“Because for the first time in years we are attending the ritual at dusk with your family, like you’ve always wanted,” Master Faverel soothed, turning his head to give Genista a wink.
“Come along, Nista,” Mistrys Faverel said.
With lagging steps, Genista followed.
As soon as she entered the front, Genista saw that there was a short line outside the shop. Mistrys Faverel bustled to the door and opened it, beaming as customers surged in.
The day was busy, and Genista’s smile stayed on her face but became tight. At least it felt like that under the blurring illusion that coated her head like paint. All the regular women clients had dropped by to scrutinize her and gossip with Mistrys Faverel.
Plenty of people had come in for last-minute gifts, and despite his words the night before, Asant wasn’t one of them, and she was relieved.
Genista hadn’t had any problem recognizing the local newssheet reps and putting on a bland and dull manner that deflected interest. By the time MidAfternoonBell rang and Mistrys Faverel shut the door on the last customer, the older woman was flushed with triumph. She’d been clever in winnowing gilt from each and every person. “We have done the best business ever!”
She actually smiled with sincerity at Genista. “You really should work the counter more often.”
“Thank you, but it isn’t as interesting as working on clocks and no-times.”
Mistrys Faverel rolled her eyes. “You and my husband say that.” She sniffed, tapped Genista on the shoulder of her apron. “You can take that off now and go home. You look a little tired.” She frowned, tilted her head. “And not as pretty as usual.”
The energy it had cost to keep the illusion spell going had worn on Genista. She just nodded, untied and slipped from her apron, and put it in her satchel.
“Have a good evening and Happy New Year,” Mistrys Faverel said by rote, turning to get her own pursenal and leave.
“Happy New Year,” Genista croaked.
While his wife was out of the workroom, Master Faverel handed Genista a small box, reddening. “New Year’s gift.”
He hadn’t slipped her a bonus of gilt. That was good. Genista opened the box and saw a delicate wrist timer from a century ago. “Thank you!”
She hugged him.
The tips of his ears reddened. He flapped his arms. “Go on, put it in your bag. You’ll notice it’s an Agave piece. Beautiful but needs constant tinkering to work.”
“Thanks!”
“’Welcome.”
She drew her gift for him from her tunic pocket. It was wrapped in a ribbon and easy to see what it was by the shape. She handed it to him.
“A clock key!” he said.
“I think it has the correct spell and shape to fix that cabinet corner clock.”
He clutched it to his skinny chest, face creasing into a grin. “Really?”
“Yes. I found it in a stuff shop.” She’d used discreet blackmail on her middle sister to have her scour the shops of Druida City for a key of that particular shape.
“Let’s see.” He headed toward the clock in the dim corner, key gleaming.
His wife caught him by his apron strings. “Time to go if we’re going to prepare for the ritual tonight with a shared waterfall.” She snatched the key from her husband’s hand and slipped it into a pursenal that was an awful shade of green. “Good-bye, Nista.”
Genista put her hands in her opposite sleeves—they were just big enough to do that—and bowed to the couple. “Merry meet,” she said formally, using the old greeting of nobles to each other.
Master Faverel bowed. “And merry part.”
“And merry meet again, Happy New Year!” This time she meant it.
She left and they followed her out. She scanned the street and found no one lingering who might be interested in her so she dropped the skim of illusion on her features. She only hoped the first ritual tonight gave her enough energy to replenish her Flair and her spirit, since she’d have to go disguised to the public ritual, too.
She walked in the afternoon sunlight. The autumn days were short and soon it would be twilight.
Cardus was in his yard, moving his hands in a spell to stuff dead leaves in a large cloth sack, looking like the Autumn Lord himself conducting a ritual: hair aflame again, broad shoulders accented by his leather tunic, shirt sleeves billowing in the wind.
Gorgeous.
His front yard showed only an occasional yellow or orange dab.
Her front yard appeared suspiciously clean, as if he’d drawn the leaves from it to his.
His appreciative smile warmed her, and instinctually her walk slowed, her hips rolled more. She wet her lips and wished she hadn’t as the cool wind dried them.
Letting down the spellshield, she opened and walked through her gate, closed it, and raised the property spellshield again. Then she strolled over to the hedge. “Greetyou, Cardus.”
Like this morning, she had initiated the conversation first. His gaze grew tender, and when he replied, his voice was lower, with that lilt in it that a man used only with his special woman. “Greetyou, Nista. You’re lovely this afternoon. Did the day go well?”
“Well enough, thank you.” She stretched. “I’m glad it’s over.”
“Anticipating the ritual?”
“Our private ritual, yes.” She glanced around, didn’t see Whin. “Did you get Whin’s collar?”
Cardus dipped a hand in his trous pocket and pulled out a sturdy woven collar in red and pale blue with male and female symbols near the clasp. There were a couple of unfaceted gems representing him and her.
“Excellent,” she said. “I had to rush during my short lunch break to get him a gift.” And one for Cardus. She’d had to teleport a couple of times, also draining her energy.
He held the collar out over the hedge. “Take the gift and imbue it with some of your energy.”
She opened her spellshields to do so. Her fingers brushed his palm as she picked it up. From under her lashes, she saw his fingers curl over his palm as if cherishing her touch, and her heart twinged. She liked this man who was attracted to her but didn’t push her. Different from every other fighter she’d known.
But now she formed an image of the large and loving Whin, closed her eyes, and drew her Flair to coat the collar, sink into it. Fill it with loving, and she murmured a safety spell.
When she finished, she caught Cardus’s raised eyebrows.
“What?” she asked.
“Whin can take care of himself.”
She lifted her own brows. “I think you would agree that everyone should have a safety spell, whether or not they can take care of themselves.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious you’re a fighter.”
He shrugged, leaned forward over the hedge, his gaze intent. “We’ll need to talk. Someday.”
She noticed the odd tone in his voice. “When we know each other better?”
His lips compressed into a serious line. “That’s right. When you know me better.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you hiding things from me?”
His mouth curved slightly, his emerald gaze stayed steady on hers. “Many things. I have my secrets.”
She had plenty of her own that she was reluctant to share, though he’d never struck her as a man interested in status or wealth. She handed back the collar. “Why don’t you go wrap this.”
He stepped back, bowed. “Yes, my lady.”
She winced. “I didn’t mean to be demanding.”
He smiled, his teeth even and white. “I like a demanding woman.”
In bed, she figured.
“And you’re right,” Cardus said. “Whin will like it better if it is an obvious gift.”
“I need to prepare for the ritual,” she said, and thinking of safety, she needed to check that the artisan from whom she’d purchased Cardus’s gift had translocated it properly to the spot she’d given him—her back porch.
“A mom
ent,” Cardus said.
“What?”
“Could you drop the shields between our houses so I might remove a portion of the fence and set up a mutual ritual space on our boundaries?”
She stared. “You can do that?” He had more Flair than was obvious.
“Yes.”
She thought about it, liked the idea. “All right.” She whispered the Words that banished the spell.
Cardus stepped back to the hedge, leaned over, and kissed her briefly on the lips. “See you later, my lady.”
The kiss sent streamers of desire to her sex. “Later,” she said, her voice husky, and she didn’t know if she meant sex or not.
When he saw the light in her waterfall room blink out, he took that as a cue to leave his house and go to the space he’d made between their two homes to celebrate Halloween and Samhain.
Taking a large box that contained ritual items, he shut his back door and spellshielded it. The ritual would take place in the backyards, and he intended that after the ceremony they would spend the time before she had to leave for the public celebration in her home.
Glancing around, he saw no sign of Whin, and he decided to test his mental connection with the FamDog. Whin? he called telepathically.
Only by straining his ears could he hear a distant bark, carried to him by the wind more than anything else.
I come! the FamDog shouted strongly in Cardus’s mind.
We begin within a half septhour, Cardus replied as he strode to where he’d positioned a large marble altar that he’d moved from the ritual room of his home. Turning in a circle, he gauged the space and nodded in satisfaction. He’d removed a large section of her fence that separated their yards. It looked good.
From the box, he drew out a small wooden fold-up altar he’d had for years, set it down, and smoothed a black cloth over it. This one would honor the dead, the marble altar was to honor the Lord and Lady. Then he placed a rough carved statue of a family—parents and child—on the altar. It represented his father, mother, and older brother who’d died long ago when a sickness had swept through their small town one winter. He hadn’t been with them but working in the stables on a noble’s estate. This was an old grief that only shadowed his heart during holidays—especially this one.
He also set down a silver wheel, flat, symbolizing all the holidays of the year, and the Wheel of Stars that souls cycled upon until they were incarnated.
On the marble altar, he placed a candlestick, the base of which was an image of the Lord. He also arranged his chalice, blunt ritual knife, a bowl of irregular salt crystals, and the small jug of wine. Drawing a little curled piece of papyrus from his trous pocket, he put it on the altar next to where Genista’s chalice would go. On the paper, he’d written what he wanted to vanish from his life: unrequited attraction and loneliness.
In the best possible worlds, Genista would return his love. He’d work to make that so. If she didn’t—he’d move on. No more of the old daily torture of seeing her and wanting her and not having her.
No more of the new torture of knowing she was with another man.
He put the gifts he’d gotten her and Whin at the bottom of the altar. Then Cardus turned and, with narrowed eyes, made sure the placement of the rope he’d laid in a large circle was even. It appeared fine, and so did the four spell-lights at each compass point for the elemental guardians.
He took the box and set it near the shed, outside what would be the sacred circle.
All was ready.
He heard rapid claw clicks on the sidewalk in front, the quick breathing of a large animal, then Whin bounded into his backyard, skidded to a halt with a comical expression on his face.
You opened the fence.
“It’s the only way to protect both our properties with one ritual.”
Dropping his gifts, two slobbered-on rolls of cloth, at Cardus’s feet, the dog panted. I like.
“It’s not secure, so the fence will go back up as soon as the ritual is done.”
At that moment Genista’s back door opened with a tinkle of wind chimes she’d tied to the inside door latch. She stepped onto her stoop. She was dressed in a pale beige robe that probably cost as much as he would have made guarding four caravan trips.
Cardus’s insides lurched as he studied her. Her blond hair was long and loose, her face and body were perfect. She looked like a goddess.
His mind buzzed; his body throbbed with need.
He wanted her, all of her, who she was now—and he thought they could help each other. He had no illusions that he was without problems, but he firmly believed that they complemented each other.
He steadied his breathing and his pulse. This shared ritual should give them a common bond—he was ready to be vulnerable to her and to the Lady and Lord.
Six
Genista blinked as she exited her back door. Cardus had removed a large section of the fencing between their backyards and placed the altars across the property lines. It appeared a little odd, and she noted that the section of fence was propped against his southern boundary. He stood, waiting, his face impassive, watching her—to see if she’d object?
Something about the space, the flow of energy on this special evening, had her remaining on the stoop and closing her eyes . . . and feeling the last hint of summer warmth in a breeze, then the air stilled and thrummed with the promise of a new year.
A saying good-bye to the last, and a welcome to the new.
Cardus’s energy was vital and masculine and pulled to all the feminine in her. She became aware of the soft, heavy robe she wore, her only garment. She recalled the kiss the night before, his lust that had sent heat through her body. The small and quiet moments they had shared.
Then another bounding energy swept toward her.
I am here! Whin projected. And I have gifts!
She laughed and her eyes opened and her cheeks flushed when she saw that Cardus still watched her. The FamDog sat beside him, two bundles of cloth before him tied with a string. Intriguing.
She moved toward them, carrying a basket containing items for the altars and food to honor the Lady and Lord.
Cardus wore leathers—good furrabeast that might have been harvested at this time years ago—honoring the animals that fed and clothed him.
Walking slowly, she watched the sun set with red and pink and orange at the horizon. Twilight blue gave way to deep black in the sky, and the full twinmoons soared high and bright and silver. Stars twinkled like diamond spangles.
The altar for the dead was small; he’d put a silver wheel there to represent acquaintances lost in the past. The object would serve for both of them. Her steps hesitated as she saw the weathered sculpture of a family of three, and she knew that it was his family. She’d never asked, but now she knew he was the sole survivor of a small family.
Her Family was large for the nobility, and no unexpected or tragic deaths had touched it.
She had only one remembrance marker for the altar, and it ripped the scar in her wide open. When she reached the wooden altar, she placed the small white stone image of a curled, sexless baby on the black cloth. Her womb felt empty and cold, and her cheeks colder still as tears ran down her face and chilled in the evening air.
Standing, head bowed, she wept as she’d wept the last two years when she’d done this, as she anticipated she’d always weep in the future.
Then warmth surrounded her. Cardus was close behind, then his body was touching, then his arms wrapped around her and drew her to him.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said in a low, rough voice, and she knew it wasn’t just a platitude; he meant it. Immediately after she’d lost her baby, there had been more pity than she could bear. Her pride had made her futilely grasp for outward status to set people at a distance.
“I’ve heard that nothing is as devastating as the loss of a child, and I wish you hadn’t had to experience that,” he continued, rocking her gently in his arms.
They stayed together until she pull
ed a softleaf from her sleeve and wiped her eyes, blew her nose. When he turned her to face him, his expression was sympathetic and tender.
He said, “We have lost, yet we go on. The old year is passing, the new year rushing toward us. We bring memory tokens of our loss, food for our Lady and Lord and our dead, a scrip of that inside us we wish burnt away.” His voice was vibrant as he said the first words of the ceremony.
Reluctantly she drew away from him and stepped toward the altar. From her basket she withdrew her cauldron, her goblet, a statue of the Lady, and a rose quartz candlestick. She put a small shell bowl on the altar and poured fragrant herbal water into it. Last, she stacked oat and apple cakes that she’d made a couple of days ago.
Cardus set her candlestick on one side of his Lord candlestick and her Lady figurine on the other. Though they were of different materials, they all seemed to match, and a small smile curved her lips.
He caught her gaze. “They look well together.”
“Yes.” His Lord candlestick was leafy and green and taller than her voluptuous Lady.
Hesitantly she placed her rolled-up papyrus next to the cauldron and next to his. She wanted to vanquish grief and regret.
Whin stood and sniffed at the altar, sneezed. His tongue swiped out and caught a cake, and he crunched it, bits falling from his muzzle.
Instead of scolding the dog, Cardus flung back his head and laughed. Genista laughed, too. Cardus caught her fingers and lifted them to his lips, brushed a kiss on her fingertips, nodded to the small cairn of stones marking the north elemental point. “Shall we cast the circle?”
“Yes.”
Hand in hand they crossed to the north and continued to each compass point, calling the Elemental energies to guard the circle and contribute to it. As they chanted the circle closed, the atmosphere was imbued with power. Inside the circle became a mystical, sacred space where they were linked to the Lady and Lord, where psi Flair could affect their lives. Every moment she was aware of Cardus’s hand holding hers, of the energy they called cycling between them, closely connecting them.
Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta Page 23
