The Bewitched Box Set

by W. J. May

  “Tristan, wait!” I call after him.

  I drag my heels, which stab and sink into the undergrowth. It seems that my pleas go unheard as I watch him veer to the left. It appears he knows where he is heading, yet I doubt that’s possible in a forest of this size. We pass between overgrown holly bushes, which cut into the skin on my arms, and I squeal. Tristan slows, stops and turns round, allowing me a moment to catch up with him.

  “You go to the gym four times a week, I don’t; you’re fit, I’m not,” I pant, leaning my back against the nearest tree.

  I can feel the small beads of sweat running from the crown of my head and dripping onto my face. I am forced to squint as their saltiness stings my eyes.

  “If you’re that tired, what say you hop on?”

  I watch his gym bag slip from his shoulder to the floor and him crouch at its side.

  “Surely one spot is the same as another?” I question, looking all around. “Can’t we just stop and have our picnic here?”

  “No...” He laughs, passing me a smile. “It’s not much further.”

  I shrug my shoulders. If he’s prepared to carry me on his back, then so be it. I throw my arms loosely around his neck and link my fingers. My jeans ride up as I clasp my knees tightly into either side of his waist. He traps his bag beneath his arm, and I feel myself rise as he returns to his feet. I look down and watch the ground move as he walks. I flick long wisps of my hair over the caps of his arms, and gently rest my head into the hollow of his neck. There is something cool against my cheek; I notice a silver link chain and cross.

  The crisp white cotton shirt he wears pulls tight against the prominence of his muscles. I look down towards his chest and count three buttons that have popped open. My eyes cannot help an inquisitive wander and I make out the jagged edges of a tattoo.

  “Never thought you’d get inked.” I can hear the surprise in my voice.

  “It appears that you underestimate me.”

  His answer leaves me feeling slightly intrigued.

  “When did you get it done?” I can see how red and sore it looks. “What is it?”

  His answer is a mere laugh. My thoughts, however, are soon diverted. The claustrophobic feeling disappears as the trees open out into a sun-kissed glade adorned with a mass of vibrant bluebells and the constant sound of running water hidden away somewhere in the background, adding its own soulful melody.

  “Well?” Tristan asks.

  He places my feet down softly on long blades of grass. My words catch in my throat, leaving me unable to answer. It is as though we have stumbled into some kind of beautiful dream. From the corner of my eye I see Tristan open the zip of his bag, and unfold and lay out a plaid picnic blanket. Then I hear the uncorking of a champagne bottle.

  “Come and sit with me,” he requests.

  I kneel and shuffle towards him.

  “To us,” he toasts.

  His ash-blonde hair drifts onto his forehead, which he flicks away as his eyes rise to meet mine. He places a fluted glass of dancing bubbles into my hand. I can hardly remember seeing such sincerity held in the eyes of a man before. He strokes the index finger of his free hand across my parted lips.

  “Now do I get my kiss from a rose?”

  He moves closer, breaking into an open-mouthed smile, his teeth a perfect line of pearly whites. I lean away from his advances, taking in every inch of his good looks. Is it possible for someone to be too perfect? I watch as he places down paper plates, and fills them with salad, chicken drumsticks and sandwiches.

  “Tristan, about last night, our kiss.”

  My hands fidget along the blanket as I try to broach the subject and let him down without hurting his feelings. He deserves far more than this, far more than me. The kiss we shared was my mistake, and one for me to put right.

  “Tristan...”

  I am immediately silenced by his fingers; I can see that the gaze he throws my way intends to keep me locked within it.

  “You have always been mine,” he said as he lies down on the blanket besides me and rests his head in his hands. “Me, here and now, your destiny.”

  I sip at the champagne, keeping my face hidden behind the glass.

  “Tristan, last night...” I say, removing the glass from my lips. “You and me, us together, it was a mistake and should never have happened. It would be so easy to love you, to fall into your arms, but you’re far too nice, too good for me.” I stop and shake my head. “I just want to keep things as they are; friends, eh?” I smile.

  I think back to the intensity of the dream, but a dream is all it was. Sometimes loneliness can make you do strange things. Though from the look in his eyes I sense Tristan doesn’t feel the same. I see his fingers walk their way towards my hand; however, upon their touch I quickly withdraw myself from his reach. He pushes himself up into a seated position. I watch as he casts his eyes away and see how rigid his fingers have become as he runs them through his hair.

  “How can you say that when you haven’t given me, us a chance?”

  I clench the plaid blanket between my fists.

  “Can’t you see?”

  His gaze returns, and I look down as I speak.

  “Everything you ever do is planned. There’s no real spontaneity, even down to bringing me here today.”

  “I can’t win. When I tried to kiss you, you backed away. But don’t you remember it was you who asked me to kiss you last night?”

  “Yes, but then it was you who backed away.”

  “Rose, we’re going round in circles. You know why I stopped.”

  “Yes, I know it was Jai’s birthday. Maybe if you’d been spontaneous at the time, things could have worked out differently between us, but now I guess we’ll never know.”

  “The rules you make are all to suit you, but life doesn’t work like that.”

  I can see the despondence in his eyes. I take a sip and swallow; the champagne has lost its fizz and sweetness, so moving the glass from my mouth I place its stem on the grass, steadying it between my fingers. I pause in thought, not sure what to say. My nose itches as a strong scent of pollen oozes from the dancing bluebells; I rub my hand under my nose and sniff it away. My focus returns to Tristan.

  “There’s no way to sugar-coat my words; all I can do is soften them slightly. I could sit in your arms and we could talk all night, because talking is all there will ever be between us. When I kiss a man, I want to feel the earth move like it did with Jai. When I close my eyes, it’s not your face I see or your hands I feel.”

  Lowering my eyelids I pause in thought. I blink and close my eyes again. Why isn’t it Jai’s face that materialises before me? Why isn’t it his hands that I feel holding me close? I search for him, God how I search, but there is someone else standing within the shadows of my mind.

  “Lucian,” I whisper.

  “Lucian?” Tristan repeats.

  My eyes flash open.

  “I brought you here because there are things I need to say, things I need to tell you. Rose, you must listen,” he insists as I look into his widening stare.

  I open my mouth to speak.

  “Please don’t interrupt. No matter how farfetched what I tell you seems, I only speak the truth.”

  My forehead crinkles into a frown, and I watch him as he lifts the edge of the blanket, folding it back. For a split second I think he’s going to pull it from beneath us.

  “Rose, follow my hand, look down at the forest floor. The bluebells, their tiny violet and blue faces as they turn one way and then the other when caught by the ebb and flow of the breeze. And yet, this piece of ground, the grass we sit on, holds no particular beauty.”

  I can’t see a point to any of what Tristan has to say, yet I don’t interrupt him and allow my eyes to follow the movement of his hand. Opening a side pocket in his bag, he rummages and pulls out a handful of seeds, which he cups within his palm. He then rests his hand on the lush green grass besides us, scooping away a small piece of earth into which he presse
s the small brown seeds.

  “Keep watching, Rose, and listen to what I have to say.”

  I hear him take a deep breath.

  “We’re all born onto this earth with a guardian angel, who is our protector from the moment we take our first breath until the last one passes silently from our lips. In this life none of us is ever truly alone.”

  My focus averts from the ground and meets his open-eyed gaze.

  “No, Rose, please do as I’ve asked and look down.”

  My eyes shift back to the ground. The seeds have become thick green stems which peek out at me and push their way up from the disturbed soil towards the light. I sink back onto my knees in awe as I witness them grow before me. I’m unable to turn away until Tristan’s voice breaks through the silence.

  “Every day angels and dark angels walk amongst us, they are everywhere; just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “Dark angels? Do you mean demons?” I question.

  “Demons are dark angels, angels who turn bad, and then they are in league with Lucifer, the devil. Occasionally an angel falls in love with their human, and then they are given a choice. Do they continue with their existence as an angel with the privilege of wings and powers, able to see all the beauties this planet has to offer, or do they fall from grace and temporarily forsake their wings, and live out the rest of their days as a mortal? Believe me, it isn’t an easy choice to make.”

  It’s ironic, but if Tristan or anybody else had sat me down and told me there was such a thing as guardian angels, I would have told them they were mad, off their heads. Though as I watch the rose bush grow before me in a matter of moments, it seems that he is able to make the impossible a possibility. The pull of the sun seems to goad the novice green stems, which grow taller and thicken, with sporadic thorns shooting out from their sides. They harden as tight green buds emerge, their encasement bursting to life as petal by petal these red beauties unfold.

  “The human eye misses so much. You glance around you but never actually stop or take the time to see what’s before you. The human world is a farce and is blinded by ignorance. I had the privilege of being your angel, and not so long ago I was given that choice.”

  I look up.

  “Tristan, are you saying you fell for me?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

  I can feel blushes rise as my cheeks warm. My eyes flit around the forest as I try to look anywhere other than at Tristan. My gaze meets a lonesome butterfly as she passes by, her black and white speckled wings and orange overcoat depicting her name perfectly. It’s as if momentarily she rests in mid-flight and hovers before me in slow motion. When caught by the sun, minute particles of dust emit from her wings and she sits in a golden haze; then, without warning, she is carried by pockets of air and is on her way again. There’s such truth to Tristan’s words. We really don’t see what’s around us, and when we do leave this earth, we have missed so much.

  Tristan’s voice startles me. “Why do you think the forest holds so much significance for us both?”

  I pass him a blank stare.

  “I brought you back here for a reason, in the hope of jogging your memory. Can’t you blatantly see what is before your eyes? I love you, Rose, I always have.”

  I feel a fluttering in my heart.

  “My feelings became so clear to me the night of your attempted suicide. I couldn’t just watch you end your life. My only option left was to jump, allowing my arms to be there to collect you when you fell. If by chance I was unable to save you, then at least we would have been together, walking hand in hand through the beautiful garden of death.”

  I twist my hair in my fingers.

  “Do you know what you’re asking me to believe, and how farfetched this all sounds?” I say as I glimpse down at the rose bush and her vibrant red petals. “Okay, hypothetically speaking, let’s say I believe you, let’s say you were the stranger on the bridge that night; if I had jumped and you had followed, we would both have jumped to our death. So how could you possibly have saved me? How would I have magically fallen into your arms?”

  This isn’t the movies, I think to myself; if you jump, you die, it’s as simple as that.

  “You’re forgetting, Rose, I was an angel, and an angel never loses his wings.”

  I lean to the side, bending my head round to look at his back.

  “Wings? I can’t see them.”

  “You won’t; it’s my choice that they are never seen.”

  I roll my eyes. “Then was it you? Were you the stranger on the bridge that saved me?”

  “That night I pulled out all the stops. I surrendered my immortality for you, and as I fell I called out to the heavens for their help. They answered by allowing those resplendent rose petals to float down around us. I was there, waiting beneath. My arms were there to catch you. My plan was for this night to be our perfect introduction.”

  My eyes return to the roses and I watch the petals darken in colour, from the brightest crimson to the dullest of violets, their perfection curling in at the edges as their pretty heads bow down towards the forest floor. I watch as they lose the will to live, then perish and become no more than a pile of ash.

  “Lucian, the devil’s spawn got to you first; he is cunning and sly. He is the stranger you talk of.”

  I can see the narrowing of Tristan’s eyes and feel the awkwardness growing between us. He leans forward, his hands reach up to my face and again I feel myself backing away.

  “Trust me, Rose,” he whispers.

  Before I have the chance to answer, his fingers rest across my eyes and I’m thrown into darkness.

  “Take in everything around you.” His voice soothes my ears. “Can you hear the wheels of the carriage in which you ride as they rattle against the cobblestone road? Can you feel them bump beneath you? Can you breathe as easily with the laced corset around your waist that pulls you in so tightly? Lift your hand from your lap, put aside the small drawstring bag you carry and brush the silken material of your dress between your fingers. Now, open your eyes.”

  I feel the release of his hands. Squinting, I gaze around in wonder. God, what century am I in? I ask myself. As I look around me, daylight and Tristan are no more. I am sitting in an old-fashioned carriage, the seat hard against my back, and we are being pulled along by dapple-grey horses.

  “Tristan, how are you doing this?”

  Although he is not by my side, his voice is constant in my mind.

  “Look around you, Rose, admire the trees set in darkness. Can you make out the turrets stretching skyward? If you look hard enough you will see Fordwickston Castle as it welcomes your arrival. The carriage has drawn up, you step out and are walking toward the entrance of the castle.”

  I can feel the undulation of cobblestones beneath me as subconsciously my legs are moving towards this grand building. I turn back and see one carriage after another pulling up and mine departing. I shake my head; my hair and face are inhibited by something secured tightly. I attempt to lift my hand to feel and remove whatever it is, but as I do so, my arm is taken and linked through another.

  I look to my right, expecting to see Tristan standing at my side, but the man I see is not him; he is far shorter and of a slighter build. The stranger walks me into the hallway of this exquisite building. I am able to make out that his hair is dark, but I cannot see his face as it is partially covered by an ornate black and gold mask. I slide my bag up my arm, lifting my free hand to my face, and feel that I too am wearing some kind of mask. I lower my eyes and see that I am dressed in the most bizarre evening gown, its colour a two-tone kingfisher blue, the skirt a mass of frills. I feel ridiculous.

  The room I approach is filled with music, raised voices and laughter. I look towards the ladies and gentlemen who are dressed like me; the women are wearing eye-catching ball gowns in every shade of the rainbow, while the men are dressed in black suits and waistcoats, with cravats tied at their necks. Al
though I begin to question my sanity, I can’t help but feel that I’ve been here before, yet I know that’s not possible. Perhaps it is all a dream; I know how vivid my dreams can be.

  We pass through the open doorway and my eyes are almost taken from me. The room is magnificent, with everything gold and ornate and the floor a pictured mosaic that fits together beautifully. It is just how I imagine Cinderella’s ballroom to be, and here I am, standing within it.

  The man who partners me unlinks his arm from my own, though we are not apart for long. I feel his hand slip itself around my waist, and then without offering me a word he escorts me into the middle of the dance floor. He spins me around to face him; through the dancing light of candles, the allure of his green eyes is hypnotic.

  I jump at his touch, for it is like a charge of electricity that rages through me, and as our breaths meet it is as though I can taste him. His stance is rigid; he takes the lead, twirling me around the dance floor in his arms. The dresses and all their pretty colours merge. I blink and it is as if the room stands still. It feels like the instruments are being played for us alone, with all the other attendees merely spectators, silently watching us weave between them. Momentarily I feel a one-handed release, and as my eyes lift to meet his, he pulls off his mask, passing me a smile.

  I fall back and my steps falter.

  “Lucian,” I stutter, my eyes wide.

  I’m in the arms of the bouncer from The Silken Kite.

  “Do you really think it is fair for you to know my name when I am at a disadvantage and ignorant of your own?”

  There’s a huskiness in his voice, but why is he talking this way? I part my lips to answer, but his lips are already pressing down roughly against mine. His passion crushes my gasps as I attempt to breathe. His tongue tempts me on entry, softly, slowly to begin with; I feel it circling around my mouth, exploring. I feel rough bites as his teeth play along my lower lip. He unravels my curls, bunching them between the firmness of his fingers, and then I feel my head as its jerked back and his gaze as he looks down into my unguarded eyes. My face, my lips are his to own as he sucks and kisses his way along my neck, making his way into my heart.