Sussie Sironen shut the blinds against an early July full moon and eased into a rocker, propping her bare feet on a stool. With Grandma gone, these nights were getting harder and harder to get through alone. Even though the cottage was far from the village, now and then a few tomcats trekked here and caterwauled outside. She couldn't understand why they persisted now that the female Siamese her grandmother left her had been spayed. Cleo's ears laid back as she listened, no longer thrilled by the calls of her feline suitors. But still the toms came courting at times--always during the full moon.
In contrast to Cleo, who had suitors she didn't want or need, Sussie had none. Zero. A strawberry blond and decent-looking, she had no trouble meeting guys, but after the first date she never heard from them again. A few had kissed her, but not one had made a serious attempt to get into her bed. She wouldn't have allowed it on the first date, but that was beside the point. Grandma had insisted it was not her fault, that she was a sweet girl and not guilty of being anything but herself. If true, she figured "herself" must be damned unlikable, not to mention having no sex appeal at all.
Her sigh caused Cleo glance at her, and she stared into the beautiful blue eyes of the Siamese. Eyes the same color as hers, though Cleo's ancestors came from the hot sands of Egypt and hers from Finland's frozen northland. The cat looked at her intently, as she often did, as though trying to communicate. Sussie shook her head--a fanciful notion.
Too restless to sit, she got up and paced. If only she could understand why she had this urge to fling off her clothes and run out into the moon-drenched night. It hadn't happened when her grandmother was alive. Grandma Metsa had always found tasks for her to do when the full moon was high, or told stories of ancient times in Finland, when Vainomoinen and Ihlimarinen walked the land. And then there were stories about Louhi, the witch who ruled the dark and dismal north.
"You are like the third daughter of Louhi," her grandma often said. "The first two were so beautiful all men lusted after them. But the third, it's told, was a foster daughter Louhi found as a wee child in the snow one night. No one knew the girl's origins. Her eyes were a deep, strange blue like yours and her hair reddish instead of pale like the Finns or the black hair of the Lapps. It's said men feared her."
So were men afraid of Sussie Sironen? Hard to believe, but something was wrong. She wasn't like Louhi's third daughter, a child dropped on her parents' doorstep. They'd been killed in an accident when she was four, so she didn't remember them at all, but her grandmother assured her they'd loved her and that she was the image of her father. Heaven knows she was no witch, either, or a noita, one of those old Finn sorcerers who could do magic. She was a medical transcriptionist--a completely mundane job.
As she paced, she wondered if she should enter the room that had been her grandmother's and go through the childhood ritual Grandma Metsa had insisted on when the moon came full. She'd stopped it after her grandmother died. What had been mysterious and exciting when she was a little girl now made her feel foolish. First pick up the little cedar cat that stood on top of the wooden box. Remove the key from under the box. Unlock and open it. Hold the cat in the palms of both hands as though offering it to something or someone.
Place the cat inside the box. While relocking it and hiding the key underneath, chant the Finnish words Grandma had taught her: Täysikuu taivaalla, pidä kissa sisällä.
Because she'd insisted, Grandma Metsa had told her what the words meant in English: Full moon in the sky, lock up the cat.
Once she was grown, she had continued the nonsense ritual to please her grandmother. During her infrequent absences, she knew the old woman did it for her, holding the cat in a tattered rag doll that little Sussie used to sleep with.
The cat was always on top of the box the next time the moon was full. Little Sussie thought it was magic, but growing older taught her there was no such thing. She knew her grandmother took the cat out, though she never caught her doing so.
Sussie shook her head. Why resume a useless ritual that had no effect?
Then a new sound startled her. A caterwaul, yes, but no tomcat ever made that sound. She tilted her head to listen.
Damn! She'd peeled off her T-shirt without even being aware of what she was doing. Why on earth had she done that? As she reached to pick the shirt off the floor, the cry changed, cajoling, drawing her, inviting her to strip and run out under the moon. To join--what?
Must be a cougar, she told herself. The Michigan DNR wouldn't confirm that cougars roamed any part of the state, but she knew people who had seen one in this area of the Upper Peninsula. She'd be crazy to go outside with a cougar around.
Even as she thought this, she found her hand on the back door lock. She drew back, alarmed, but still the call came. Come, the cry urged, mental pictures forming in her head. Come out and dance with me under the moon.
No man had ever invited her to moon dance. But what she heard was certainly not a man.
Yet how could a cougar call to her in her mind? What was out there in the summer night? Maybe she was going crazy.
Instead of being frightened, the sound enticed her. Naked under the moon? How exciting. She unhooked her bra and let it drop. She discarded her shorts and bikinis, unlocked the door, open it and stared out into the moonlit dark.
She caught sight of--what? Tawny, like a cougar, but the wrong shape. Was it actually standing on its hind legs? Whatever it might be, the creature slipped into shadow before she could do more than catch a glimpse. Shaken, Sussie slammed the door shut and clicked the lock. What if she'd actually gone out there? The thought chilled her, made her realize she hadn't a stitch on. Whatever had she been thinking?
The safest thing she could think of was to go to bed and distract herself by playing CDs and reading. Grabbing up her discarded clothes, she hurried to her bedroom, followed by Cleo and dropped a Dixieland Jazz CD on the player. The cat watched as she flung on her nightgown, waited until she turned on her bedside light, shut off the overhead and climbed into bed. Before Sussie could choose a book from the stack on the table next to the bed, Cleo leaped up, settled on the pillow next her and began to purr an accompaniment to Pete Fountain's clarinet.
Sussie sighed. While Cleo was a lovable comfort, a cat shouldn't be the only bedmate a woman her age had ever had. Picking a book at random, she forced her attention to the first page. Reading distracted her, and eventually made her drowsy. She put the book down, turned off the light and let sleep claim her...
Moonlight silvered the world, forming a moonglade on the waters of Lake Superior. Beautiful. Still, that shining path didn't tempt her. She'd been invited to dance under the moon--where was her partner? Naked, she padded down to the sand beach and began to twirl and spin, feeling as light as dandelion fluff, as if her feet found the right steps she might dance on air.
She needed a partner, though. Not just any partner, only the right one would do. He was near; she could sense him, though he remained hidden. She called out, not in words. Surely when he heard her lonely wail, he'd appear. Hadn't he called to her first?
Something touched her face caressingly. Why couldn't she see him? She reached for him--and touched soft fur. He purred into her ear...
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