No, it was good that Sydney got that out of the way for me. Aunt Rachel would spread the word, and that meant whenever I finally felt ready to leave the house, I wouldn’t have to worry about explaining myself over and over again.
On the third day, though, Syd couldn’t put off work any longer. So she hugged me and told me to call if I needed her.
“No matter what,” she said sternly as she paused on the porch and pulled her sunglasses out of her purse. “I mean it.”
“I’m okay, Syd,” I replied. It wasn’t a total lie; by that point I felt as if I could get through at least an hour without feeling as if I were going to dissolve into tears.
And if I did, so what? No one would be around to see me sobbing uncontrollably, and I’d learned that I could break down, have my cry, then wipe my tears away and go on for another hour before that horrible choking sensation seized my throat and I began to weep again.
Probably not the best way to live, but I had to start somewhere.
Shifting her weight from one foot to another, she studied me for a few seconds, then nodded. “All right. I’ll call you on my break.”
“Sounds good,” I told her, summoning a watery smile.
She didn’t buy it, I could tell, but I also knew she had to leave now or be late for work. A quick hug, and then she was hurrying down the front walk to her car. She’d been parking it in front this whole time, since she claimed there was no way she was going to deal with the narrow alley that backed up to the garage, with its awkward angles and blind spots. I really couldn’t blame her. Not wanting to go back into the house and face its emptiness, I sat down on the top porch step.
It was actually a beautiful day. Here in Jerome it was almost ten degrees warmer than Flagstaff, the temperatures in the upper 60s, puffy clouds scudding by. The trees were still bare, but some of them had the faintest mist of green along their branches, evidence of buds that would begin to pop any day now. And I could see down into the valley, watch the clouds trace their way over the hills and the river bottom, moving fast. My eyes seemed to be pulled northward, past the red rocks of Sedona, over the mesa….
Don’t do it, I told myself. Just look someplace else. Anyplace else.
But somehow my gaze felt inexorably drawn to those brooding mountaintops in Flagstaff. We hadn’t hiked all the way up to the top of Mt. Humphreys, since there was still too much snow for it to be safe for a beginner like me. However, Connor had promised we’d go in the late spring, saying that when you were standing up there, it felt as if you could see the whole world.
This time the pain came as a sudden knifing ache deep in my chest, as if someone had just buried a blade there. I let out a little gasp, felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Goddess, would this ever get better? Or was I destined to feel Connor’s absence like a raw, gaping wound for the rest of my life?
I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if anyone knew. This wasn’t an ordinary breakup — or separation, if you wanted to use Sydney’s more hopeful terminology. A prima and her consort were only supposed to be separated by death, and nothing else. I had never heard of a bonded couple like us simply…breaking up.
A shadow fell across the path, and I tore my gaze away from the faraway peaks in Flagstaff, seeing probably the last person I would have expected approaching the house.
Margot Emory.
I blinked a few times, hoping it would be enough to dispel the tears that had begun to gather. No way did I want Margot Emory catching me in a moment of weakness, however well-deserved.
She paused at the bottom of the steps and looked up at me. Her hair, dark enough for a Wilcox, was pulled back into a silvery barrette at the base of her neck, and even though the morning light was merciless, I couldn’t see any lines in her pale, smooth skin. As usual, she looked perfect, minimal makeup flawless, not a hair out of place. No wonder Lucas Wilcox had been so interested in her.
But my own love life was complicated enough without worrying about Lucas’ romantic woes at the same time. “Hi, Margot,” I said, praying that I would sound reasonably normal and not clotty with choked-back tears.
“Good morning, Angela,” she replied. Her voice was brisk and cool, just as I remembered it. “So your friend is gone?”
“Yes. She couldn’t take any more time off work.” I sat up a little straighter, setting my palms down against the sun-warmed wood of the porch. “What, were you just waiting for her to leave so you could come talk to me?”
A flash of irritation crossed Margot’s face. “I did think it better if I could speak to you alone.”
Great. So this definitely wasn’t a social call. Sighing, I got to my feet and said, “Then I guess we’d better go inside.”
“If you wish.”
I most certainly did wish. I wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to talk to me about, but I guessed it probably wasn’t the sort of thing I really wanted my neighbors overhearing. Especially since my cousin Adam’s parents lived just a few doors down and often walked their dog right past my house.
So I led Margot inside. For a second or two I was tempted to take her into the dining room, make her sit in that formal room to speak her piece, but I decided that wasn’t very polite. Instead, I took her back to what had been the sitting room and now was the family room, with its comfortable leather couch and matching arm chairs, and small fireplace. It wasn’t really cold enough today for a fire, though, so I left that alone.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked, knowing it was probably best if I followed the forms, even if my heart wasn’t in it. “Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Nothing, thank you,” she replied as she sat down in one of the chairs.
Figuring I might as well get this over with, I plopped down on the couch and crossed my arms. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
Anyone else might have looked surprised at my lack of ceremony, but Margot merely tilted her head slightly and said, “I wanted to know if you were ready to be our prima now. Or do you plan to hide in this house indefinitely and only speak to your civilian friend?”
Anger flashed through me. That was fine, though. I preferred anger to the sadness that seemed to lurk behind every thought, every memory, just waiting to pounce. I snapped, “Well, I don’t know, Margot. I thought the clan got along just fine the three months I was up in Flagstaff, so I figured a day or two more while I tried to get my head straight would be all right.”
Her dark eyes held understanding, but no sympathy. “Do you think you’re the only person to have ever loved and lost?”
Despite her even tone, I caught the edge to her words. Certainly I’d never envisioned Margot being in love, but then again, I didn’t know that much about her, as she had always been a very private person. Yes, she was a clan elder, even though I knew she was about ten years younger than my Aunt Rachel. She liked to garden. Her mother was still alive, although she’d moved down the hill to a fifty-five-plus community in Clarkdale. And that was about the extent of my knowledge regarding Margot Emory.
“Of course I don’t think that,” I retorted. “But I’m pretty sure I’m the only prima to have ever split from her consort. Or is there something you haven’t told me?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid your situation seems to be unique.”
Great. I was unique.
“And, despite what you might think,” she continued, “we got by while you were gone, but we certainly weren’t okay. The prima should have been here for Imbolc and Ostara, to lead the observances. We muddled through, but it’s more than that. The prima is the touchstone for our clan, the guide. Our protection. You understand that now, don’t you?”
I had to nod. Until my powers awakened, I really hadn’t grasped the true strength of a prima. Protection. Defense. I had used that power to defeat Damon Wilcox. Fighting back a sigh, I told her, “Yes, I do. Or at least I think I do. But I’m not sure how much protection you need, now that Damon is dead. Connor certainly isn’t one to follow in his brother’s footsteps.”
/> “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I said flatly. He might have thrown me out, might have broken my heart in a hundred thousand pieces, but I still trusted Connor to do the right thing when it came to using his magic, even if that magic wasn’t precisely his anymore, but the power of a primus. “Connor is…good. I know you don’t want to believe that of a Wilcox, but it’s true. And so are his cousin Lucas and so many more I could name. I won’t defend Damon’s actions, because they were terrible, but he’s gone. We’re safe.”
Throughout this speech Margot had listened patiently, but I could tell by the slight furrowing of her brow that she didn’t really believe me. Fine. Sooner or later she’d figure it out. Or maybe she wouldn’t. I knew I didn’t have the strength to keep arguing with her about it.
“Perhaps you’re right about that,” she said at length. “Even so, our clan still needs its prima. So are you going to do your duty by your clan or not?”
I knew there was only one reply I could possibly make. That destiny had been mine long before I met Connor Wilcox. My heart might be shattered, but my spirit and soul were still intact.
“Yes, Margot,” I replied calmly. “I am ready to be our prima.”
* * *
I can’t say things went back to normal after that — after all, I’d barely been the prima for two months before Damon Wilcox kidnapped me — but it did feel as if everyone had been holding their collective breaths, waiting to see what I would do. After I realized there wasn’t much I could do except try to settle back in Jerome and put Connor Wilcox from my mind, I didn’t exactly stop hurting. However, I did find enough to occupy my time that those occasions when the pain welled up and threatened to overcome me gradually grew farther and farther apart.
After the first week, people stopped tiptoeing around me. I couldn’t stop Adam from giving me hopeful glances, as if he was thinking that now the Connor episode was safely behind me, he might have a chance again. I knew that would never happen, that I couldn’t even conceive of being with anyone except Connor, but I couldn’t think of a polite way to tell Adam that. Mostly I tried to be friendly and casual, and maybe he got the hint and maybe he didn’t. All I cared about was whether he’d attempt to force the issue, but he knew better than to try that. One thing about Adam; he was patient. I just didn’t know how to tell him that he could wait a hundred years, and it still wouldn’t change the way I felt about Connor.
It would’ve been easier if I could have hated him.
I distracted myself with planning the remodel of the kitchen, and consulted with Terri, the decorator who’d done the rest of the house, as well as an architect she recommended. It was going to be a massive project, since we’d decided to expand the kitchen another five feet into the side yard. I had to assure Margot and the other two elders that the exterior of the house would be restored so you’d never know the difference, and they still didn’t look thrilled by the prospect. All right, Ruby had barely touched the place all the years she’d lived there, according to them, and I suppose they wanted me to follow in her footsteps. Still, it was my house, and my remodel. I’d do it the way I wanted…and hope it would be enough to distract me.
Because of ordering tile and appliances, and having to wait for the architect’s preferred work crew to be available, construction wouldn’t actually get started until almost the end of May. That was good, because when I roused myself from my catalogues and blueprints and paint samples, I realized more than a month had passed since I’d left Flagstaff.
See? I told myself. You can do this.
What Sydney thought of my latest distraction, I didn’t know for sure. That is, I could tell she guessed I was over-compensating, making massive plans because that way I wouldn’t have to think about Connor. Fine. I didn’t have a problem with distracting myself by whatever means necessary. It wasn’t as if he’d been calling or sending me pleading texts or anything like that. Not one word since that horrible night when I walked out of his apartment. Not a single word.
In fact, I’d let everything pass by in such a blur that it wasn’t until I was looking at the calendar I had hanging in the library and putting a big star on May 27th — the day the contractors were going to start work — that I realized it had been more than six weeks since I’d come back to Jerome. Good, that had to mean I was healing, right? That so much time had gone by without my hardly noticing?
So much time….
And then a stray thought passed through my mind, followed by, Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
Six weeks, and no period. I should’ve gotten one at the beginning of April, and then again a week ago. I wasn’t like Sydney, who was so regular you could practically set a clock by her. Sometimes I was late by a week or two, or even three, and then things would reset. But not like this. Not two months in a row, and nothing.
My hands started to shake so badly that I dropped the pen I was holding.
Get it together, I told myself. It could just be stress. You were almost three weeks late when you were studying for your AP exams. And you’ve been under way worse stress than that.
That sounded sensible enough. I didn’t really believe it, though.
Only one way to find out. Drive down to Cottonwood, go to the closest drugstore — Walgreens — and get a pregnancy test. I could do that. In fact, it would be easier than ever, since a few weeks earlier I’d decided I needed to have my own transportation, and went with Syd to the local Jeep dealership, where I made the salesman go bug-eyed when I calmly wrote a check for the entire cost of a brand-new Cherokee. Actually, Syd went kind of bug-eyed, too. Yes, I’d told her that I’d come into a good sum of money when Aunt Ruby passed away, but I don’t think she really got it until I paid cash for a thirty-thousand-dollar SUV.
Anyway, I’d been coming and going on my own for several weeks now, so no one would think anything of me going down the mountain for a shopping trip. And I knew I had to do it now, before I lost my nerve.
After gathering up my keys, I went out to the garage and opened the door, then got in the Cherokee and pulled out. I didn’t bother to close the garage door, as I was going straight to the drugstore and then back home.
I’d been shopping at that store for years, but luck was with me, and the woman working the checkout counter was new and didn’t recognize me. After I’d thrown the pregnancy test in my basket, I’d contemplated getting a few more odds and ends, just to camouflage that one portentous box, but decided against it. What was the point? Even if I’d shoved it in a plain brown paper bag, the clerk would still have had to pull it out to scan the barcode.
So I put it down on the counter as casually as possible, and she rang me up without blinking. I wondered how many women she saw buying those tests every day. A lot, I hoped. Then she wouldn’t have any reason to remember the girl with the dark hair and the scared green eyes.
Once I was back home, I went upstairs to my bathroom and locked the door. Silly, because of course I was alone in the house. No one would walk in on me. Still, somehow I felt a little better after I’d made sure I wouldn’t be disturbed.
I scanned the directions, but come on — peeing on a stick isn’t rocket science. For the longest moment I hesitated, staring at the piece of white plastic in my hand, my heart pounding away. Then I bit my lip, went over to the toilet, and did what I had to do.
Afterward, the seconds seemed to tick by in slow motion. Was I breathing? I couldn’t even say for sure.
Finally I looked down at the stick where I’d set it down on the sink, on top of a square of toilet paper. Two little pink lines.
Two.
No. Oh, no.
Blessed Brigid’s charm to prevent this from happening had failed me, but in my despair, it was still Her I called on then.
Goddess, what do I do now?
What do I do?
2
Decisions
I don’t know for sure how long I sat huddled on the bathroom floor, pressed up against the clawfoot tub, shudders raking their way t
hrough my body. My heart pounded and pounded, and I kept hearing Margot Emory’s words echoing through my mind.
The wives of Jeremiah’s line would never live to see their children grow up.
No, I wasn’t a wife…I wasn’t anything to Connor, apparently. But it was his child I carried, and that meant I’d meet the same fate as all those other women, no matter what my marital status might be.
At last I pulled myself to my feet, sucked in a shaky breath, then turned the spigot and splashed some water on my face. It was icy cold, but I didn’t care. Actually, it was better that way. I needed the shock of the cold water against my skin to quell the panic within me, to bring me back to earth.
Get a grip, I told myself. It’s a baby. It’s not like it’s the monster from Alien and is going to burst through your chest at any moment and kill you on the spot.
True. But eventually I’d end up just as dead as any of the parade of actors and extras killed on-screen in those movies, albeit probably in a less gruesome fashion.
The thought tickled at the back of my mind, quiet, insidious.
Get rid of it. Connor threw you out…there’s no reason for you to keep it.
There was a Planned Parenthood in Prescott. I could make an appointment, drive over….
No. It was the same deep, quiet voice I had heard in my mind before, when I’d wondered if it might have been better for Damon to have bonded with me, just to avoid all the death and destruction he’d left in his wake after it turned out that Connor was my consort instead. And in that moment I knew I could never do such a thing. Not because I believed myself to be on any particular moral high ground — I’d always believed a woman should choose what was best for herself and her future — but because Connor and I had made this baby out of love, even if that love had later withered and died. I didn’t know why the contraceptive spell had failed, or what I should do next, but I couldn’t destroy something that had come from such beauty.
Darkmoon (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 3) Page 2
