by Shannon Page
This morning, after unpacking most of the equipment and putting supplies in cabinets, I did get a small experiment started, though I left Petrana shut in her room for now. Once the experiment was underway, I pulled out my Mabel’s Glass for a look. The Glass was a small, spelled device that looked like an elongated pair of opera glasses. Like most witchkind lab equipment, it was designed to filter out the influence of our own individual magic, so that there would be at least some chance of obtaining objective results.
Holding the Glass close to my face, I peered into the crucible. Alas, the little creatures sprang to life, twitched around for less than a minute, then expired. Again. What was I missing here?
A noise from downstairs brought my attention back to my surroundings. I glanced up; soft, foggy morning light came through the windows. I covered the crucible with a containment spell, locked the third-floor door behind me, and headed down. Raymond was in the kitchen, clutching the espresso pot he’d brought over, trying to figure out how to get the stove to light.
“Morning,” I said, going over to give him a kiss.
“Coffee,” he mumbled, then straightened his arms out in front of him and staggered across the floor. “Caawwwww…feeeeeee…”
“You dweeb,” I giggled. “You’re the least convincing zombie I’ve ever seen.” I looked at the stove. Right, I should probably fix that pilot light. Turning to block my hands from his view, I sent a flick of magic at the burner. “There you go.”
“How did you do that?” He set the espresso pot on the stove, positioning the handle away from the flame.
I shrugged. “Just takes the right touch.”
“If you were a normal, coffee-drinking human being, you’d understand the importance of not having to deal with complicated machinery before said coffee.”
I smiled. “Good thing I’m a normal tea-drinking being, then.”
Once he’d gotten himself sufficiently caffeinated, he opened the fridge, then turned back to me with a frown. “Where’s your food? Is this thing even plugged in?”
“I moved in yesterday, dude,” I pointed out. “We can go out.”
“Aw, no, I wanted to cook you breakfast. First breakfast, new house. I’ll run down to the BiMart and get eggs and stuff.”
“No need!” But I was smiling, touched.
Raymond grinned back at me. “Just sit tight, milady. Drink your sad and sorry excuse for a morning beverage. I’ll be back in a flash.”
He was as good as his word; soon the kitchen was filled with the cheery sounds and enticing aroma of bacon sizzling and omelettes browning nicely at the edges. I could see that Elnor was struggling hard with conflicting imperatives: continue to treat this human man as a bizarre, foreign threat; or angle for a piece of bacon. She finally just gave up and sat at his feet. “Oops,” Raymond said, nudging a scrap of bacon out of the pan and onto the floor. Elnor pounced on it, pretty much swallowed it whole, then gazed lovingly up at him.
“Traitor,” I said from the table.
“I told you cats usually like me.”
“Well, sure, when you bribe them like that.”
He brought two plates of beautifully arranged food to the table, setting mine before me with a flourish. We dug in.
“So, what’s on for today?” he asked after a minute.
I chewed and swallowed. “Boxes, boxes, boxes. Plus maybe some furniture shopping.”
“Need help?”
“Don’t you need to work?”
He shrugged. “I could take a day off. Or even half a day, come home in the afternoon. Dad’s working on bids right now; Craig can handle the Haight bathroom without me for a few hours.”
I thought about it. And then about the fact that, though we had been dating almost a year, this was the longest stretch of time we’d ever spent together. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he’d want to stick around even longer. And what did he mean by “come home”? Surely he didn’t think…? “No, I’m good,” I said. “You go on to work. Maybe I’ll need help with heavier stuff on the weekend.”
He gazed at me a moment, then turned back to his plate. “Okay.” After another bite, he said, “So…this is it till the weekend?” His tone was carefully casual.
“You can come over tonight,” I blurted out, because I felt bad. “But…” I stopped, stymied. I wouldn’t be able to do half of what I needed to if he was hanging around. With all the tension at the coven house these last few weeks, I’d hardly thought about what life outside would really look like, day to day. “I, um, don’t know what my schedule will be, exactly.”
He looked back up at me, somehow seeming both hopeful and hurt. “You got an extra key? I’ll let myself in.”
“No, just the one,” I said. “Give me a call when you get off work. I’ll probably be here.”
Raymond was an intuitive, perceptive man. He heard what I wasn’t saying. “Sure.” He took a last bite of eggs, then pushed his plate back and got up. “I should get to work, then.”
I got up too, pulling him into an embrace. He stood stiffly against me for a moment, then relaxed. “Hey. Thanks for breakfast…and dinner last night…and dessert,” I said.
He brushed a gentle kiss against my ear, then cupped my ass and gave it a squeeze. “My pleasure, babe. Any time.”
“See you tonight.”
“Yep.”
— CHAPTER FOUR —
Rose’s was the unofficial hangout for younger witchkind—anyone under a hundred or so. From the outside it looked like a crappy dive bar, and not one of the cool hipstery kind, either. Just a place that time forgot.
Inside, well, it didn’t look a whole lot spiffier. At least, not in the front room. Scuffed old floors, ripped vinyl seats in dark booths, and a pervasive smell of spilled beer and…worse things. The back room, however, was another story. It was furnished with deep couches, oriental carpets, and adorable little marble-topped tables scattered here and there. Dim red lighting gave it a Paris-in-the-twenties atmosphere; heady incense burned in one corner.
This part of the building was off limits to humans. Even the wait staff was all witchkind.
The place was hopping when Logan and I got there Friday night. We barely managed to squeeze onto the corner of a couch and order two Smoldering Dragonflies.
As we toasted, I raised my voice and said, “Happy birthday!”
Logan blushed and shook her head, but she was smiling, her blue eyes bright. Her hair was loose; it moved softly around her face, reflecting the atmosphere of relaxed magic around us. My own braid twitched gently against my back. I’d probably liberate it before the night was through, but for now, it was nice to not have to think about it.
“Hey, happy birthday!” said a witch from the next table. “How many years?”
“Forty-three,” Logan said proudly.
“Just a baby!” The witch and her companions laughed good-naturedly and toasted her.
“How’s the love nest?” Logan asked, as we turned back to each other.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, just fantastic.”
“What’s wrong?”
I sighed. “Raymond’s been there almost every night, for over a week now. It’s… You know.”
She peered at me. “No, I don’t know. What?”
“Moving is a lot of work. I’m really busy, and tired, and stuff. I’m sure it’ll all settle out in time.” Logan gave me a patient expression; after a minute, I went on. “It’s like he thinks he gets to live with me or something.”
“But wasn’t spending more time with him part of the appeal of moving out?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrugged. “Except now I feel crowded.”
“So just tell him you need more space, more time to settle in.”
“He keeps offering to help.” I sipped my drink, struggling with how to put it, exactly. “I never really realized how much there is that we can’t share. It was so much easier to keep my life partitioned when we just had little scraps of time together. Now it’s all awkward. It feels like I�
�m lying to him.”
Logan frowned, and picked up her own drink. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”
I sighed again. “I’m not lying. I’m just not telling him everything.”
She gave me a look.
“After the very first night, he asked for a house key,” I said. “It’s weird not to give him one, but—well, I can’t.”
“I see.” Her expression turned sympathetic. “No, you can’t really have him rummaging through your herbs and cauldrons and spell books, can you?”
“I could probably explain most of it away,” I said. “His sister is Wiccan; he wouldn’t have to know that what I do is real.”
“Has he seen your golem?”
“Blessed Mother, no.”
Logan snickered.
“But that’s just it,” I went on. “She’s no use to me shut away, but he can’t, cannot see her. He’s already wondering why I keep certain rooms locked—not to mention the key-to-the-house thing. So far, I’ve put him off with excuses about the mess, and wanting to get stuff organized, and all that; but that’s no good long term. I don’t know what to do.”
“Seems like you’ve got two choices,” Logan said, leaning forward. “Let him in further, or push him away entirely.”
“What does ‘let him in further’ mean, if I can’t tell him I’m a witch?”
“That is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”
I took a deep drink, enjoying the sweet burn. “Why did I ever think it was a good idea to date a human?!”
“Because warlocks are self-absorbed assholes?” She glanced around the room, where witches outnumbered warlocks nearly five to one—just as they did in our general population. For some reason, warlocks thought this made them special. “Because you never expected to actually fall in love with a human?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it any more. I can’t wait to go furniture shopping on Wednesday. What time should we start?”
“Way to deflect,” she said with a grin. “I am entirely fooled, and have forgotten completely what we were talking about.”
I laughed. “If it weren’t your birthday…”
“I know,” she said. “We’ll get together after breakfast, start at Grand Central Antiques and go from there.”
A soft amber glow around the doorframe indicated that someone had requested entrance; we glanced over to see who it was. A flicker of patterned red lights indicated a party of four.
The door opened and in walked Niad, wearing something impossibly tight and black and chic, her ice-blond head held high, a confident smile on her flawless face. On her arm was the most gorgeous warlock I’d ever seen. He was hugely powerful, too; the energy practically radiated off him. “Oh, my goodness,” Logan said with a low gasp. “Who in the world is that?”
“I have no blessed idea,” I breathed.
“Wow.” With Niad and the stranger were two youngish warlocks from the East Bay set. Logan continued to stare, then shook her head and turned back to me with a saucy grin. “Blessed Mother, the universe finally decides to give me the birthday present I so clearly deserve!”
“Huh?”
“She never keeps a lover for more than a week. When she dumps him, he’s mine, all mine!”
“Even though warlocks are self-absorbed assholes?”
Logan gave a happy sigh. “I don’t have to listen to him; it’ll be more than enough just to look at him.”
I laughed, watching the little group make its rounds, all three warlocks preening like good barnyard roosters. Niad seemed at least as proud as them, having pretty much doubled the male population of the room. After a few minutes of greetings and introductions at other tables, her eyes lit on me and Logan in our corner. She sashayed over, tugging her escort.
“Calendula! Such a delight to see you. You’ve been quite the stranger at home, I thought I’d have to wait till Tuesday for the pleasure.” She leaned down for an air-kiss.
I complied, barely rising from my seat. “Niadine Laurette, elder sister of my coven. It gives me unutterable joy to see you, for the second day in a row.” Beside me, I could feel Logan quivering with suppressed laughter.
Niad turned to the warlock on her arm, lavishing the full radiance of her smile upon him. Up close, he was even more gorgeous. His teeth were very white in contrast with his lovely Mediterranean-tawny skin. His hair was long and dark, loose and shining as it hung down his back, barely moving in the magical air. His eyes were bright green, very light. And his cheekbones…oh. Oh my. “I have the very great honor,” Niad said, “of introducing Jeremiah Andromedus. Jeremiah, this is Calendula Isadora, baby sister of my coven.”
I gaped at them both. “Andromedus?” But that would mean…
Jeremiah took my hand, raised it briefly to his lips, then lowered it with a smile. I felt the thrum of his power through his skin. It made me want to both drop the hand, and never let it go. “Yes. Gregorio Andromedus is my father.”
“I had no idea he had a son,” I blurted out. Warlocks were famously reserved about their personal lives. Yet Gregorio was not just my mentor; he was also my father’s oldest friend, going back hundreds of years. I’d known him all my life. No one ever thought to mention a son?
The warlock glanced at Logan. I remembered my manners, as Niad was surely not going to introduce her. “This is Logandina Fleur,” I said. “Also known as the birthday girl.”
“Charmed!” He took her hand and kissed it; I could see her eyes widen as she sensed his strong magic.
“Call me Logan,” she said, blushing very prettily.
“And you must all call me Jeremy,” he said.
Niad gave his arm another tug. “Well, we just wanted to say hello—”
“Ah, this is ideal!” Jeremy said, claiming a suddenly vacated table beside ours. Niad frowned, but sat down, careful to show quite a bit of slender thigh as she crossed her legs. Jeremy introduced the other two warlocks: Marcus and Paolo. I stifled my amusement at this perfect stranger introducing us to guys we’d known all our lives. They pushed the two tables together and called out for snifters of Bulgarian frog brandy.
Logan shot me a quick, panicked look. She might talk a big game with me, but she was truly very shy.
I leaned forward, prepared to take the conversational lead. But Jeremy jumped in, saying, “My father has spoken of you several times since I arrived, Calendula Isadora. I am delighted to get the chance to meet you.”
“Please, call me Callie,” I said. “How kind of your father. Where are you visiting from?”
Niad raised her eyebrows, clearly delighted to be in possession of more information than me. “The Old Country,” she said.
Their drinks arrived. Jeremy picked up his glass of brandy and swirled it, watching as the green lines dissipated into the amber liquid and sent up a little curl of smoke. He sniffed, took a sip, and then finally turned back to Logan and me with a lazy, self-assured smile. “I am not visiting, though. I live here now.”
While that could be good news for Logan and her designs on the guy—if she was at all serious about that—I understood so much from that smile. He was a gorgeous, powerful warlock from a prominent, ancient family, and he darn well knew it. He clearly assumed he had the pick of any witch in the room—and in the city beyond. How kind of him, deigning to bestow some of his precious attention on little old us.
“Oh wow!” I said, putting on my best raised-by-humans air. “Don’t you just love it here? I sure do! But I’ve never been to the Old Country! Do they have indoor plumbing there?” I grinned at him and took a sip of my Smoldering Dragonfly.
Niad gaped at me, clearly convinced I’d lost my mind; then she exchanged an eye-roll with Paolo and Marcus. To my surprise, though, Jeremy laughed—an easy, comfortable laugh. “Yes, it is… interesting here. And rather baffling as well.”
I dropped the act, now intrigued. “Baffling?”
“So many humans—and you live right among them!” His smirk was gone; he seemed genuinely perplexe
d. “I don’t know how you all do it. I suppose you get used to it?”
Marcus leaned over to whisper something to Paolo and Niad. She snickered and whispered back.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve always lived here. It seems normal to me.” I honed my vision, trying to get a sense of how old he was. His energetic signature was so bright, indicating enormous power; but when I “looked” more closely, I could see that he was probably not even one hundred. Yet I knew Gregorio had lived here longer than that… “What brings you here? And why now?”
“Not your indoor plumbing,” he said with a teasing smile. “The Old Country is not the backwater it used to be.”
Okay, don’t answer, Mr. International Man of Mystery, I thought. I felt Logan by my side following the conversation raptly. Hopefully, soon she would be emboldened to say something. “I would love to visit there,” I said. “Are there really no humans at all?”
“Oh, there are a few here and there. But one can go days at a time without running into any.”
“Wow.” Niad and the other two warlocks’ whisper-fest continued. Ignoring them, I asked Jeremy, “When did you move there?”
“I didn’t—I was born there. My father was doing a research rotation at the university and met my mother. But she died, when I was quite young.”
Logan leaned forward, a look of gentle distress on her face. “Oh, I am so sorry! That must have been so hard for you.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I was barely three,” he said, a bit too casually. “I really don’t remember her; in fact, I do not know him well either. When his rotation ended, my father returned here. I was raised by dear friends of his—a diplomatic family.”
“He didn’t bring you with him?” Logan asked.
“I believe he felt my upbringing there would be more advantageous.” He smiled, now looking almost shy. “No disrespect intended toward this lovely city, but he was likely right. My foster parents provided not just a phenomenal education, but every other advantage I could have asked for.”
