got here anyway, so what difference did painting it make? Except to wreck a night’s sleep.”
Chen grinned. “I think it’s cool.”
“Cool and useless. I might as well be human.”
Chen grinned. “Human like Ryder? You still got a crush on him?”
Sammy walked into the big open art studio. He loved the smell of paint, turpentine, and linseed oil. He looked at Chen beside him. “Like I said, useless.”
Two hours later, after a life class where Sammy got to stare at a fat guy’s penis and realize it was the only one he’d seen in months except his own, he walked into the History of Mystical Practice class with Chen. Ryder waved from the fifth row, and they moved down the steps to join him. This was as close as any male could get to the front row, since all the young females flocked forward to sigh over the mystically beautiful Dr. Killian Barth. Even now, when all of them knew that Dr. Barth was gay and married to Dr. Blaine Genneau, they couldn’t resist mooning over him. Yep, he was that pretty.
Said professor was currently pulling some papers out of his briefcase at the front of the class, his waist-length, dark blond hair lying in a tail over his shoulder. Prancing around the long table beside the lectern, circling Dr. Barth’s motorcycle helmet like it was some kind of Druidic ceremonial stone, was a black cat. Not just a cat, of course, but the most powerful witch’s familiar on earth. Aloysius, inseparable companion of the Witch Master.
Aloysius fascinated Sammy. Knowing the beast looked like a cat but was actually so much more played with Sammy’s mind. While he hadn’t seen it himself, he’d heard reports of Aloysius screaming down the lightning from Killian’s shoulder when they defeated the head of the Witches’ Council who was trying to control the future of witchery through deceit and manipulation. Total feline scariness.
Killian stepped up to the lectern. Sammy glanced back at the rows and rows of students who had filled in behind him. Dr. Barth sure was popular.
“Good morning, and welcome to the History of Mystical Practice. Is everyone in the right place?”
One girl sighed “Oh yes,” and everyone laughed.
Killian smiled. “Please put your notebooks down, place your feet flat on the floor, rest your hands in your lap, and close your eyes.”
Sammy glanced at Ryder and Chen, who both looked as mystified as Sammy felt. Sammy closed his eyes.
Killian’s voice sounded soothing. “Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
Much wushing and hissing filled the room.
“And another one. Now keep your eyes closed but look upward, as if you could see the spot between your eyebrows. Stare at that spot. If your mind wanders, just bring it back to that spot.”
Light. Wow. Like somebody had turned on a bulb in Sammy’s forehead. No, more like a candle, because it felt warm. The warmth spread up through his head until it reached the top of his skull. Then it seemed to reverse and started to pour like oil down over his brain. Gods, it felt so good. Silky, sweet, soothing. He let