After dinner, while the kids took their baths and got ready for bed, I sat on the couch reading another of my grandmother’s journals. When she wrote this, she was pregnant with her second child — my Aunt Rena. She didn’t mention other witches, being able to sense magic from anyone around her, or any magic my Aunt Ti or Aunt Rena might have. This fascinated me, as I had tracked my own pregnancy at least in part by monitoring the twins’ magic.
She did know how far along in her pregnancy she was, though, and that she was having a girl — “Spiro is certain that I’m wrong, that this time we will have a healthy boy to carry on his name. Perhaps next time, if there is a next time.”
I flipped through the pages, looking for more reason she might doubt that there would be a next time. What caught my eye was, “But what if I kill him?”
I stopped to read the full paragraph. “Today, I gave him some more of the tea from last October, the one that encouraged him to listen to me. That worked again today. But what if I kill him? I don’t think I can do this again.”
Kill him? What kind of tea was she giving him? Relief flashed over me that Matt had never seen these pages. The last thing I needed was for him to be even more convinced that magic always equaled death. Clearly she hadn’t killed him, since he’d been around to conceive my mom, but I flipped back to find October. I didn’t remember reading about any special tea.
October wasn’t in the journal. It went from September to November, which I vaguely remembered noticing before, but as Grandma had sometimes skipped a couple of weeks between entries, it hadn’t bothered me much at the time. A closer look showed that some pages had been cut out. I knew there weren’t any loose pages in any of the books I had, but that didn’t mean the pages were gone forever.
I went out to the kitchen to call my parents. I was in luck — my dad answered. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up? You’re not planning on bailing on brunch, are you? Pretty sure Haris can handle your aunts.”
“As if that would do me any good. Since you’re the one who extended the invitation, I believe Haris would show up whether I could or not.” And likely charm my aunts either way.
He laughed. “I like Haris more all the time. So what do you need?”
I could’ve bantered with him more, asked whether I couldn’t just call my parents to talk — but we both knew that didn’t happen, even though he urged me to call more often. Mom always assumed if I was calling, it was because something was wrong, so I’d stopped even trying. I loved her dearly, but we definitely had an arms’-length relationship.
“Those journals you gave me last month.”
“Hang on a second.” I heard a door close on his end, and then he spoke again. “I don’t know any more than what she wrote in there. Not exactly a topic of conversation, you know.”
We’d already talked about Mom and her sisters never having seen the journals. Grandma had given them to Dad before she died, saying that he should read them after she was gone, and he would know whether to pass them on to any children. I still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask why he’d waited this long to pass them on to me, and now wasn’t the time, either.
“I get that. I was wondering if there was any more that went with them.”
His sigh was the heavy one he’d always gotten when he was trying to protect me from something. “I’d rather not give you the ones from her decline.”
I could imagine. Or rather, I couldn’t, because I’d been told she died of pneumonia, and any decline was news to me, but I wasn’t going to get sidetracked right now. “Loose papers, pages that looked like they might have been cut out?”
“Oh, that section.” I was amused to hear him tapping his fingers against a table or desk, his habit when he was trying to stall or come up with a plausible story when he was talking with either Mom or me.
“So you do know where they are?” Suspicion seized me. “Wait — did you cut them out?”
“Me? Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, but you seem rather reluctant to let me have them.”
“Do you let the twins have everything they want?”
“Dad. This is different, and you know it.”
“Okay. I don’t know for sure what’s in them. I don’t think I was even supposed to find them — your grandmother stuffed them inside a pillow, and I only found them because it caught on a nail and ripped.”
“She didn’t destroy the pages. She could’ve burned them if she never wanted someone to read them.”
“But she didn’t tell me where they were, either.”
I couldn’t think of a good argument for that. So I told him the truth. “Maybe I don’t need to see them. You’ve read these, so you might know. I’m at the point where she’s pregnant with Aunt Rena.”
“Ahhhhhh.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “She didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Mostly, I’m worried about consequences, how things tie together, what she knew that I don’t.”
He laughed at my plaintive words. “I imagine there’s quite a lot in that last category, especially since she was a nurse and you just about faint at the sight of blood. In fact, didn’t Beth say you did faint at that big accident?”
The “big accident” he was referring to had been on Tremont Street, jamming things for blocks in every direction, with dozens of people flooding the hospitals. And I’d fainted both because I’d expended a good bit of my magic to cause it — and because I was responsible for how many people were hurt. The only way that day counted as a success was that I prevented someone from dying. I was certain that wasn’t enough.
I didn’t tell Dad any of that, though. “I was fine when Jason’s arm broke.”
“I just bet you were.” The humor was more of an undercurrent now. “I thought you were very restrained by not breaking it again when your mother invited him to brunch.”
“I? Break it? I heard he fell out of his bedroom window.”
“Such a shame.”
I grinned, even though he couldn’t see me. Then I became serious again. “You knew Grandma, and I didn’t.”
“Something about her dying before you were born,” he agreed.
“Would she have kept them without thinking they could be needed? Was she reluctant to throw out anything that might be useful someday?”
“Was she like me, you mean?” There was no heat in his voice, only wry recognition. “No, she kept things clean and spare.”
“So there’s a reason she kept those pages.”
He sighed. “Maybe. And since she didn’t give them to me with the rest of her journals, I was probably not meant to see them. Fine, I’ll give them to you when you’re here for brunch. I hope they have what you’re looking for.”
I hoped so, too. I hadn’t been lying when I said I wanted to know about consequences, particularly for spells that affected people’s attitudes, like the one I’d cast on Clay. I wanted Grandma to have some answers for me, or at least more details. I forced a smile into my voice. “Thanks, Dad.”
The false cheer probably didn’t fool him. He knew me too well.
Rather than saying anything about that, however, he changed the subject. “Your aunts are pretty determined to find you somewhere to live.”
“More than Mom is?”
“I think she’s waiting to see how things work out with you and Haris. No point in trying to get you to move closer to home if you’re going to be moving again soon anyway.”
“I can’t even … Dad, I am so not ready to have that conversation.”
“Since when has that stopped your mother?”
“Aunt Ti and Aunt Rena aren’t backing her up on this?”
“They haven’t met Haris yet, so they have no incentive to start planning your wedding.”
“To what?” One of the twins thumped the wall as they turned over, disturbed by my screech, and with great effort, I reined myself in. “Tell me she’s not really doing that. Please!”
His chuckle was all t
he answer I really needed, but he said, “By the way, do you happen to know if Haris is Greek Orthodox?”
After a couple of splutters, I managed to answer. “We haven’t discussed it.”
This was true as far as it went — the only gods we discussed were those lending their power as patrons to witches — but I would be very surprised if Haris was. If someone was immortal and magical, what need did they have for a creator to worship? On the other hand, I still believed in God, despite my magic, despite knowing about gods and goddesses and sundry immortals. Which meant I didn’t know what Haris — or anyone else — believed.
“You might want to check into that before she has you marching up the aisle.”
“I would say you’re kidding, but I know Mom too well. Is she going to at least let me choose my own dress?”
“Maybe you and Haris could get matching dresses.”
Wouldn’t that make my aunts have fits! “I’ll keep that in mind. And set aside those pages for me, if you don’t mind.”
His grumble told me he hoped I had forgotten.
“If there’s anything earlier, I’d appreciate that, too. Seems a little odd that she started journaling the day before she got married.”
“Marriage can do strange things to you.”
Which didn’t actually address whether those other journals existed.
Chapter 12
Finding someone to teach me healing magic hadn’t been quite as easy as Maggie had thought. She had talked to a devotee of Asclepius, a witch who attended meetings even less frequently than I did, but he’d refused to teach me anything unless I pledged to Asclepius as well. Esoteric knowledge, protecting the mysteries, all that. I understood the reasoning, but I’d still needed a teacher.
Maggie’s next suggestion was that I go back and visit Cheiron College weekly and learn from a centaur who had learned from Chiron. I was impressed by the longevity of the species, but that sort of trip wasn’t going to fit into my already packed schedule, not without giving something else up, so I asked for another suggestion. She didn’t have any.
Carole had come to my rescue. “You remember me telling you about the male gorgon I met who didn’t know what he was? Turns out we were both confused. They are not male, but they are a gorgon — and a gorgon who cares a lot about both mental and physical health. I think Chris can help you, and they’ve moved here to Boston.”
Based on her mention of mental health, I think she wanted Chris to help me with my acceptance of what I’d done at least as much as to help me with learning to heal, but I hadn’t asked. Instead, I’d accepted her introduction and set up a weekly meeting with Chris on Thursdays. Which meant today was our second meeting.
Chris worked in the ICU at Tufts, and just as they had last time, they came in wearing scrubs. Today they sat down underneath some of the art and pulled out a book. Chris wasn’t what I’d imagined a gorgon would look like — sandy brown hair with a bit of a wave and nary a snake in sight, hazel eyes that showed no trace of contacts (polarized or not), and the sure movements of someone who knew exactly where they had to go and why. I wondered whether someone with the Sight might get a different impression of Chris, but I hadn’t asked Carole or any of the others I knew with that gift. I wanted to judge Chris on their own merits.
The coffee shop wasn’t in the middle of a rush, but we were busy enough that it took me some time to wander over to their table. At least they’d brought something to keep themself occupied. And no one was sitting close enough to overhear our conversation.
When I finally got to the table, I asked, “Did you need a refill before I sit down?”
They shook their head. “Just stopping in is a pick-me-up.” Referring to the ward, which witches and magical creatures both reacted to. After I sat, Chris added, “I don’t know why you think you need tutoring in healing. The coffee shop is ample evidence that you know more than you say you do.”
“I make it up as I go along and hope that it works. I need to know.”
A shrug. “That sounds like the history of medicine. Things work because they work. A lot of the time, that’s good enough.”
“Not even close.” I shook my head vehemently. “Not when my power can stop someone’s heart or send a surge through their nervous system. I used to worry that I would accidentally fry someone’s brain. If I actually start poking at things, who knows what might happen?”
“Perhaps you should have taken anatomy and physiology in college, then.”
“And have to dissect things?” I shuddered. “No, thank you.”
“Most of it is done virtually now.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s still blood and guts, and I’m not interested.”
“If you change your mind, let me know. I can hook you up with a simulator program that will help you to localize what you’re trying to affect.”
I made a noncommittal grunt, but in time, I’d probably accede. If I didn’t want to hurt people, I needed the best grounding I could get.
“Did you meditate?”
A bubble of humor tickled my chest. My homework and Tina’s were so very similar, but my habits were closer to Gavin’s. I tried to practice more than he did, but I wasn’t sure I was any better. Okay, that wasn’t completely true — I’d made an effort to meditate twice this week. That was something, right? But actually worse than what I expected from him.
It wasn’t even as though the meditation was difficult. I only had to focus on my magic, feel where it was in my body, how it moved. Nothing complicated about that, right? Just like feeling your blood pump — and just like feeling my own pulse, I wasn’t very good at it. I knew spots, surges, pounding, my reaction to others’ magic, what being absolutely depleted felt like — and just thinking about this list made me realize that I was making excuses. I knew my magic; I simply wasn’t used to paying attention to it at rest.
Chris was still looking expectantly at me. I hadn’t answered their question.
“It’s not helping,” I protested. “I don’t feel anything the way you said I should. Not unless I’m doing something.”
“So you’re going to give up?”
My shoulders straightened. “Of course not!” I was much too stubborn to give up that easily. Or at all.
“Good.” They pushed their book aside with the back of their hand, then extended their hands palm up across the table. “Let’s see if you can push a little of your power into me.”
What would anyone who knew I was dating Haris think of me holding hands with Chris while I practiced? What they thought shouldn’t bother me — Haris knew the truth — but I didn’t want to let anyone think I could hurt Haris. I left my hands in front of me, not touching Chris. I knew how to move my magic; I’d shoved a ton of it into the crack at Logan, but I’d needed Sverth’s support to do it then. Could I do it now without touching Chris?
I exhaled slowly, letting my power trickle outward, picturing Chris as a grounding wire, a conduit for my magic because they were used to magic. A spark jumped back at me, startling me but not hurting, followed by Chris’s soothing presence, warm light bathing my hands. The connection went both ways.
“Told you you’re better at this than you think.” They gave me a crooked smile, and the flow of magic stopped. “I need to get back to work. You’re doing fine. Keep practicing until next time.”
I started to get up, but remembered my promise to Maggie and sat back down.
“Yes?” Chris raised their eyebrows.
“Do you know Carole’s niece, Maggie?” If they knew her, this would be so much easier.
They shook their head. “No. You’re the first person Carole’s introduced me to. She knew I wasn’t really happy with the community back home, so I think she’s been giving me space to find myself here.”
By “the community,” I assumed they meant the group of witches — and possibly other magical creatures, given their own family ties. I knew there had been some disagreements there, as Carole had gone to try to prevent the witches from going
public. I guessed that Chris had been on the side of secrecy, since Carole was willing to vouch for them.
“Ah. Would you like to meet more? We have a weekly gathering at Maggie’s house, and she made me promise to invite you. Right after she made me promise to practice healing more. I think she wants to check up on me.”
“She worries about you.”
“She worries about everybody. She does her best to mother the whole community, even the ones older than her.”
Chris fiddled with their coffee cup, and I resisted the urge to ask again if they wanted a refill. They were obviously considering the question of the witches’ gathering, and I had to let them make up their mind.
“I am not sure I would be welcome.”
“Maggie welcomes everyone, even the ones who are real pains in the ass.” Dorothy’s attendance had long been a reason for me not to come.
“If you and Carole both like her, I’m sure she’s lovely. It’s just—” They looked inside their mug, decided it really was empty, and set it aside. Looking directly at me, Chris said, “I’m not like you. Not like the others in your group. That will be just as true here as it was before. I understand why I am ostracized, but that doesn’t make it any easier. And it would hurt more if you were welcoming — if you and Maggie both tried to include me — and I was shunned by the others.”
Ostracized because they were a gorgon, or because they were nonbinary? I could see both being an issue, depending on where they had grown up, but if they were worried about being shunned here in Boston, I thought it was more likely to be because they weren’t human. I couldn’t — wouldn’t — counsel them to hide what they were. If they wanted to be accepted for who they were, that was their choice to make, and I couldn’t fault it. I was only sad because in Boston, someone would be happy to embrace them simply because they had been shunned by others, and I couldn’t point them to any others it might be.
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