Peter barely had time to touch the attraction spell for Lee, and no time at all to decide what to do about bathing gear. His ancient suit was sadly saggy and probably too small, and even magic would do little to make it look more modern. But these new-fangled swimming suits revealed most of the legs and arms, and made him blush just thinking about them. Not that he had much time to think. He was rushed off his feet!
At the end of the day, he was dumping the last of the cold coffee, putting away the potions and spells he'd been working on, and moving to pull the blinds and set up the cuckoo bell.
Someone knocked desperately at the door, a small, desperate knock that sounded hurried and afraid. He pulled the door open and stared down at a young lady. She was clearly an adult, but only barely, no more than five feet tall. She hugged her arms around herself and gave him a defiant, frightened look, her jaw trembling a little. "Got any protection spells, mister?"
Despite the raggedy shawl she hugged around herself, trying to cover up, her clothing was clearly of the less than respectable variety. Bits of tattered lace, a bodice that pushed up what little bosom she had, and short, bright purple skirts. He didn't know where to look.
"Um, yes, of course. Do come in." He stood back, holding the door open. It was a bit unnerving to have a lady of the evening here, but she probably needed protection more than most people. And she looked even younger than the boyish policemen.
"I got seven pennies so don't go an' charge me more'n that unless you'll take something else in exchange." She leaned on one of the counters, clearly trying to look tough and jaded. But she was trembling. And it wasn't a cold night.
"There's no need for that. I don't charge more than five cents even for my best protection spells. Why don't you take a seat while I fix you one? Is there any specific emphasis you'd like placed upon it?"
She stared at him, blinked.
"Anything special you'd like protected from, or just general protection?"
She shivered. "I dunno—strongest you've got, love." She wrapped arms more tightly round her middle, but the shawl slipped now, revealing a big bruise on her skinny arm.
"I haven't seen you around before. You're new to the neighborhood, aren't you?" he asked calmly, motioning her again towards the overstuffed armchair that Joel had found a proper place for. It was now the favorite seating place for his older customers who had to wait, or children who wanted to climb on something while Peter waited on their mothers.
She sat at last. "Yeah, we're new here." She looked around distastefully, as if ready to criticize her surroundings, but some of the tight hardness left her face and she got a little softer-looking, and, impossibly, a little younger-looking. "You got…you got anything that would make somebody who's angry just sort of not notice me?" she asked softly. "'Cuz that'd be the best protection I could hope for."
"I'll see what I can do. That should be simple enough." He took out one of his lightly-prepared sachets and began to add sand and herbs that would absorb the spell and keep it close. "You wear this round your neck, or keep it in your pocket. You can also sleep with it under your pillow, but it works best if it's on you at all times."
The little girl (for he could think of her as nothing else now, despite the bosom) nodded seriously. She had gray eyes, and when she wasn't defiant, she just looked lost.
"Do you need help of any sort?" he asked quietly, risking another glance at her.
She jumped as though slapped. "No! Just this."
"Very well." He nodded, accepting that he couldn't do anything else to help if she wouldn't allow it. "There's a scone left from my—my friend, the baker down the street. I usually have to throw them away at the end of the day. If you'd like to have it, you'd be doing me a favor."
He turned to encourage her, and found her already halfway through it, chewing ravenously. Her eyes watched him, hard again, less afraid. "You don't want nothing in return, like?" She raised a hand belatedly to shield the spray of crumbs.
"Oh, no, as I said, you're doing me a favor." He finished assembling the sachet and poured the lightest, most delicate magic he could into it. This would not be easily noticed, even by someone with a strong sensitivity to magic. It would protect her in what ways he could offer, shield her from dangerous notice. To an angry person, she would look like background—just part of a crowd, or the scenery. He wouldn't notice her, whoever he was.
It felt like quite a specific person that she needed protected from. Her pimp? He shivered at the thought. The world could be a cruel, terrible place. Why didn't Inspector Benson take care of this? She was a hungry child living in a hard, dangerous world.
"Here you go." He walked it over to her, his hand tingling from the strength of the magic he'd put into it, though when not touched, it barely felt like anything at all. "Do you need any, ah…female protection?" He blushed even as he said it, and watched her mouth curve up in a faint smile. But awkward as it was, he would rather offer her pregnancy protection than have her face a desperate situation and try to do something about it.
Some girls did; they were not infrequently fished out of the river just a mile from here, young unmarried girls with bellies plump, despair in their hearts. Surely it was better to prevent a pregnancy than to have them make such a choice.
She shook her head. "We gets all that stuff from Madam Z."
"Ah." He nodded slowly. "Yes, she is…quite good." She lived down by the docks and swore like a sailor and drank too much, but he couldn't fault her spells, especially the simpler ones. "If I may ask, why don't you get your protection spell from her? If you don't mind me asking."
She snorted. "Seeing as you already did ask… Well, she reports everything to him. Wouldn't do no good. You can't, 'cuz you don't even know who he is. Some of us go to respectable men 'round here, but nobody's ever been to see you." She looked at him shrewdly. "Not interested, are you? Well, he ain't got no boys yet."
He almost choked. "I'm certainly not interested in boys, either!" Grown men, maybe. But not children and not prostitutes. Seeing her just made him feel bad for her; a boy would be little different, even if he should happen to find the youth attractive in a cosmetic sense.
She watched him a moment, shrugged. "No difference to me. Thanks. How much do I owe you?"
"Two cents. The ingredients were cheap this week."
"Oh, yeah? Maybe I'll get two, one for my friend Cheryl then."
"It will take a few more minutes, but certainly. Come by any time and let me know how they work. I can refine the spell further, whatever you need."
"I really need a different boss," she said, coming to lean against the counter and watching what he did, apparently no longer nervous of him at all. She even stood like a child, impressed by what he was doing and curious to watch. But she leaned on the counter like an old woman, as though her feet hurt. "But there's nothin' you can do about that."
He drew a breath. "I could lend you the fare home. If you've relatives, parents…a friend who could take you in."
She shook her head. "Nobody as'd welcome me home like the 'prudical daughter.'" She flashed him a quick, white smile, refusing self-pity. "And I don't reckon it's worth it to run. I wouldn't like to end up dead." She patted the sachet round her neck, laying against her little breasts. "This wouldn't work if he wanted me dead."
"I suppose it wouldn't." He was chilled, but tried to hide it as he worked. "Have you thought about approaching the police for protection?"
She shook her head, face going blank. "And don't you report us neither. They'd rather lock us up than the one responsible! Half them are probably clients too." She was hugging herself again round the middle, looking afraid.
"Very well. I won't say anything. If you ever need anything, do stop by. It's warm here, and generally safe, and I do know quite a bit of magic. Here." He smiled at her gently, resisting the urge to brush a strand of her strawberry blond hair from her face. It needed to be combed, and probably washed. "Tell me how they work for you and Cheryl."
"Thanks."
She handed over four pennies from a hand still sticky from the scone. "See ya, mister! Oh." She stopped in the doorway, looking back at him, a small girl outlined in the gray fog from outside. "What's your name?"
"Peter Cardon. May I ask yours?"
"Mary. If anybody asks 'bout me, it was just the spell, and I didn't say nothing about my…my boss, all right? Nor the cops neither."
"Of course. Do stop by again if you'd like."
She nodded, gave him a little wave, and left, darting into the street like a feral animal who knew to stick to the dark, safe corners of the world.
He watched her go, his shoulders sagging and his smile disappearing. So young. Part of him was certain she was wrong—the police would never be involved with such corruption. But while he was fairly certain of the men he knew who worked on the force, he didn't know everyone, and it only took one rotten apple to get back to her boss that she'd squealed. And she wasn't fearful for no reason; he probably would kill her.
I can't even tell the inspector, because he'll tell others, and it'll get back all the same.
Peter sighed. He felt so helpless. Maybe there was a way to help the young woman, if she would let him, if he could think of something. It would take more than a little sachet of magic to change her life. And she had nobody else looking after her.
#
"I didn't know we had prostitutes in this neighborhood." Lee's brows rose spectacularly. "I'm really not getting all the news." He drummed his fingers on the table uncomfortably, his cheeks heating.
It was another of their early breakfasts, and Peter was telling him everything. "Apparently they're rather new here, and her boss is a real bastard. She seemed to think he'd kill her if she ran."
"Well, I suppose that's the sort of thing they do." He grimaced. "It's more comic villain than real life—or it should be, I suppose."
"Well, she wasn't faking. She was really frightened." He raised his mug and sipped the coffee.
"You want to help her, don't you?"
"Yes. I don't know how."
Lee shook his head, smiling a little. "You can't save everybody. She's probably playing on your sympathy. They're quite good at such things, I believe."
He frowned at Lee. "And how would you know?"
"Uh—I've heard—that is…" He blushed.
Peter relented. "All right, I didn't mean it like that. You wouldn't doubt it if you'd seen her, though. She looked so young, and she didn't have family to go home to. I suppose some people really do choose to be prostitutes, but it hardly seems like a choice when she's barely more than a child, has nowhere else to go, and is afraid to run away."
"All right. I'll keep an eye out for her, slip her something to eat if I get the chance. But realistically I'm not sure what more either of us can do. Did you talk to your…your friend, the policeman?"
"The inspector? No." He sighed. "She said there are men on the force who would tell her pimp. Then he'd kill her." He buried his head in his hands, scraping fingers through his hair, and sighed heavily. "What is happening to our neighborhood, Lee? It used to be so nice here."
"Maybe it's all connected, and her pimp is the murderer."
They stared at one another for a blinding moment. Then Peter frowned and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Whoever it was had a great deal of magic, and it seems unlikely there'd be a strongly magical pimp. She didn't mention anything like that, either. We can't mash the events together just because they're both affecting the neighborhood."
"All the same, if they might be connected, you did promise to talk to…to your friend. You really ought to think about it." He tapped his fingers on the table, and attempted to smile. "Still picking you up tomorrow, right?"
"Oh yes. I'm looking forward to it. I must warn you, I haven't bought a bathing suit. I really can't bear the thought of swimming."
Lee's smile widened. "Scared of the water, are you? A regular kitty-cat?"
Peter laughed, reaching across the table to give Lee a shove. "No! I-I'd be burning up from embarrassment. Have you seen the suits they sell these days? They show all of your arms and most of your legs."
"And a bit of chest and back, too. Gracious! The world wouldn't end if you saw a bit of the sun, Mr. Cardon." Lee gave him a wink and rose. "I'd best get to work. Did you know the police ordered more pies for today? A hundred!"
#
Lee had never asked him for anything before. Not really. He'd given more than he'd taken, and felt bad even about accepting a favor in return. But he'd never really asked Peter for anything.
The one thing he asked was a bathing suit. No doubt so they could enjoy a nice, masculine swim together. Peter would be highly embarrassed, but, well, Lee had never asked him for anything else.
And probably never will again, he reminded himself, frowning. Soon the man would likely be married, with a brood of children surrounding him and his proud, sweet wife.
He glared up at the sign proclaiming Bathing Shoppe, clenched his hands tightly, and moved to the door, his heart galloping hysterically. If he did happen to have an unwontedly visible moment of attraction, cold water would surely cure it, wouldn't it? He would still be half-naked, though….
He shivered at the thought, gritted his teeth, and walked up to the counter. "Hello. Do you have any…any not-too-dreadfully modern swimming outfits?"
The sandy-haired young man behind the counter looked him up and down and smiled. "Why? You can pull it off, Granddad."
Peter blushed. "Er…well, perhaps I'll…c-come back later."
"No, hey, sorry. Don't mind me. I tease everybody. Come on back. I'll find you a nice suit." He moved from behind the counter, putting a hand on Peter's arm and giving him a smile, his eyes warm. "It really won't be hard."
I hope not.
#
Peter affixed the "Closed for the 4th of July" sign carefully, and then hurried down the street, carrying his carpetbag and smiling to Lee. Then he brought up a hand quickly to hold down his cap, because it was a windy day. Not far away, children shouted and giggled and exploded small fireworks. Someone's dog barked ceaselessly at the noise.
"Where on earth did you get a motorcar?" He scrambled breathlessly into the passenger seat. Lee sat tall and proud in the driver's seat, wearing a pair of driving goggles. He wore shirtsleeves, loose trousers, and no hat. "And can you control it?"
"Oh, I think so. It's my aunt's. She doesn't celebrate the Fourth. Far too many hooligans about. She stays home and listens to music."
"But she owns a motorcar!"
"Yes, for driving to church and the fair. She's only old fashioned about some things. Says it's much cheaper to maintain than horses, and she doesn't need to hire extra help to look after it."
"But what about when it breaks down?"
"Oh, she has a repairman on retainer. He drops everything and comes running. People usually do for my aunt. She's that sort of person. I must admit, I had to come running when she called for a while, too. She gave me the loan to start my business. But I've paid her back now, and I'm mostly in the black, so we're all right. It's much easier to get along with her when I know I'm not in her debt."
"Even for this?" He gestured to the motorcar, as its engine began to putt-putt more loudly.
Lee steered it into the street. "No, this isn't a debt. She worries about it getting enough exercise. I'm actually doing her a favor. As long as we don't dent it. Hah! Here, put on these goggles." He fumbled with a pair, one hand off the controls for a moment, and the car veered sharply to the left.
Peter yelped and snatched the goggles from his hand. "You drive!" he shouted. "I'll be fine!"
"Yeah? Well, don't worry!" shouted back Lee. "I'm sure I remember what I'm doing!"
#
He bathed in the sea.
Lee wanted him to.
Lee complimented him on the fit of his suit, called it quite modern. He looked so good in his own that Peter hardly knew where to look. The muscular shoulders and thighs, the knobby knees that made Peter feel oddly
protective, and the clearly-outlined shape of Lee's waist and bottom were all so terribly attractive it was all he could do not to blush constantly. Fortunately Lee thought he was just embarrassed about his suit—and he certainly was that as well.
"It's just that I never have bare arms," he protested, feeling the sun heating his skin. It would freckle like it had when he was a boy running around out of doors. These days his skin was covered up a great deal and the freckles were scattered and light, not dark and ferocious like they had been. He'd not had access to someone who could lighten them with magic at that age. He'd certainly have been vain enough to pay any amount a boy his age could earn, if he'd known someone who could.
"I like your arms." Lee reached across and touched him lightly, running one finger down. "You have hidden muscles. You cover up so much in the shop, nobody can ever see you're really quite fit."
Peter didn't dare look at him, hardly dared to breathe. He wished that moment would never end. But Lee withdrew, leaving his skin tingling and lonely.
"Anyway. Come in the water with me, and then we can stretch out and dry in the sun. Come on, Peter. Please try to enjoy yourself. I know I'm being an awful, pushy boor, but I really want to enjoy today with you." His eyes, oh, they were pleading, and how could Peter ever say no to him?
Shyly, he nodded, and they got up and moved towards the sea.
#
He remembered the day like a series of pictures. At the time it felt like it would never end, with the embarrassment of the swimming suit and the awkwardness of his intense attraction to Lee, but afterwards, it felt as if it had been short, too short even: dashing into the sea together, and then out again, swearing at the cold.
"I didn't know it was that cold," Lee had protested at Peter's glare, hopping from foot to foot to warm up.
Magic for Lee (sweet gay romance) Page 5
