"And now we know why no one else got in!"
They'd stretched out on beach towels in the sun and tried to warm up, talking through chattering teeth. In the end they had to walk in defeat back to the little changing huts, pay the fee again, and change back into their clothes.
Then they walked together down the wooden boardwalk, pointing out sailboats to one another, and fluffy clouds, and sandcastles. It was a pleasant walk, and much more comfortable than being half-naked together.
"You're blushing again," Lee pointed out. "Don't think about it anymore. You really didn't look bad at all!"
"Th-thank you." He'd actually been thinking about being wholly naked together.
They walked so close together that sometimes their hands brushed against one another by accident. The first few times, Peter started away, but Lee didn't move away from him, and barely seemed to notice, so he pretended he didn't either after a while.
They paused by a little cotton candy stand, and Peter admitted he'd never had it before.
"Haven't you really?" asked Lee, sounding surprised.
Peter shook his head. "I had a brace on my teeth when I was young, and after I got older I didn't want it. It wasn't popular for teenaged boys, and I was self-conscious enough about fitting in. Having magic already made me stand out too much."
And my flaming red hair. And being shy. And noticing boys, not girls, even though I never said anything about it. He shuddered at the miserable memories of school, at being frightened every day that he'd be noticed and mocked for his soft voice or his gentleness or anything else about him that was just slightly different.
"I know what you mean," said Lee. "Oh, they teased me mercilessly for liking to bake! As though one could only be a man if he liked to shoot things and use his fists." He snorted at the thought. "Well, come on, Mr. Cardon. We're grownups now, and no one can stop us eating cotton candy if we wish!"
They moved towards the stand, grinning. Lee insisted on buying; and they got their mouths pink with the sticky treat, and laughed at the sight of each other.
The day ended with watching fireworks together, seated in the car for a better view. Lee put his hand on the back of the seats, almost around Peter.
He had to remind himself to breathe, remind himself that Lee was simply a friend, casual and easy with his friendship, but that it didn't mean more than that.
And I am so lucky. I'll remember this day forever!
He closed his eyes, trying to push back the melancholy tears. It would not do to become emotional now. After all, what more could he really, seriously, have asked from a day? He was too old for a boy's daydreams. This was how the world worked: Lee could be his friend, but his deeper affections were already engaged elsewhere, no doubt for a pretty young thing he would marry and who could give him children.
And he will buy them cotton candy, and walk along the beach and watch fireworks together, and maybe think once in a while to invite me, his shy, odd friend.
They would laugh at the idea of wearing swimming suits, old men together, watching the children play. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes, and coughed.
"Are you all right?" Lee's fingers touched his shoulder, lightly, but enough to warm his skin even through his shirt.
He cleared his throat. "Oh yes. Very."
"I'm so glad you accompanied me today," said Lee softly, as they watched a large white dandelion puff of an explosion overhead.
Peter winced a little at how loud this one was, and blinked at the light reflected through his glasses into a million pieces. "Yes. Thank you for inviting me."
"Is…is the spell almost done?" Lee sounded hesitant and shy now.
"Yes," said Peter softly. "The spell is almost done. Come by tomorrow evening and it will be there."
#
The next evening he was waiting for Lee when there was a little knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Mary slipped inside and slammed the door. "Mr. C!" she called. "You got any more of them still for two cents? If so, the girls all gave me money 'cuz me and Cheryl was the only ones not hit, and we don't get good money if we're all bruised up, plus it fucking hurts."
Peter looked up at her, trying not to appear shocked by her language. The girl looked less frightened and more bright-eyed than yesterday. The sight of her still wrung his heart, though. Her clothes were no cleaner nor did they offer any better coverage than they had. But she had spirit today.
He cleared his throat. "Yes, do come in. I'll make as many as you'd like. How many girls are there?"
"Ten plus me and Cheryl. We don't all work the same areas, but we go to the same boarding house to sleep, so's he can keep an eye on us when we're not working. Oh, I'm talkin' too much. You got any more of them scones? That'll shut my mouth." She smiled at her own joke, looking up at him with a jaunty, cheerful expression, more confident than she'd been before but still with a question in her eyes.
He cleared his throat. "No, but there are a few peanut butter cookies." He'd been planning to save them, but the girl clearly needed the food more than he did. "Why don't you make some coffee to go with it, if you'd like? The pot is over there. Do you know how to work the heating element?"
"Yeah, just turn this switch, right? It's magic, ain't it?"
"Yes, an industrial magic, sturdy and safer than fire. Ten spells will take me a few minutes, so please make yourself comfortable."
"I've got the twenty cents right here, counted it all out." She put coins proudly on the table, all in pennies. "Ain't I the lucky one that discovered you?" She cast him a grin and moved to the coffeepot, studying it a moment with her head tilted on the side. "I just feel real safe here, seein' as you don't like girls and you're a real gentlemen and everything."
His face heated. "I never said I didn't—"
"No, but it's obvious, ain't it? So, have you never found yourself nobody special, or you don't want a guy of your own? Me, I'd settle for a nice boy who didn't hit me 'round or drink too much, if I had the choice. Don't reckon I do, but you must." She pulled herself up on the counter beside the heating coffeepot and kicked her dangling feet in the air, giving him a grin. She had a dimple on her left cheek. "So you got a guy?"
He shook his head gently. "No. There was a man once, but…I seem to be destined to find myself liking…the wrong sort of man. The kind who'd rather marry a woman." It was the most honest he'd ever been aloud. Surprisingly, putting the words in the air, even just for Mary, relieved his heart a little. It had been foolish to fall for Frederick. But he'd been so young—and Frederick had felt the same way.
"Sorry," said Mary, crunching a cookie, watching him with wise eyes. "What happened to him? Maybe he'll leave his wife for ya someday, if he gets sick of her."
"No, I wouldn't want that. Even if he was still alive. He went to sea. Drowned," he said softly, with as little emotion as possible.
"Huh. Shame. I like a sailor boy. They got nice muscles."
"Yes." He stared into the distance. That familiar face flickered in his memory, bringing back sorrow but no longer pain. New pain lingered there now: the feelings he couldn't seem to get past, or even deny. The feelings for Lee, so beautiful and alive and not ashamed to be his friend, to spend time with him. If only it could be more….
But he'd lied to himself enough in the past. It was best to just accept things as they were.
"Didn't mean to make you sad, Mr. C."
"That's perfectly all right, Mary. Do you have any magic ability yourself?"
"Oh, me? No. I'm not so fortunate. I got one thing I'm good at, and to be honest, I'm not much good at that. I won't be young forever, neither. I'd love to find me some sailor boy and have his kids, but maybe instead I'll just get into a cathouse where the clients is more regular-like and not all kinds on the streets. A girl can dream. But my boss, he's got us on the street for now, maybe forever. Ah well. Got any more of them cookies? That coffee sure smells great!"
Her words filled him with a stark sorrow. She didn't seem to feel sorry for herse
lf, that her only prospect, and an unlikely one at that, was a position as a prostitute who didn't have to walk the street. His heart constricted. "I'm afraid that's all the cookies. Is there something I can do to help you and your friends, Mary? I know it's not safe there. I haven't told him, but I do have a friend on the police force whom I believe you could trust implicitly."
"Wassisname?" she asked around cookie crumbs, brushing off her skimpy dress carefully, watching him.
"Inspector Philip Benson. He's always been very straight with the law."
"Huh. Don't know his name. Maybe he is. I generally hear most of the names of the ones that hire us. I hear a lot." She tapped her nose.
"Do you ever hear anything about a…a wizard killing people with magic?"
Her face grew closed, frightened, and she sat very still, like a frozen baby rabbit. For a moment, she looked as though she hardly breathed. "No," she said in a small, scared voice.
His heart flip-flopped. "I'm sorry. I won't ask you such things again. Why don't you tell me about your friend Cheryl?"
She shook her head, hopped off the counter. "I got to go now, Mr. C. I'll come back for them things later. You put them in a little sack outside the back door, nobody'll find them but me. I trust ya."
And she slipped out the door before he could protest that she hadn't even had any coffee.
He walked over to the heating element, turned it off sadly, and absently brushed crumbs from the counter. He'd hit a sore spot, and a dangerous one. She clearly knew enough to fear for her life.
The door opened, and Lee stepped in, smiling shyly. "Hello! Made coffee just for me? You shouldn't have." He stepped forward, smiling.
Peter returned the smile sadly. "No. It was for Mary. But she's left me early."
Lee's smile faded as he stepped closer, putting a hand on Peter's arm. "Tell me what happened?"
And so Peter did, every word. They sat across from each other at the consultation table, and he raked fingers back through his hair, sighing and staring at the wood grain. "I feel so helpless. Should I say something to Benson? If anything slips—anything—it's certain to cost her life. She's so close to the edge already, surviving on my scraps and hiding in the shadows from her boss, who likes to beat his girls. Damn, I can't believe a man like that is allowed to live! Why doesn't someone put a stop to it?"
"Hey, you promised Benson you'd tell him if you found out anything. Now I might not like the man, but surely he can handle this better than you can. Why don't we go see him tomorrow? I'll walk you there. Moral support." He gave Peter's arm a little shake and then withdrew, watching him with concern. "You can't take everything on yourself. It's too much."
"I—I know. But if you'd met her… Wait, why don't you like the inspector?"
Lee looked down, blushing faintly, tracing wood grain the way he did whenever embarrassed. "I-is that…is my spell done yet?" he asked in a soft, husky voice. "I think it's…it's time to use it."
Peter felt his emotions shutting down, quick and harsh as a slammed door. "Oh. Yes. Certainly. Let me get it for you." He moved to his work table, tripping over his shoes and barely catching himself on the back of a chair. He could hardly see for the effort of holding back his pain.
"I'm such a coward," said Lee behind him again, sounding frustrated and hopeless. "But I've never been good at saying what I mean. I'm wrecking everything, aren't I?"
"No," said Peter flatly. "It's fine. I promised it, and here it is." He turned back, avoiding Lee's gaze and pressing the finished spell—dried herbs, wrapped in paper, holding a delicate magic—into his hands, moving away quickly as though the touch burned. It somewhat did.
"Peter, I've been a fool. I never should've been coward enough to ask for this. I should just say what I—"
"People have many ways of expressing love. Please go. I need to close the shop."
"Peter—"
"Please, Lee. I—I'm quite tired. It's been…a long day. I'm sorry."
Lee touched his arm, squeezing gently. Peter held very still, not responding. Lee released him and moved away, spoke with a slight tremor in his voice. "Will you…will you tell me how it works first?"
"Simply break it open when you're with the person you have feelings for."
"Oh. That simple?"
The sound of paper tearing. Peter turned to him. "No! Don't make me start fresh. When you're with—"
He stopped. The mellow touch of magic wafted to him, gentle as a spring breeze, and full of a sweet knowledge that he hadn't dared hope for. His jaw dropped, and he stared at Lee, seeing what must have been there the whole time. Lee's shy, embarrassed smile—the one he didn't give to anyone else. The way his eyes were all for Peter lately. The way he wanted to spend time with him, tease him, feed him, touch him.
"My…my goodness," said Peter faintly. "How long have you…? I think I have to sit down." He groped for a chair.
Lee lunged for him, catching his arm tightly and steering him towards the creaky armchair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Was that too sudden? Should I have— I didn't know what to say!" His voice cracked. "I've handled it all wrong, but I thought, while you were making it, I'd have an excuse to hang around, and maybe by the time you were done, you'd—" He couldn't continue; his voice broke. "I'll go away if you like. Just please look at me. Tell me you're all right."
"I'm—I'm fine." He looked up at Lee, wetness gleaming in his eyes, making the lamplight look bejeweled. He smiled tremulously. "For the first time in a very long time, I really am fine. I can hardly believe it, but…I'm…yes."
Lee looked down at him, his large green eyes full of questioning, and then relief, and then happiness. "Oh!"
Peter laughed self-consciously, wiping away the tears. "You've put me through the…the wringer, I'm afraid. But I'm not certain I'd have believed you any other way." He took a deep breath, and put a hand over the one that rested on his arm, squeezing gently, finally daring to touch Lee back.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my…my dear," said Lee awkwardly. "I've wanted so long to tell you. Then I—I thought you must know and just not be interested. I tried to forget the possibility of anything more between us, b-but my feelings kept growing. And so I finally lit upon this—the coward's way out. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Of course," said Peter faintly. "I'm terribly sorry, but I need to put my head between my knees now."
Lee laughed unsteadily. "I was hoping to do that!"
A shaky, happy laugh escaped Peter, and he bent forward, fighting the blackness that threatened to overtake his vision. Lee's hand touched the back of his head, stroking there and his neck gently, with an affection that felt like unwarranted grace, better than he'd imagined it could possibly be.
"Take slow breaths. That's the way." Lee knelt beside him, putting an arm around him. His voice was low and intimate. "I'm very…very glad you're not completely…against the idea. I'm so sorry." He pressed a kiss against Peter's shoulder, as if he couldn't help himself. "I'll get you some coffee? How's that? Will coffee help?"
Peter nodded. He still couldn't quite talk.
Lee moved away. Crockery rattled. He returned swiftly with a mug of coffee and helped Peter's unsteady hands hold it while he drank.
While Peter was leaning forward again to finish catching his breath, embarrassed but knowing he'd be even more embarrassed if he should faint, the doorbell tinkled.
The cuckoo didn't sound; just the bell.
That was the only warning they received.
#
The curtains were pulled. The pimp paced back and forth in the small magic shop, his tread heavy enough to make the floorboards creak. He was a big man chomping on a big, soggy, unlit cigar.
Lee and Peter sat back-to-back on the floor, tied up. A bruise was forming on Lee's face where the pimp had hit him, when Lee tried to stand in front of Peter. Peter had been too startled and faint to even attempt any magic.
So now they were waiting.
"I ought to gut you," said the man in a gravelly, cold voice. "Fir
st it was the nosy factory worker. Now a bunch of queers are trying to take my girls away from me. What do you even want with 'em? I ask you."
He turned and paced, and the two men held quite still. Peter could feel Lee's fingers groping frantically, though, first trying to find a weakness in the rope, and then just trying to find Peter's hands, to catch and squeeze them, offering what comfort he could.
The pimp had no magic, though, and he should not be difficult to get free from. Right now, Peter's faintness and surprise were receding, and he only hoped Lee could stand to wait for another few moments while he gathered magic close and set it free in just the right way. It was one thing to cut the ropes—quite an easy thing—and perhaps not difficult to disarm the villain. But to do both at once, and without his calling back the thug who'd tied them up and now waited outdoors…well, that was the difficulty. Both men held guns, and looked as though they knew how to use them.
But where did the murderous magic come in? The magic that had killed poor Teddy, and frightened the Inspector into warning Peter away. He realized now (hindsight, that great blessing and curse), that he should have spoken with Benson immediately he met Mary. Benson may have known what was going on already, and could perhaps have spoken with the girl more persuasively, convinced her to help the police and that they could keep her safe.
Now she was probably in the worst danger of her life. Fear prickled Peter's spine and made the hair on his arm stand on end. He shivered a little.
Lee's fingers squeezed his. He'd tried to protect Peter from that brute, who probably outweighed them both, and certainly knew more about fighting than either man could learn in a month of Sundays.
Very well. Peter had to act, and so act he would, even though it was taking an awful chance with them both. He drew in a deep breath and—
"Careful, boss," said a voice, sounding amused and slimy. They whipped their heads round towards the voice. "He thinks he's going to do some magic."
The robed wizard held Mary easily by the neck, and she looked very sick and faint. A trickle of blood ran from her head, but she seemed otherwise undamaged. Except that she was in the worst terror of her life, and Peter could already see she'd given up hope of surviving the night. Her captor was a dark-robed, short man, deadly-looking for all of his small size, and with something—some kind of magic—drawn around him to make him practically invisible. Peter's gaze kept wanting to slide away, to not look deeply into the robes in case he might see that face.
Magic for Lee (sweet gay romance) Page 6
