STAIN (My Soul To Wake Book 1)

by Oakes, Tara

He shakes his head back and forth. “Nah, I don’t text.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “How do you not text?”

  He laughs under his breath, taking yet another step closer, with barely an inch dividing our space. “It’s so impersonal. So cold. Nobody takes the time to really connect anymore.”

  He angles his head, aligning our lips perfectly. I close my eyes, waiting to feel more of his touch, to feel the softness of the lips I’d been staring at all night against mine. I can imagine how they must feel, how they must taste. I want to find out if I’m right.

  I finally feel his touch. Not on my lips like I’d silently begged, but on my hand. It’s raised between us, those lips I’d craved planting themselves on the flattened area above my knuckles.

  His lips are strong. They knead against the thin flesh of my hand, teasing me.

  “I’ll call you in the morning.” His lips speak into my hand as he releases his kiss. His fingers are next to leave, with my hand no longer supported, so it drops. I search for a way to swallow, my mouth desperately dry. He walks a few paces backward.

  “Sweet dreams, Leah.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I’m grateful the door to the girls’ room is shut tightly, as I’d half expected them to be waiting to lead an inquisition when I reached our rooms. Knowing that I’m not in the clear yet, I’m very careful to swipe my key card quietly and shut the door behind me as delicately as possible.

  I nervously stand near the door listening for any signs of life from the other side. Two minutes pass. I think I’ve lucked out and they’re asleep.

  I toss my purse and key onto the bureau and take efforts to unzip and remove my boots, letting them crumple in the corner of the small closet. Once changed into an oversized Coffee Bean t-shirt and face scrubbed clean, I brush my teeth and slip into the neatly made hotel bed.

  I find myself replaying the moments of the night over and over. His smile, his lips, his words, his scent. Every piece of him that I can recall, to remember. I hadn’t gotten his age, but from the looks of him I’d say he was only a few years older than me. I wonder where he went to college, if he went to college.

  I’ll bet he was an athlete. Maybe the star quarterback… he’s got the build for it. Does he even like sports? I wonder what his favorite team is.

  I yawn, thinking these things to myself and turn on my side.

  He seems gentle, honest. I’ll bet he’s great with pets. I can see him with a dog. A great big fluffy mutt that worships him.

  His lips. I keep coming back to his lips. The roundness of them. The strength of them.

  ~*~

  “Pray, pardon me, as I am beside myself.” His words are tortured. Pained. The heat of the ending day swelters between us, even in this late hour. My heavy petticoats and bonnet constrict me.

  “God forbid me to talketh this way to a young maiden not of my household, and I will not reproach you for your purest response, but you aught know my intentions… my wishes.”

  The insects of the night make themselves known, chirping and croaking around and among us in the depths of the wood. The clandestine meeting known to no other than they. I see the anguish on his face as he pleads.

  “I fear I may not survive this. It will be the death of me. No sleep, nor food, nor prayer should heal this affliction my heart feels for thee.”

  His weathered hands take mine and hold them to his chest. I begin to feel the beating of the heart he speaks of.

  I have refused him before. Three times. I am not worthy of a man of his standing. My dowry is pitiful, my name wrought with shame. I cannot match these to him, for they will consume him as well.

  “William. I beg of thee. Please do not tempt me with those things which are rightfully out of my reach. I cannot escape the desires of my heart, but I fear it will lay a bitter journey for us both should we follow.”

  He shakes his head, raising my bare fingers to his mouth, placing gentle kisses on each. “Nay. Thy heart’s fancy is kindred to mine. I could scarce abandon this now that it is known.”

  His russet eyes search mine, fearful of the refusal they have shown before.

  “I fear we must be vigilant. Take great course to resist that which will surely be your ruin. I care not for myself, but only for what will undoubtedly cause you great distress in the future.” I make one last attempt.

  His eyes turn hard, the long wispy blonde strands clumping together around his furrowed brow. “I care naught of the future. For no morrow will welcome me if thou willst not stand by my side.”

  My argument is futile, for it is mere words, with my heart speaking against them. The true nature of what has grown between us has culminated into this very moment.

  The very fact that we stand here, cloaked in shadow underneath the overgrown elm is testament enough to our sin. Two unwed peoples of dissimilar breeding expressing hidden love for one another is forbidden if not by doctrine alone, then by the fiery words given forth from the pulpit each Sabbath.

  I fix my eyes on his lips, the pink, smooth flesh that taunts me. The illicit sin they beg of me. The sin I fear may be too powerful to refute. For all of the magick in this place, all of the magick in my depths, could not be enough to turn him away. With no spell of his own or old written words to trick my senses, he has used the purest magick of all to join my wishes to his.

  I feel a warm tear steadily trail a path along my cheek. I can no longer refuse him. For the toll it weighs on us both is a death of its own.

  “I fear I have no choice but to relent to the nature of its true course, the one which has bound me to you. For I could never love another….” I sob.

  William’s voice hums deep within his throat, the emotion of this change of direction in my response for us pleasing him greatly. He gently swipes his finger to remove the wetness from my cheek. “Never shall a tear be shed in regret. I swear it to thee.”

  The moist finger trails slowly to my lip, coating the salty moisture with it. His soft touch explores the delicate skin of my mouth, as if memorizing its shape, its texture. His arm wraps around my waist, the strength of him holding me closer. The fingertips abandon my smile to take hold of my chin, lifting to raise my sights to his eyes.

  “Amelia, thou hath my heart, my soul, my body,” he swears his fealty. “By all that is good, by all this is not, they will forever be yours.”

  With his words, the lips that spoke them now lower to my own. They touch, sparking an unknown flame between our flesh. I find myself crying out to the heavens as his kiss takes hold, my first kiss.

  Wetness grows as we coat the other in fire, our mouths sliding over one another’s, finally claiming each other. The hand on my chin releases, snaking back, fingers splaying through the wild hair loosely held by my failing bonnet. His strong grip caresses the back of my neck, guiding me as his kiss deepens and I feel his lips part.

  A fright takes hold as his body, his tongue seeks mine, stroking against me. I feel myself flutter, but his grip holds tightly. I trust him to hold me upright as the temptation to fall is ever present.

  He tastes of everything, yet nothing at the same time. I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, and match my own breaths to his. His lips knead at mine taking them with him to every new pose of which our kisses evolve.

  Deep groans vibrate from him into me. This is what he’s wanted, what he’s tried relentlessly for… what I’ve struggled to accept. He is mine. He has said it.

  And now I will show him that I am his.

  ~*~

  “Please don’t make me do this, guys.” I try one more time to wiggle my way out of this.

  The three-story cream house before us has storefront windows on either side of the front door. Neon bulbs elongate and twist into the letters announcing the craft of the inhabitants.

  Psychic.

  Nina is already turning the handle of the wooden door, my pleas obviously falling on deaf ears. Once inside, an aging carpet sprawls out over the creaking floors. Victorian chairs are situated aga
inst the walls, marking the room as a waiting area of sorts. A young lady in colorful clothing with many jingling bracelets and charms asks us to kindly wait our turn as we don’t have appointments.

  I look at Nina and arch my eyebrow. Really? How on earth did she manage to miss this? I’m sure she’ll put it on her mental list of reminders of things to do differently if she ever returns to Salem.

  She’s fumbling through her satchel looking for her iPad when a middle-aged woman of similar coloring to the younger girl joins us.

  “Good morning, ladies. I am Simza. Please follow me.” She extends her hand to Courtney, who obediently follows, anxious to let the entertainment begin.

  There is a water cooler in the corner, calling to my parched throat. I lift the little blue lever and fill my cup, offering one to Nina who declines.

  “Very generous girl,” a frail voice calls from the doorway.

  A tiny lady with hunched shoulders, using a shiny wooden cane to balance herself, stands watching me. “Come with Mamia Magda.”

  I lock stares with Nina, wondering how I drew the lucky stick for the next reading. I take one sip of the cool drink and follow the small woman as she leads me further back into the historic building, to a large room with colorful rugs and tapestries welcomes us. True to every movie I’ve ever seen, a round table with scarlet cloth and two chairs is centered.

  Mamia Magda painstakingly lowers herself into the larger of the chairs, with mismatched cushions propping her forward. The only thing missing from our scene is a crystal ball. I watch as she smoothes out the wrinkles from the red covering before her, showing respect to the space. I somehow know better than to dishonor her table with my cup, so I deposit it in the corner trashcan before sitting.

  I straighten my shoulders, facing her, and place my hands palm down on the table surface. She eyes them.

  “You know the ways. You have done this before, yes?”

  I follow her gaze down to my own hands. “Um… no, I--”

  I hastily withdraw my hands into my lap, embarrassed. Mamia Magda uses her sinewy fingers to meticulously lay out several ornately decorated cards between us. One row, then another. I watch as she changes directions and places one card opposite side up.

  My eyes dart up where I find her studying my reaction to the misplaced card. I fight against the urge to correct her.

  What am I thinking? I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. Who am I to challenge an experienced gypsy such as her?

  “You sense something, yes?” Magda seems to be aware of my unease.

  Part of me wants to tell her. Part wants to keep my mouth shut to keep from sounding like an idiot.

  “Speak, child,” she urges me.

  “The card. It’s wrong,” I assert but regret it almost immediately.

  Her eyes are piercing despite their age. I can see the wisdom and experience behind them, looking at this girl who knows nothing of her talents yet is extolling criticism so freely.

  Her thin lips tilt up. “It is.” She nods to herself, collecting her cards and piling them again. Her hand then disappears into the deep pockets of her skirts, withdrawing a small black velvet drawstring satchel.

  Colorful stones are shaken loose, dropping onto the table in random spots. “Tell me what you see,” she asks.

  I stare at her in shock. What’s she talking about? How am I to read rocks?

  “I- I don’t know how,” I state the obvious.

  She reaches forward and takes hold of my hand. “Don’t you? Mamia Magda sees. Even if you do not yet see.”

  I don’t imagine she’ll give up easily, so I take a deep breath. I close my eyes, not needing to look at the gems. I wouldn’t know what they symbolize anyway. I clear my mind, moving the stones and cards from my thoughts.

  “Night,” I barely register my own voice as I hear it. “A long night. No, wait… slumber. A long sleep. Slowly waking.”

  “Yes…” Mamia Magda reassures me.

  I swallow hard, not knowing where my next words will come from. “Half of a whole. A piece left behind, still sleeping, waiting.”

  Her hands are both grasped to mine now, resting on the fabric of the tablecloth. I feel a vibration

  “There are three. There can only be three, yet one seeks to take from the others.” My words are strong, familiar as an old bedtime tale yet foreign as a strange language. I hear rattling. “He lies in wait, biding his time for the connection to be made.”

  The table now moves, shaking and tilting back and forth fast enough for the legs to create a rhythm on the floor below. Mamia Magda’s hands hold tight. The noise the table makes grows louder.

  “Finish,” she commands.

  I fight against my better judgment to open my eyes and see what is causing the disturbance.

  “Power. It lies dormant. Waiting. Always waiting.”

  Thuds sound one after another as the stones fall to the ground, having been shaken violently from the table. The table itself does not calm, instead the teetering becomes harsh, hitting against my thighs with each shifting from side to side.

  “The truth sings, calls to bring the two halves together. The song is old, but it will be heard again.”

  I push away from the table, my chair falling over as I jump up.

  Mamia Magda is breathing hard, her hair loosened and strewn about as if she’d been shaken hard. Her eyes are white, missing all traces of color, rolled back.

  “You will remember the song,” she blindly avows.

  I trip over my feet as I walk backward, escaping the room but not willing to turn my back on the old woman as she sits in her trance.

  What the hell’s just happened? What kind of place is this?

  Nina and Court are both in the waiting area, finished with their sessions, chatting about the details.

  “We’re leaving. Now.” I don’t wait for a response. I leave the front door open behind me and gulp the fresh air in my lungs as soon as I reach the street.

  ~*~

  The phone rings on the bedside table, startling me as I’m still shaken up from my encounter with Mamia Magda earlier.

  “Yes?” I call into the receiver nervously.

  The voice on the other end clears his throat. “Your guest has arrived miss. He is happy to wait in the lobby for you.”

  I exhale relief at the sound of the receptionist. A perfectly normal phone call from a perfectly normal person.

  “Thank you. We’ll be right down.”

  ~*~

  Nina and Courtney thankfully chose the backseat of Will’s large black pickup truck. After the morning we’ve had, I’m not sure if it’s to distance themselves from me, or to generously give me a closer seat to our escort. Either way, I’m grateful to them.

  Will closes the car door after I’m fully situated in the leather chair, eyes connected with mine through the glass window. We haven’t said much more than short “hellos” yet, but his eyes have had entire conversations with mine as soon as he set his attention on me when I walked down the main staircase of the hotel to find him in his crisp-white, fitted, long sleeve shirt and jeans.

  His dark amber-colored eyes locked onto me then and haven’t let go. I argue against myself as to which is his most endearing attribute… his warm smile or his deep gaze.

  He takes the wheel, and closes his door, sealing us all inside. I can smell an herbal, musky cologne with a hint of citrus and close my eyes to make a memory of it. The scent is perfect for him. I imagine it clinging to his skin, coating its fragrance onto him.

  I smile at him, hoping I’m able to mask my thoughts. Sitting mere inches away from him, I picture his smooth, tanned skin oiled with cologne and he doesn’t have a clue.

  He laughs to himself at some imaginary joke and turns the key, bringing the beast of a truck to life. He’s told me he’s in construction and I believe it by the hardhat on the dashboard, the clipboard of invoices wedged in the center console and the box of rattling nails near my feet.

  “Did you work this morning?�
� I ask him. It’s late afternoon and he’s very recently showered, with his short blonde hair still damp.

  He smirks to me as I check him out, catching me as my eyes inspect his appearance. I like what I see, but I hope I don’t make him feel like he’s on display or anything.

  “Half day. I’ve got a crew finishing up some framing we’re doing for a remodel,” he casts his attention over his shoulder as he pulls out into traffic. “But, they should be done early, too.” He turns to me once again, darting his eyes back to the road every second or so. “Besides. I’ve got better things to do.”

  My stomach drops. I feel a weightlessness in my lower half. I cross my legs and shift to hide any trace of shyness from him.

  “Did you go to the art museum?” he inquires. I had spoken to him on the phone just before breakfast when we set our plans for tonight.

  I had every intention of going to the Peabody-Essex Museum this morning, but the girls’ psychic trip screwed everything up. I was so flustered after we left that I took a long walk to calm down instead of making better use of my time.

  I shake my head. “No. Didn’t get to.”

  Will tightens his lips. “That’s a shame. Be sure to fit it in sometime. They have great exhibits. I’ve donated to them over the years, so I have complimentary passes. We… we could check it out if you want?”

  “Not tonight, though, right?” Courtney scoots up to insert herself between Will and me, through the center console opening. “I mean, we’re not going there now, are we? I thought we were going to have fun?”

  I can’t help but laugh at the whiny tinge to her voice. She reminds me of a bratty kid upset at where her parents are taking her. Will must think something similar, because he’s laughing right along with me.

  “No. Not now. How about tomorrow night?” he asks me, with Courtney looking on as well for my answer.

  I feel my cheeks blushing. “Sure. That--, that would be cool.”

  Cool? Cool? Who the hell says cool anymore? What am I? In high school? That band is cool, those shoes are cool. That TV show last night was cool. Being asked out again by the hottest man in existence is a hell of a lot better than just cool. I could have said anything. Fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing. Anything that would suggest I have a vocabulary beyond that of a Valley girl.