Ingrid served the tea herself. The Abbess’ orders had been clear. The animosity in this room was to be cleared by whatever means necessary, chemical or otherwise.
Ingrid left only after all parties had tasted their tea and crumpets spread with sacred fig preserves. Nathalia thanked her, You really came through. She could almost see the tensions melting.
Nathalia started, “I just want to remind you, Margaux, that Maeve voluntarily called you about Aaron. Without her honesty and devotion to the cause, you wouldn’t even know that Aaron was of the Family. Why are you pressuring her, when the Council has always allowed her to make her own decisions?”
Nathalia broadcast to Margaux, You say we are losing her, maybe you drive her away.
Margaux apologized, “You are right, Nathalia. Maeve, I am sorry. I know that Aaron ‘as become very important to you and I want to give you the opportunity.”
“The opportunity to what?” Maeve’s sharp tone and clipped speech said the soothing agents had not finished their work on her nerves.
“To matchmake for Aaron,” the French woman answered. He ‘as become most interesting to them and they insist on ‘is match. You are the most talented and powerful of our makers and they want you to be the one to make the bond, but if you refuse, they will insist that another be assigned.”
“I’ve been trying to matchmake for Aaron, but he’s different. He can see when I’m casting. I’ve been dating him because that’s the only way he’ll have sex with me.” She made a snorting noise. “I’d like to see someone else try to do my job! The Council has never ‘assigned’ matches for us before, why now?”
“Not Le Conseil.”
All three women jumped when the heavy antique wooden door slammed against the back wall and the Guardian stood in its jam. His frame filled the space and his opposition more than filled the Abbess’ chambers. His voice scratched at their eardrums and clawed at their brains. “No. Il ne sera pas dit, comme le sacrifice exigé n’a pas été fait.”
“Il y a rien je ne peux les dire que changera ce qu’arrivera.” She argued back. “You and your secrets!” He stood there, unmoved, as Margaux tried to form words. She turned to Maeve and Nathalia. “You two, in particular, are special to them. You will play a role in Her creation and Le Conseil fear any interference could jeopardize her arrival.”
The Guardian looked so threatening that even Nathalia did not speak. Margaux sputtered, opening and closing her mouth a number of times, before finally getting any more words out. “There is an evil rising. It will grow to a level we cannot contain. They are now convinced that Aaron will be Her father, the One that ‘as the ability to save mankind from this. They are not willing to risk even a small delay. They do not ask more of us than they ask of themselves, as they make continual sacrifices to keep the violence at bay until She is born and ready to lead.”
Margaux rose, patted the couch, and said, “Rest on it.” When she got to the open door, the Guardian took her elbow as if to lead her off, but she turned back. “I can see it and read it on your face that you care for Aaron deeply. If you can, please matchmake for him. Giving him up will be hard, but do not delay too long. They will not be patient in this matter. I will try to convince them that your sufficient sacrifice will have been made and that not all wear their scars on the outside.” The door closed behind them.
Nathalia stared at Maeve. Margaux was blind. How the hell did she read anything on Maeve’s face? What had just happened? If “they” were not the Council, who were they? Why had the Guardian been so aggressive when Margaux had tried to tell them?
When Nathalia was sure both Margaux and her Guardian were gone, she rushed over to the couch and shoved her arm in.
Maeve asked, “What are you doing? This is no time to be couch-diving for quarters.”
“Didn’t you see? I think she left us a clue. It wouldn’t be the first time she told me something ‘they’ didn’t want me to know.” Nathalia made a mess of the couch cushions and pillows. “There’s nothing here. I thought maybe she left a scrap of paper like she gave me last time.”
Maeve made the couch back up. “Maybe it’s not hidden in the couch. Let’s do what she said. ‘Rest on it’ and maybe the clue will present itself.”
Nathalia sat on the couch. Nothing. She leaned her head back. Nothing. She put her feet on the ottoman. Nothing. She lay on her back on the couch, resting as best she could. Nothing.
Maeve prompted, “What exactly did she say after ‘rest on it?’ I remember it sounded a little weird. Maybe it was another clue.”
Nathalia closed her eyes and tried to remember, “Something like ‘I can see it on your face’ or ‘read it in your face.’”
“She said, ‘I can see it and read it on your face that you love Aaron deeply.’ Maybe there is a book hidden deep under the couch. I don’t know.”
Nathalia did not correct Maeve. Margaux had said “care for Aaron deeply,” not “love.” Maeve made a slip, exposing her true feelings accidentally. Maeve loved Aaron. But that was not the task at hand. Nathalia quoted Margaux softly, “‘I can see it and read it on your face that you...’”
She opened her eyes. Nothing. She turned her body the other way on the couch and the answer stared back. “I can see it and read it. Maeve, it’s a book on this shelf.”
Maeve scurried to the bookshelf. “But there are hundreds of books here. How are we going to know which one she wanted us to read?”
Nathalia glanced over the titles. They were all ones she had pulled from the library for research on various things over the last few months. None of them seemed like they would be a clue. Wait. Nathalia ripped book after book off the shelves and tossed them on the floor. In triumph she held up a small plain brown leather book. “This is it.”
She and Maeve sat side by side on the couch. Maeve turned the book so she could see its title. Enoch Walked With God. She said, “How do you know this is the one?”
Nathalia opened it up and showed Maeve a horrible stain and tear on the cover page. “See...’Not all wear their scars on the outside.’ I remembered it because it looks so pristine from the outside and then this.”
“How would a blind woman know what book was on a shelf or that it had a ‘scar’ inside it?”
“She wasn’t always blind, and I requisitioned some of these books from other chapters. Maybe she knows there’s a book here that she read at one time.”
She began flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for. There it was written in the margins. “The book itself is meaningless; it is the prophesy it holds that is important.”
Maeve shook her head. “Something in this book triggered young Margaux’s ability. The Family itself is supposed to be traced back to Enoch, the very man this book is about.”
Nathalia read the prophesy aloud:
They are the heroes of old, men renowned
with wills so strong, that even God had not.
She tried to end, but they could not be drowned.
Their bodies, made from holy seed, won’t rot.
Their only prospect for salvation dwell
within the wombs descended from the same
that had birthed them before the flood befell.
A zonah’s daughter will each need to claim.
Deep from the heart of independent land,
when worship of Inanna does resurge,
those who have waited long will see firsthand,
the promised two female coevals emerge.
AN HOUR later they still tried to hash out the meanings of the prophesy when Jolie arrived. Jolie claimed she came right to the Abbess room because she had some prophesy to share.
Nathalia said, “Let me send for Libby. We’ll need your dream book.”
“We don’t need it.” Jolie handed her a tiny notebook. “I’ve been working on my waking visions. I suddenly have an excess of power thanks to JD.” She smiled coyly at Maeve. “And I have you to thank for him.”
Prophetic dreams cam
e naturally to an Animaverto. Going into the trance necessary to see the future while awake was something only a Primo could achieve and they most often manifested in the form of riddles and poetry.
“I think we’ve had our fill of quatrains for today,” Nathalia joked as she thumbed through the notebook.
Jolie responded, “I know that the Council’s excited about my match with a man of the Family, but I don’t think that we’re the match everyone’s waiting on. Sorry Maeve. Look at number 27.”
Nathalia raised an eyebrow at Jolie. There were thirty-three poems in that notebook. That was a lot for so short a time period. That was more than two a day. Maeve must have been thinking the same thing because she said, “Jeeze Jolie, have you two even left the bedroom in a week?”
Jolie giggled and the red blotches that meant she was embarrassed crept up her neck onto her cheeks. “Yes,” she answered. “We did it on the couch, the living room floor, the shower, the kitchen counter, and even the backyard.”
Maeve chuckled and wrapped her up in a bear hug. She started to ask for details and Nathalia interrupted them by reading from the book:
A line of daughters does produce a son
We nigh neglect, thinking our work be done
An angel and her mate are not the ones
Her real mother does hide among the nuns
“So?” Maeve asked.
“Anjolie’s my name and it means happy angel. ‘An angel and her mate are not the ones.’”
“We already knew you weren’t,” Nathalia said. “The Council now thinks that it’s Aaron who’ll be mated to the mother of the One from the prophesy. They’re insisting that Maeve matchmake for him right away.”
“Look at number 28.”
Nathalia once again read it aloud:
He is but from the smallest branch of life
The reputation of the mother saved
By giving daughter to her brother’s wife
The blessing in his precious blood engraved
“That’s Aaron all right,” Maeve admitted. “His mother was adopted by her uncle, who was married, to save Aaron’s real grandmother from the shame of an out-of-wedlock pregnancy.” She drew a little family tree in the air but, shrugging, scrapped it when the lines got tangled.
“Jolie, you’re turning into quite the useful prophetess.”
Jolie beamed at her Abbess’ praise.
Nathalia asked, “Can I keep this book to study more thoroughly?”
“Of course,” Jolie said. “There are a few in there that might interest you. I marked those pages in the upper right corner.”
Jolie skipped a little bit on her way out and Maeve called after her, “Remember to stretch and drink plenty of water! You wouldn’t want to cramp up.”
They heard her giggling. Nathalia dropped the notepad on the desk and grabbed up the book with Margaux’s prophesy in it. They still didn’t know what she was trying to tell them, what the Guardian had insisted she not say.
Maeve picked up Jolie’s little pad and waggled it at Nathalia. “May I?”
Nathalia tried to look nonchalant as she shook her head and said, “Better not.” Nathalia knew the pages were probably filled with veiled references to her impending expiration date. Jolie might not recognize it, but Maeve would spot it instantly if one described a virgin Daughter. Nathalia was the only one of those. She’d had sex with women but was a technical virgin, since no man had ever penetrated her and her hymen remained intact. Michael had seen to that. Virgin blood was powerful and Michael was nothing if not power-hungry.
“We should concentrate on this.” She gestured to Margaux’s prophesy.
Gone?” Maeve asked incredulously. “What do you mean ‘he’s gone?’ He was just admitted last night. When I left him this morning, he looked like a package of ground meat and now you tell me he’s gone?”
The young nurse’s eyes went wide and her mouth popped open at Maeve’s outburst. She stammered, “I’m sorry. We just had a shift change. Um, let me check the records.”
She went over to a massive file cabinet that took up most of the room in the nurses station, rummaged around, and came back with a manila folder with “Wright, Aaron” printed in bright blue letters on its tab. “Yes, ma’am. He checked himself out, but he left this note for his fiancée, ‘Maeve Lovejoy.’” The nurse handed her an envelope and continued reading from the chart. “The nurse on duty noted that he looked ‘much better than he had last night.’ You know the human body really is amazing, sometimes it’s downright miraculous how we can keep going.”
Maeve barely heard a word after the nurse handed her the envelope. She tore open the end, accidentally tearing off one end of the note inside, in her rush to read it.
I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to see my mom. Sorry I didn’t call, but something happened to my cell (I think you might still have it), and without it I don’t have your number.
I really need to see you tonight. Meet me at Heaven.
Aaron
HEAVEN WAS not nearly as crowded as Maeve expected on a Saturday night. She guessed everyone had worn themselves out Christmas shopping and had plans for more spending tomorrow. Unlike the club, the mall this afternoon had been jam-packed. In both places Maeve had a weird feeling that she was being watched.
She ignored the sensation as she worked her small magic for the few devoted ravers out on the dance floor. Tonight was not her usual night, but each of these lonely souls had some need to be met. It was a small thing to hand them each to the person who could best meet that need. She would willingly do this part of her job for the rest of her life.
When she was done, only she and Izzy were left unmatched on the dance floor. Of all the people here, she knew he could give her what she needed right now. He’d always been easy and fun to be with. Uncomplicated, unsullied by emotion or obligations.
She tried to lose herself to dance. Her calf-length skirt swayed, all fluid movement, in complete contrast to her torso, kept rigid by the unforgiving corset. Izzy grabbed her hand and twirled her. Her skirt billowed as far as the hem would allow, exposing her knees. Izzy ducked down to graze her smooth shaved legs.
Israel gestured to JD, who was spinning, and the music changed. Maeve waved to Jolie, who stood in the deejay booth with her mate. She waved back and then whispered something to JD. He nodded and got out another vinyl, spinning it in his hands on the way to the turntables.
Jolie blew a kiss to Maeve as the Bloodhound Gang started singing about being mammals and doing it like on the Discovery Channel. Izzy danced around like a fool, air-humping the world and making Maeve laugh. It was funny, but nothing could take Maeve’s mind off the conversation she was going to have with Aaron.
She was getting hot and signaled for an unscheduled cool blast. The scaffolding quickly moved into place. The canisters blasted, blanketing the floor in white. Maeve wished she could float there in the numb cold, waiting for all of this trouble to blow over.
Someone clamped onto her wrist and yanked her to the right. Blind in the fog, she called out, but the music drowned out her voice. She tripped, and a burning pain in her ankle made her grimace. Someone caught her and lifted her up. The hand restraining her wrist let go.
She tucked her face into the familiar shoulder. Aaron’s sideburns scratched at her cheek as he carried her out onto the private patio.
“Did you know him?” Aaron asked once they were outside. “He didn’t even slow down when you fell.” He set her up on the thin outdoor bar and examined her twisted ankle. “Can you turn your foot to the left?”
“I didn’t even see him. He grabbed my hand in the fog and yanked me off the dance floor.” She rotated her foot as he indicated she should.
“I was just standing there waiting for the fog to break up and then you come stumbling out of the mist and practically fall into my arms.”
Maeve caught a glimpse of the Guardian in the window behind Aaron’s back. So maybe she was thrown into Aaron’s arms. She would have t
o have a talk with the Guardian. An assignment was one thing, physically forcing her was quite another. The Guardian looked out of place in his plain cloak and bare feet.
“Wait,” Maeve said. “You shouldn’t be catching anybody.” She looked at his face closely. The bruises were gone and the lacerations and cuts were just pale pink lines. She yanked up his shirt to examine the side she knew was smashed last night. There was only the faint yellow of a month-old bruise, not the tender purple that she expected. “Don’t you have some broken ribs?”
Goose bumps erupted, covering the skin of his stomach. Aaron tugged his shirt down. “The doctors thought I did, but this morning I woke up feeling fine. The nurse said maybe my X rays and chart got mixed up with someone else’s.”
Maeve knew better; she had seen him get stomped on. She had seen where those meatheads’ class rings had split his face. It wasn’t a mix up; it was a miracle. A miracle she intended to thank Camilla for. Camilla hardly ever left the Capacitors storage room anymore so going off the compound to see and heal a stranger was above and beyond. Maybe Maeve would send her send flowers. “You’re really okay?”
Aaron nodded. Relief washed over Maeve like a physical force. The tide rinsed away the anxiety she’d felt and left her weak and emotional. She hugged Aaron tightly. The thought of him being hurt had hurt her. She excused it by thinking any injured human would have incited the same response but she knew it was more than that.
Soft lips, countered with scratchy facial hair, moving against her neck solidified her fears. She had real feelings for him, feelings that would grow and overrun her life. She had to do something about this. It was no longer the Council’s decision for her to matchmake for him; it was hers.
Warm breath moistened her ear as he whispered, “Better than okay: I’ve never felt better.” Nibbling her earlobe, Aaron hit a hotspot. She moaned but didn’t bother to look around to see if anyone was nearby. They were in the darkest corner of the private patio. The cold had driven everyone else inside; even smokers were finishing their cigarettes fast these days. They were all alone. Maeve wouldn’t have cared if they were in a crowd. She should get this over with before she developed any more feelings for him. This was as good a place and time as any to work her magic.
For the Love of Magic Page 11
