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Weird, But Sweet (Complete Story, 1/18/23, Bonus Material added 1/25/23)


TQuintA

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1 hour ago, ploder4 said:

With how much fun they had destroying stuff during their sexcapade I have a feeling Mason might want Roy as big as humamly possible. Maybe try to beat Greg Kovacs size?

 

Although "poof goes the muscles" seems like a foreshadowing... if so, its not like Mason can't rebuild them.   Roy can help with that.

 

Now I gotta wonder if the pills could create some sort of protection against a curse reversal...

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I have to wonder... My guess is that Mason before the curse was more like a spindly 130 to 140 pounds. So imagine what would it would be like if the curse on Mason was reversed. Roy may end up 350 pounds at the least with potentially 14 inches of thick cock. Roy would be over 200 pounds heavier instead of 50 and his cock would be over 8 inches longer. Roy would probably be wary of breaking him.  

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Omg! You’ve out done yourself with each chapter! Thank you. I love The characters, the creativity, the detail and mostly the muscle growth. So real and sensual while maintaining a beast like element. Can’t wait for more! Thank you again. 

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I'm weighing in now before I get any more behind with the chapters and the comments:

I love the descriptions, the dialog and most of all, the episodes of Mason spouting off business details (in contrast to the body part stats).  The whole "big circle" of people in the know about the he-witchery is a nice touch.  Kinda makes me wonder what will happen when Gramps comes back ---- if  he does!

Truly a cut above all the other muscle growth authors out there!  Sorry guys....but TQuintA is in a league of his own!

 

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Chapter 41

            I went through my morning workouts, a little sad that this was my last day of intense muscle growth, but excited that Gramps’s abjuration would end in 24 hours.  But thinking about Gramps made me miss him and put me in a funk.  I tried distracting myself with my muscle growth, which reminded me today was my last day and put me in a different funk.  It was a vicious circle.  It didn’t diminish my effort, though; in fact, it may have increased it.

            The groupies who surrounded me that day could tell something was different, but none of them could put their finger on it.  Most guessed that my cycle was over and I was a little blue.  They weren’t entirely wrong.

            Carey came up to me after my first workout and leaned next to me.  I could tell from his posture that he was being genuinely friendly.  “Hey, Cake,” he said.  “I saw on Instagram that you fucked Mister 29 times yesterday.”

            “That you did,” I said.

            “I bow to the master,” he said, impressed.  “I also notice that your cock is getting bigger all the time,” he commented.

            “That it is,” I agreed.

            “And if I recall from lunch on Thursday, you’re doing something similar for Sammy Mercer?”

            “That I am,” I said.

            Quickly, he launched into, “I’ve got nothing to complain about, an extra thick six inches; I do well.  But I also told you I’m vain and want to be a big sexy muscle daddy to seduce young men.  How much…” he trailed off.

            “$100,000 a pill, plus my expenses.  Each pill grows you half an inch, and you can’t take more than one a day.  You have to take them immediately after I bless them.  If you get me all the supplies today, the earliest the pills could be ready is tomorrow.”

            Without hesitation, he said, “There will be a box of supplies delivered to your door by midnight and a million dollars in your escrow account by the end of banking Wednesday.”

            I was surprised how swimmingly that went.  He didn’t even blink.  “Text Zack for the supplies you’ll need.  This is the last time I’m modifying your body, Carey.”

            “Last time I’ll need it.”  He was about to walk away, when he said, “Oh, the mayor wants to meet you.  I told her all about you and Mister when she personally signed off on your permits, and she’s hoping she could talk you into doing some tourism commercials.  She’s seen the Instagram.  Photogenic gay couple who own two local businesses?  She’ll make it worth your while.  Mister should expect a call.”

            Just then, there was a loud scream.

            I rushed over to see what was happening.  This poor 18-year-old kid was gripping his shoulder, crying in pain.

            “I think he tore his rotator cuff,” his spotter said.

            “Get butter from the snack bar,” I said.

            “What?” he asked.

            “Do it!” I commanded.

            “Sorry, Cake.  Right away,” he said and ran off.

            When he came back with the butter, I turned to the injured man.  “Let me see it,” I ordered.

            “It hurts,” he said, whimpering and turning his shoulder away from me.

            “For now,” I said, turning him back and pulling down the strap of his tank top.  I rubbed butter into his shoulder and said the incantation under my breath.

            In seconds, he’d stopped crying.  Soon after, he was flexing his shoulder as if nothing had even happened.

            “How’d you do that?” he asked.

            “He tore his rotator cuff!” the spotter added.

            “He’d torn nothing,” I lied.  “He just needed a massage from a strong hand.”

            “Thank you, Cake,” the 18-year-old said.  “It hurt so bad.”

            “No prob, kid,” I said, affectionately rubbing his shoulder. “Be careful when you work out.”

            And they tentatively went back to their lifting.

            Carey came up beside me as I walked back to do my second workout.  I recognized that scheming look in his eye.

            To preempt him, I said, “No, Carey, you cannot hire me.  I will not charge people for emergency first aid.  I’ll help anyone who hurts themselves in front of me pro bono.  You ask me again, you can forget about your cock.”

            With that, Carey backed off and let me go back to my workout.

            When I got home for lunch, Mason was still asleep.

            I took my shower and let him sleep.  My shower took a little longer than it normally did because my biceps and lats fought each other, and scrubbing every inch of my ever-widening back involved some contortions that my current bulk prevented.  I got everything clean, but it was a challenge involving all my ingenuity.

            Surprisingly, Mason was still asleep when I finished.  Chuckling, I woke him up.  “You okay?” I asked.

            “Kayla sent me back upstairs to sleep it off.  I was no use to her downstairs, especially considering how slammed we were.”

            “You okay?” I repeated.

            “I’m still tired from yesterday,” he admitted.

            “I can heal it better,” I said, positioning my hands to massage him.

            “No,” he said, recoiling.

            “I did it several times yesterday.”

            “That was so we could keep going.  This is different.  I like this tired.  This is a good tired.  I earned this tired.”

            “Okay,” I said.  “You want to have lunch with me, or sleep some more?”

            “Sleep some more,” he said.

            “Alright,” I soothed, kissing him softly.  “Sleep well.  I’ll leave you some leftovers in the oven.  I made us a million dollars today.”

            I left the room to start lunch, and seconds later Mason was in the kitchen with me.

            “A million dollars?” he asked.

            “Thought that would get you to have lunch with me,” I said, smiling mischievously.  While we ate lunch, I explained to him what happened at the gym that morning: how Carey wanted an 11-inch cock, how I healed a boy’s shoulder, how Mason would be getting a call from the mayor.

            “You’ve had a whole day,” he said as he ate his lunch.

            “That’s what happens when you don’t sleep past noon.”

            As I was doing the dishes, my phone rang from the bedroom.

            “I’ll get it,” Mason said.  “Carey probably gave the mayor your number.”  I nodded in assent, but seconds later Mason came back into the kitchen with my phone.  “it’s for you.”

            I dried my hands and took the phone.

            “Hello,” I said.

            “Afternoon, Roy,” the familiar voice said.

            “Gramps!” I shouted enthusiastically. In an instant, I was practically crying from joy.  His voice warmed my heart.  “It’s so amazing to hear from you!  I thought the abjuration didn’t end until tomorrow!”

            “It ended five minutes ago,” he said through a chuckle.  “I should’ve done the math for you.”

            “I want to hear everything!  Everything!” I said, drying my eyes.  I felt fully me again.  I didn’t even realize how off I’d felt until I felt like myself again.

            “And I want to tell you everything, but I’d rather do it face to face.”

            “Yes, yes, yes!”  I wanted to jump up and down in excitement, but I didn’t want to punch any holes in the floor.  “Do you want to come here, or do you want Mason and me to come up to you?”

            “I’ll come there.  I’m a little wiped today, so I’ll come down first thing tomorrow.  I have to let my sub-letter know I’ll be moving back to the city, but then I’m all yours for the rest of the day.  I should get to the bakery at two in the afternoon.”

            “I can’t wait,” I said.  “I wish it was tomorrow already.”

            “I’ll see you then.  I just had to call you as soon as I could.”

            “Love you, Gramps.”  I blew him a goodbye kiss.

            “Love you too, Roy.”

            I hung up the phone.  “Gramps is coming tomorrow at 2.”

            “Does that mean you’re skipping your afternoon workouts today?”

            I scoffed.  “I’m working out even harder.  I’m gonna impress Gramps with how big I’ve gotten.”

            “Good,” Mason said, nodding in affirmation.  “I’ll tell Kayla you’re taking tomorrow afternoon off as well.”

            “She’s going to hate that.”

            “Sorry to burst your bubble, Roy,” Mason said, “but she doesn’t want you to come back.  She likes being in charge.  She’s going to try to talk you into taking an extended sabbatical while we get the second bakery up and running.  She’s going to suggest you focus on that and let her run the store.”

            “I will let her,” I admitted.  “When I worked at other people’s bakeries, I never got to make what I wanted.  The business part was always secondary to me.  I just like baking.”

            “And hooray for all of that, or you never would’ve met me.”  With a kiss, I was back out the apartment.

            My last three workouts of the day were particularly grueling, but especially in my meditative state, it gave me time to think.  Deep and long.

            When I got home for my last nightly weigh-in, I told Mason I’d made some decisions.                   “Lay ‘em on me,” he said as I stepped on the scale. 

            “With the million dollars I got out of Carey, I can hire and train a new Kayla.  A professional baker, even.  Teach them my tricks and recipes.  Have someone run each of the two bakeries while I just do my favorite parts.”

            “As long as you get them to sign a non-compete,” Mason said.  “351.4 pounds.”

            Looking down at my massive, impossible bulk, my pecs obscuring everything below them, I believed him.  I felt enormous: world-conqueringly powerful with strength and vitality coursing through every sinew.  And I looked even bigger than that.

            “Also, I’m going to try the flexibility spell,” I said, dropping my pants to unleash my growing dragon.  “See how effective it is without yoga.  If I have to do yoga to get it to work, I will.  But, frankly, I’d rather not.”

            “What brought this on?” Mason asked, tickling my balls.

            “I had trouble showering today,” I confessed.  “I couldn’t quite reach everything.  I was too big.  My body was too big to reach every part of my body.  It was thrilling in its own right: I’m almost too big to function.  But, as much as I love you, I want to be able to wipe myself.”

            “And I appreciate that,” Mason said.

            “Also, I want to take your cock up my ass again more regularly,” I admitted.

            “I thought as much” Mason said, “and 15, as expected.”

            “Any other big decisions you wanted to run past me?”

            “Nope,” I said.  “Those were the big two.”

            “Then let’s go to bed,” he said, yawning.

            I grabbed the hem of his sleeve, stopping him.  “No sex?” I asked.

            “Seriously, honey?  Seriously?  After yesterday’s marathon, you want to go again?”

            I nodded sheepishly.

            “I’m still tired from being fucked 29 times.”

            “Please,” I said meekly.

            “Fine,” he acquiesced.  “A quickie.”

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Chapter 42

            Gramps arrived exactly at 2 the following day.  We wanted the full effect of shocking him with our gargantuan sizes, so we’d had Danny meet him at the bakery and escort him upstairs.

            When Gramps came through the door, I was in the kitchen, getting him a cup of chamomile tea ready.

            I could feel him walk into the apartment.  He crackled with energy—red energy.    Without even looking at him, I could feel his presence from the kitchen.

            It was a sensation rife with contradiction. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, my arms puckered with gooseflesh, and the air took on an ozone tang.  I also felt a pleasant warmth throughout my body, and my shoulders relaxed as if I had stepped into a soothing bath.

            I stayed in the kitchen in part to wait for the water to heat up for Gramps’s tea and in part to feel the waves of Gramps’s raw essence wash over me from a distance.

            “Gramps,” Mason said from the living room.  “Good to see you again.”

            “Dear heavens,” Gramps said.  “You’ve gotten gigantic.  Impossibly gigantic.  In just two months.”  After a pause, Gramps added, “And you know about witchcraft now.  It’s just behind your eyes.”

            “Roy told me,” Mason agreed.

            “His truth to tell,” Gramps said.  “Let me look at you, now that you’re three times the size of the man I met.”  I could hear the floor creak as Mason turned around for Gramps.  “There’s some sort of glamour on you trying to make me not see the growth.  And are your clothes bewitched?  No, that’s you again.  What has happened?” he asked.

            “You’re the one who cursed Dalton,” Mason said with a chuckle.  “The rest was just us trying to compensate for that.”

            “My curse did this?” Gramps asked.  “It’s was just an Insecurity Circumflex.  A little one at that.  A flick on the nose because he was mean to you.”

            “What can I say?  Dalton is a ball of insecurities,” Mason said.  “You like?”

            “I know my grandson does,” Gramps obfuscated.  “It’ll finally give him permission to get as big as he can.”

            The kettle whistled, I poured the tea, and I headed out of the kitchen.

            At the same time, Mason said, “He already has,” pointing at me.

            When Gramps saw me, he nearly teetered over.

            I could’ve teetered over myself.  There was a gusty white light surrounding him, and red sparks sizzled and arced all over his skin.

            I put the mug of tea down and raced over to catch him.

            “My boy,” he said, holding me tight in a welcome hug.  “My darling grandson.  You might be the second biggest man I’ve ever seen, but you’re still my little boy.”

            “I’ve missed you so much, Gramps,” I said.  When I held him, the light and energy embraced me too.

            “It is so good to see you,” he added, attempting to stroke my massive, wide back.  “All of you.”

            Gramps and I just embraced like that for two minutes, wordlessly reveling in each other’s presence.

            We probably would’ve stayed that way forever, but Gramps suddenly broke the embrace and said, “Irises.”

            “What?” I asked.

            “Sorry, psychic flash.  I’ve been getting them since the abjuration ended.  Someone’s going to give you irises, and you must listen to what she has to say, even if you don’t want to.  Promise me you’ll listen to her.”

            “Okay,” I said, a little freaked out by his new ability.  “I promise.”

            “Good, now can an old man sit down?  The stairs were murder on my knees.”

            “Of course,” I said.  “Mason, help him to a chair.”  I then ran into the kitchen and grabbed some butter.  I raced back out into the living room and kneeled by Gramps.  I slowly rolled up his pant legs and worked the butter into his swollen knees, reciting my mother’s spell.  When I finished, I asked, “That better?”

            While I stayed kneeling, Gramps flexed his knees.  He even stood up an jumped a few times.  He looked down to me, smiling.  Then, just as suddenly, he collapsed back into the chair and started breathing heavily and crying.

            “Gramps?” I asked, concerned.  “Are you okay?  Is it your knees?”

            Gramps shook his head.  “My knees feel like they did when I was 20.  It was that spell.”  He looked me directly in the eyes, his own eyes wet.  “That was Katherine’s spell.”

            “It was,” I said.

            “You take after Katherine so much,” he said, squeezing my hands in bittersweet joy.  “You sound like her, you walk like her, you hold yourself like her.  You even look like her.”

            I looked down at my muscle-bloated chest and flexed while saying, “My mother was not a beefy dude with a beard.  You’ve shown me pictures.”

            “Your eyes and your smile, Roy.  Your eyes and your smile.”  He was about to start crying again.  “You look so much like her, and then that spell?  It was like my daughter was with me again.  I can see her all around you.”

            “Is this why you never talk about her?” I asked.

            He nodded.  “It’s too painful.  She was an amazing woman, and she died too young.  I should’ve told you she wanted to be a doctor.  I should’ve told you she was an amazing healer.  I should’ve told you a thousand things, but any time I spoke about her felt like razor scrape against my heart.  Can you forgive an old man?”

            “Of course,” I said.  “If you’ll tell me all about her now.”

            Gramps and I moved to sit down on the couch together, Mason joining us in his armchair (the one he could still fit into).

            I looked at the lightning sparking around Gramps and asked, “How are you not singing my furniture?”

            Gramps laughed.

            Mason seemed confused.  “What’s so funny?”

            I looked at Mason but pointed to Gramps.  “He looks like this, and he’s not setting our furniture on fire.  That’s funny.”

            “Looks like what?” Mason asked.

            “He can’t see it,” Gramps said as a particularly big spark shot off his right shoulder.  “He has no magic.”

            “See what?” Mason asked.

            “Gramps looks normal to you?” I asked him.  “Not like Raiden from Mortal Kombat?  But with red lightning?”

            Mason shook his head.

            I looked at Gramps but spoke to Mason.  “He looks extremely different now.  Trust me.”

            “Witch thing,” Mason said, nodding.  “Got it.”

            “How did you learn your mother’s spell?” Gramps asked, redirecting us.  “And does it have anything to do with how you got so muscular?  I don’t see a single spell on you.”

            “That’s kind of a long story,” I said.

            “I have all day,” he said, leaning back.  “And I haven’t spoken to anyone in nine weeks.”

            Mason handed Gramps the mug of tea, and I started explaining.

            “After Mason got huge from the curse you put on Dalton, I needed some magical help.  I knew how to do next to nothing, and I wasn’t going to call you.”

            “I would’ve come flying,” Gramps said.

            “I know,” I assured him.  “Which is why I wasn’t going to call.  I got help from Melody Janikowski.”

            Gramps made a noise of disgust.  “That woman.”  He made another noise of disgust.

            “Be nice.  She put the spells on Mason.”

            Gramps looked at Mason again.  “That’s Janikowski magic I’m seeing?”

            Mason nodded.

            Gramps made a small noise of amusement.  “Maybe people can change.  She did good work.”

            I sighed.  “Thinking back on it, I think she already knew who I was and just pretended to know nothing about me.  I think she was only helpful because she wanted me to join her coven.”

            “You didn’t!” Gramps said.

            “I went to one meeting and immediately saw why you protected me from them.”

            “Good,” Gramps said, rubbing my thigh affectionately.  “Elspeth, bless her heart, thought she could reform those people.  She and Katherine together—they barely made a dent.  That coven makes all witches look like monsters.”

            “I saw,” I said.  “But I’m glad I went nonetheless.”

            “Glad?” he asked.  Then, knowingly, he said, “They told you about your mother and that you’re a healing he-witch.”  I don’t know if he pieced it together from context clues or if this was another psychic flash.  “They really wanted you to join.”

            “They gave me mom’s book,” I said, getting up to fetch it.

            “Those assholes had it?” he asked angrily, his nostrils flaring.  He followed me into the bedroom; Mason trailed after him.

            “Did I just hear my grandfather swear?” I asked, taking the book off my nightstand.

            “Fucking right, you did,” he said.  “I’ve been looking for this book since your mother’s funeral.  I thought maybe I’d buried it with her by accident.  Those fucking charlatans stole it from me?”

            “Is that why you never told me about it?” I asked.

            Gramps shrugged while flipping through the book.  “It felt cruel to tell you about it if I didn’t have it.”  He flipped through a little more quickly.  “Besides, I don’t think she finished writing it before she died.”

            “She did,” I said confidently.

            Gramps looked at me confused, then back at the book.  An insight came to him.  “I have to test something.  Humor an old man.”  He flipped to a page and showed it to Mason.  “What is this a spell for?” he asked, tapping a specific spell.

            “How to treat a severe stab wound,” Mason said.

            Gramps showed me the same spell.  “Do you agree?”

            I nodded.

            Gramps then flipped to another page and showed it to both Mason and me.  “What is this a spell for?” he asked, tapping to the top left corner.

            “How to treat chronic heartburn,” I said.

            Mason looked at me, a little scared.  “The whole page is blank,” he said.

            “No, it’s not,” I insisted.  “That’s a spell for how to treat debilitating, chronic heartburn.  The ingredients include oatmeal and yams, and some medicinal plants I’ve never heard of.  And there’s an incantation.  Plain as day in my mother’s handwriting.”

            Gramps handed the book to Mason.  “How many spells do you think are in this book?”

            Mason thumbed through the book passively.  “I don’t need to count again.  I already did one day while Roy was at the gym.  There are exactly 30.”

            Gramps took the book and handed it back to me.  “How many spells are actually in this book?”

            “Hundreds,” I said, dumbfounded at how wrong Mason was.  “There are hundreds.  I’m still working my way through it.”

            “Your mother wanted you to have this book,” Gramps said.  “I don’t think she ever trusted the coven.  Unless a spell can save someone’s life immediately, only you can read it.  Even with all my newfound powers, I can’t.  I can just tell she enchanted the book.”

            “Is that why you’ve been reading this thing so closely?” Mason asked, relieved.  “I thought you were staring at an empty book because you never properly grieved your mother.”

            “Magic is so cool,” I said, trying to imagine what everyone else saw.

            Gramps looked me up and down again.  “Was there a spell in there to increase muscle mass?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice and a knowing look on his face.

            “Not really,” I said, sitting on the bed and beckoning Gramps to join.  Once he sat, I continued, “Since I learned I’m a healing he-witch, I’ve just intuited a lot of things about healing magic.  I took a spell she did write and modified it.  I just knew what would work in the context of the recipe.”

            “Your baking!” he shouted, so enraptured that he stood back up.  “Your baking!  I never made the connection before!”

            I nodded.

            “No one in the family can cook worth a damn,” he said to Mason, then he turned to me adding, “and you started making me dinner when you were five.  I never taught you to cook, Roy.  I can barely make toast.  She was a doctor; you’re a baker.  But it’s the same gift.  The same intuition.  I never stood a chance of giving you the he-witch education you deserved.  You are your mother’s son.”  He sat back down on the bed next to me.

            “Tell me about her.  Please.”

            For the next three hours, Gramps regaled me with stories of my mother.  Once he allowed himself to talk about her, it was as if a dam had burst and all the stories he kept locked inside came flooding out.  She was a generous, charitable, and kind woman.  It turns out we did have a lot in common.  She was a goofball, just like me, who never really acted like an adult even after she started working at the hospital.  She was a bad housekeeper who was bad with money.  It turns out, we even found similar men attractive.

            “Katherine liked the hunky bad boys,” Gramps said.  “Your grandmother, may she rest in peace, fought with her all the time about it.  If he had big biceps and a leather jacket, Katherine was in love.”

            “Then my father?” I asked, flexing my arm.

            “Billy Whitaker was an overly muscled gym rat wastrel who couldn’t keep his pants on.  I walked in on them going at it like cats in heat at least a dozen times.  It’s like he couldn’t lock a door, and he was always randy.”  By this point, we’d moved on from tea to bourbon, and Gramps was getting a little feisty.  “Your mother was too good for him.  She said he was a rebellious spirit with a beautiful soul.  He was a self-centered dipshit.  He had exactly three virtues: he was a handsome idiot, he could please her in bed, and he was good at lifting heavy objects.”

            “You did have the same taste in men,” Mason snarked.

            “I fell in love with you before you were good at lifting heavy objects,” I reminded him.

            “I meant Dalton,” Mason said.

            “When I saw you had an eye for the bigger men,” Gramps said, “I thought, ‘Here we go again.’  But, unlike your mother, you chose wisely.”

            I squeezed Mason’s hand.

            “I wish Katherine had met someone like your Mason,” Gramps said, stroking Mason’s cheek paternally.  “She might still be alive.”

            “She died of kidney disease, not a bad husband,” I said.  “And if she couldn’t heal herself, there was nothing you could’ve done.”

            “I don’t know why she loved him, or took his last name for that matter,” Gramps said.

            “You really hated him,” I laughed.

            “Billy was her undoing.  She got married too quickly, and—I’m not blaming you, Roy—she got pregnant too soon.  He was out the door before the pregnancy test came back positive.  If your grandmother hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve cursed him bad.”

            “Enough about Billy,” I said.  “Tell me more about Mom.”

            I heard about her high school prom.  Her love of Swedish films.  The party they threw when she got into med school.  How drunk she got at that party.  How, when she was a little girl, she used to find injured stray animals, heal them, and bring them home.  How happy she was when she saw me for the first time.  How she loved me so hard it physically hurt her.  How I barely ever cried because she could just predict what I needed before even I knew I needed it.  How she hovered over me like a hawk when I started crawling.  How she could literally kiss my cuts and scrapes and make them better.  Once we banished all thoughts of Billy, there were only happy stories.  It was like she was alive again.

            “She sounds like an amazing woman,” I said when I heard about her work at the children’s hospital.

            “She was.”

            “I feel shallow now,” I said.  “I have this amazing gift she gave me, a gift she used to help people.  And I’m using it on shallow things like making my muscles bigger.”

            “And your pecker,” Gramps said.

            I blushed, embarrassed.

            “Like I didn’t notice,” he said.  Then, he refilled his bourbon glass and said, “If it makes you feel better, you are your mother’s son.”

            “Meaning?” I asked.

            “Every loser she dated for more than a month ended up with an additional 10-30 pounds of muscle and a noticeable bulge in his too-tight jeans.”

            “Really?” I asked.      

            “Yeah, and she dated guys who were big to begin with.  She was pretty enough to land any man she wanted.  You can help people and be shallow,” Gramps said.  “They’re not mutually exclusive.  Billy was damn near your size by the time they divorced; and they were only married for six months.”

            The only explanation I could think of is that she and I both used the Veridical Transfiguration the exact same way.  Wow.  That somehow made me feel closer to her.

            “Imagine how big Dalton would be if you’d had these skills when you dated him,” Mason said.

            The thought made my mind reel.

            When dinner time rolled around, I said, “Didn’t you come visit to talk about your abjuration?” I teased.

            “I sat in an empty house alone for nine weeks,” he said.  “This was better.”

            We were about to sit down to dinner, but there was a knock at my door.

            Mason opened it, surprised to find Julie.  “Hi, Julie.  Can this wait?  We have company.”

            Julie forced her way in.

            She was holding a bouquet of irises. 

            “What do you have to say?” I asked her.

            “Are you related to Katherine Morrow?” she asked.

            “How do you know that name?” I asked, genuinely curious.

            “Are you related to Katherine Morrow?” she repeated.

            “I am,” I said.

            “These are for you,” she said, handing me the flowers.  “I met her when I was a little girl.  I couldn’t have been more than three years old.  I was very sick and in the hospital.  She was there as a student, I think.  She wasn’t a doctor, but she saved my life.  My parents say my memory is playing tricks on me, that it was the doctors who saved me.  But I know what I remember.  Katherine made the medicine better somehow.  She cured me.”

            “I’m glad to hear it,” I said, my heart warming.

            “I put flowers on her grave once a month,” she said.  “These are irises from my garden.  When I got older, I looked her up to thank her.  I learned she’d married a man named William Whitaker and then passed shortly after.  Whitaker’s a common enough last name.  I never connected her to you or Mason.”

            “She was my mother.”

            “I thought as much.”  Julie inched closer to me.  “You can do it too,” she said.

            “Do what?” I asked innocently.

            “Heal people.  You did it for my cousin Hunter.”

            “I don’t know a Hunter,” I said.

            Julie looked slightly exasperated.  “He’s 18.  He’s gay.  He goes to your gym.  You healed his shoulder.”

            She had me.  I did do that.  “I didn’t…”

            “He tore his rotator cuff,” she said urgently.

            “He just…”

            She interrupted me.  “He tore it months ago.  He wasn’t supposed to be at the gym.  We forced him to go to the doctor’s when he told us what happened.  It’s like he never tore it.  It’s all better.  He told me the story.  He kept calling you Cake.  It made no sense.  As soon as he said the name ‘Roy Whitaker,’ the rest fell into place.  You’re Katherine’s son; you had to be.  It was the only explanation.”

            “I’m glad he’s better,” I said.

            “Your secret’s safe with me,” she assured me.  “But if you ever need anything—a loan from the bank, meat from my husband’s butcher shop, one of my kidneys, anything—just let me know.”

            My mother was an amazing woman.  I had to honor her memory by continuing in her footsteps.  “You don’t have to keep it a secret,” I said.  “If you know someone who needs me, you can tell them.”  After a pause, I added, “No guarantees, though.  I can only promise that I’ll try.”

            “You are your mother’s son,” she said, eerily echoing Gramps’s words.  “She said that exact thing to me when she made me better.”

            I suddenly felt deeply, deeply grounded in my powers in a way I never had before.

            Julie was about to leave, but Gramps stopped her.

            “Buy your daughter a violin,” he said.

            “What?” Julie asked.

            “Buy your daughter a violin,” he repeated.

            “Daughter?  I don’t have a daughter,” she said.

            Mason cleared his throat.  “You are pregnant.”

            “It’s too early to know if we’re having a boy or a girl, or…”

            “Buy your daughter a violin,” I said to her.  “That’s my Gramps, Katherine’s father.”

            “I’m buying her a violin,” she said, placing her hand on her stomach and quickly leaving.

            “See, Roy?” Gramps said.  “You can be shallow and help people.  Just like your mother.”  As I closed the door, he added, “I just have one question.”

            “Shoot,” I said.

            “Cake?” he asked.

            “The men at Roy’s gym call him Cake and me Mister,” Mason explained simply.

            “I love it,” Gramps said.  “I am definitely calling my grandsons Cake and Mister.”

            “Grandsons?” Mason asked, putting extra emphasis on the final S.

            “You heard me, Mister,” Gramps said with a wink.

            “They gave us those nicknames because we’re the biggest guys there,” I explained.  “The names are a half-respectful, half-teasing inside joke.  It’d be weird if you called us that too.”

            “But sweet,” Mason said sternly, poking me with his elbow.

            I conceded defeat with a half-smile.  Gramps beamed broadly.

            “You don’t mind that I told her she could tell my secret, are you?” I asked.

            “My magic is curses,” Gramps said.  “That’s the sort of thing you keep under your hat.  You’re a healing he-witch,” he tapped my chest.  “That’s the sort of thing you tell the world.  It’s not a secret to hide in the closet.”

            “Thanks, Gramps,” I said.

            “So, Cake,” he asked, “what’s for dinner?”

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TQuinta - this is by far my favorite story that you’ve created.  I love all your stories, but this one just hit a soft spot.  From the story to the muscle growth to the relationship between Roy and Mason, it seemed so realistic.  Your ability to craft characters that seem like old friends is simply amazing.  While I’m sad that the journey is over, I’m thankful for it.  Hopefully one day we can revisit these  and other characters you’ve come up with - but whatever you write will be an instant classic.  Thanks again! 

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