by Shannon Page
Then I felt ashamed, and a little frightened. I was blood-sworn to this coven, for life. Was I seriously considering building such a blatant wall against my chosen family?
But if it could keep Niad out…if I was just seeking to preserve some privacy in my own home… Everyone else politely asked permission to enter. Why did she have to be such a jerk?
I don’t know, I answered Jeremy. It’s tempting, but…not exactly friendly, you know?
As you like.
Had I offended him? It was hard to tell with æthereal communication. There were no visual cues; even the words themselves did not take on the normal spoken tones. I wished we could talk about it in person.
Boy, did I feel lonely.
Are you busy right now? I asked, after a minute.
I am not.
Another pause. Would you like to come over?
I would be delighted to.
Ten minutes later, we stood together in my kitchen. Elnor lurked in the corner, watching while affecting not to. Petrana…stood there.
“I feel weird about this,” I told Jeremy. “It’s like I’m rejecting the coven, when I just want some privacy.”
“Did it not already feel like a rejection when you moved into this house?” he asked.
“Well, yeah, but…it was a rejection that went both ways, to be perfectly honest.”
“And you, and your coven, have dealt with that, have you not?”
“More or less.” I’d told him about Niad’s “friendly” little visit. “We’ve been doing better, lately; I spent so much time there after Logan departed, and they were very nice taking care of me. I worry that doing something like this will just make it all worse again.”
He thought a moment, frowning. “Actually, I beg to differ. Niadine, whatever her motives and however clumsily she may have expressed them, was actually conveying a legitimate concern: we have safeguards for very valid reasons. Building wards would demonstrate to your coven, as well as to the entire community, that you are taking our traditions seriously, by putting in place measures to protect yourself.”
“Huh.” That did make some sense.
Jeremy went on, “I think you may be projecting too much meaning onto the symbolism of wards. It will be easy for you to invite your sisters—or anyone—inside any time you like; this will merely save you from unannounced interruptions, such as you experienced this evening. Not to mention any actual danger.” He glanced toward the window. “We have learned to protect ourselves over the centuries with good reason, you know.”
“I do know that.” I sighed. “And I know you’re right, but it still feels weird.”
“I notice you lock the front door. A good set of wards is no different than that.”
It was true. I’d been foolish, not thinking it through. “Yeah.”
“If you don’t like them, we can take them down at any time.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Let’s do this thing.”
“Good!” He smiled at me. “If we build both of our essences into it, it will be that much stronger—not just doubled, but multiplied, and in unexpected directions.”
“Yes, I know that,” I said. Warlocks did love to explain things to witches, didn’t they?
He caught my tone and smiled. “Though of course, you know far more about this than I do, being both a coven witch and a working scientist.”
I shrugged. “I bet there’s a thing or two about the world you could teach me. But wards are something I do understand.”
Jeremy laughed. “Good! Then let us build some.”
We cooked up a small potion of firewort and sage, more for my benefit than for his, and each swallowed three drams. Then we climbed the stairs to the third floor and sat cross-legged over my pentacle. “Elnor,” I called; this was work I’d need my familiar for. She followed and settled in my lap, facing Jeremy across the design on the floor.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, reaching out to take his hands. They were warm and comforting; a gentle thrill ran through me, blending nicely with the potion.
I led the chant, drawing on both of our energies as I sent strong protective magic around the space of my house and surrounding yard—a 360-degree sphere, not neglecting the ground beneath. After I established the rhythm, Jeremy joined in, echoing my words, changing a few of them, reinforcing them by lacing his in the opposite direction. Wards built thusly would withstand many different kinds of assault. And he was right: together we could take them apart easily, if ever I changed my mind.
Within minutes, the spell peaked, and the wards snapped into place. I took a deep breath as the magical feel of the air around me shifted, then re-formed in its new pattern. “Wow, that actually feels great,” I said, confused and unable to stop grinning. My sleepiness had vanished entirely. I felt like I could climb every hill in the city again.
“Have you ever had wards built specifically for you before?”
I thought a moment. “No. I’ve always lived in places secured by others.”
“Well, I believe that makes my point. See? I did not expect that you would mind this.”
“No!” I laughed, setting Elnor onto the floor as I got to my feet. “Wow.” I stretched and wiggled my toes. “It’s so…I don’t know, juicy or something. Thank you!”
Jeremy got up and stood before me. “You are welcome. It was my pleasure.” He grinned too. “I enjoy them as well. I feel much more comfortable inside their bounds.”
This close to him, his scent was hard to ignore. And we were both smiling and feeling proud of ourselves, and it was the dead of the night, and the privacy and security around us was quite compelling. Even so, I didn’t have to kiss him.
But I wanted to.
I leaned in. He was ready for it, watching me closely as he took me into his arms. My hair twitched against my back, trying to touch him. His kiss was warm and enthusiastic, yet still left room for me to pull away if I came to my senses.
But I didn’t.
Or maybe I was responding to a different set of senses. Maybe I was answering that deep, sad, alone part of my heart, the part that had found a listening ear in him. Maybe I was seeking some comfort and solace, from someone who truly understood me, in a way that Raymond—or any human—would never be able to. Maybe I was looking for the ultimate life-affirming act, in the face of grief. Or maybe I was even looking to seal our joint magic in one of the oldest and most traditional ways of our kind.
In any event, the last rational thing I did that night was to lead him down one fight of stairs to my bedroom. I was far too old for sex on a hardwood floor.
— CHAPTER TWELVE —
The sun shone brilliantly through my bedroom window the next morning. Illuminating the warlock sleeping next to me.
Well, this is complicated, I thought. I shifted slightly in the bed, nudging his warm body with my thigh. He sighed in his sleep, nestling a little closer, bringing me his scent—delicious.
I have to talk to Raymond. No more texts. My heart gave a thump as I pushed the thought away. Later. Today, I will call him. Later.
This was not like me. It wasn’t that I had anything against one-night stands. I’d gone to bed with Raymond the night I’d met him, after all. But I’d been single then, and had been for a long time.
I’ll just talk to Logan before—
It was a momentary brain melt: A crazy thing happened, I must tell my best friend all about it! But I couldn’t. Just another of the long list of things that would never happen, ready to ambush me at any time. I closed my eyes as a wave of silent grief rolled through me.
When I opened them, Jeremy was gazing at me across the pillow. He clearly waited for me to regain my equilibrium before saying, “Good morning, my dear.”
I gave him a small smile. “Hi.”
He propped himself up a little. “May I get you some tea, perhaps a pastry? I hear breakfast in bed is a powerful medicine for melancholy.”
“Can you read minds?”
It was not entirely
a joke, and he knew it. “No, but my perception of emotional emanations is unusually acute. A byproduct of my diplomatic training,” he added with a wry smile, as he reached down and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. “In another few hundred years, if I keep studying, I may be able to perceive unshielded thoughts. But not yet.” His hand lingered on my cheek, caressing it lightly. It felt good. “It is more like heightened empathy at this point. I don’t mean to pry.”
“That’s okay. I just wondered. You do seem to know what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t, not in its particulars. You just looked so sad.” He smiled at me. “Don’t ever play poker.”
I smiled back. “Ha. If I played cards, I’d probably cheat anyway.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Why did he always know the right thing to say?
He’d been a very courteous bed partner, too. I mean about sleeping. He hadn’t snored, or stolen the covers, or fidgeted. A perfect gentleman. Did they teach bed manners in the Old Country too?
And then the breakfast he brought was delicious.
“Are you trying to spoil me?” I asked, dropping croissant crumbs on my sheets.
“I desire nothing more than to spoil you, Calendula my dear.”
“I can’t believe you can say stuff like that and sound like you mean it.” I sipped my tea, then set the mug on the nightstand.
He raised an eyebrow as he took a swallow of coffee. “I am perfectly sincere.”
“I know. I can tell. That’s what’s hard to believe,” I said with a grin.
But what did it all mean? Nothing, of course. It was just a momentary fling, giving in to lust, loneliness, comfort. Completely casual.
Well, but I did like him.
I reached for my tea again, more as a way to avoid meeting his eyes than because I wanted it. Once more, Jeremy did the not-exactly-mind-reading thing and said, “Another croissant?”
“Sure.”
And he understood just how long to stay—and when to give me space. When I finished eating, he took his leave, promising to check in with me later.
I sat alone, still in bed, questions rolling through my mind. Fling, or something more? He did want to date me, or whatever they called it in the Old Country. He’d made that clear.
Or did he? His proposition—or whatever it was—had, for all its directness, been rather nonspecific. Maybe he’d just wanted a tumble in bed.
It had been an awfully good tumble.
Did I feel differently about him after sleeping with him?
Well, of course I did. I just didn’t know what it meant. One night of sex—however great—didn’t necessarily mean love, or commitment, or anything. All of witchkind understood that.
But it doesn’t have to mean anything, I argued back to myself. I was just in an emotionally vulnerable place, searching for some larger significance in a night of good sex. In any event, Leonora was right: this was not a time for me to be making big decisions.
However, it was definitely time to call Raymond.
So I did. I waited, of course, until he could reasonably be expected to be awake; then I waited a little longer, because he was a musician and might be sleeping late.
And then I waited a little longer than that, because I was cowardly that way.
But then I did call him. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, babe.” The words were casual enough, but I detected a strong note of caution.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m sorry I haven’t called in so long, but…”
“That’s all right.”
Then we enjoyed an awkward pause, before both speaking at once.
“What are you doing today?” I asked, as he said, “What’s going on?”
I laughed. “Sorry. Are you free?”
“At work till four,” he said. “Free after that.”
“Come over?”
Only the slightest hesitation; then, “Sure, I’d like that.” Another pause. “Can I bring anything?”
“No, I’ll cook.”
“You’ll cook?” Now he sounded more like himself.
I laughed. “Oh, I’ll probably get takeout. But don’t worry, it’s on me. You just bring yourself.”
After we hung up, I sent a message to Jeremy. Can I take a raincheck on our walk today? I have a…thing I need to take care of.
Of course, Callie, came the response. Is everything all right?
Yes, it is, and it’s nothing about you, or…last night, I quickly sent. I just need a little process time. A bit disingenuous, perhaps, but not exactly untrue.
I understand. We will talk later, I hope?
Yes, absolutely.
I did decide to cook. A way of honoring Logan’s memory? I don’t know. I just felt sort of…domestic. In the same spirit, I shopped for the groceries in person, rather than pulling things through the æther. Walking out, alone this time, would give me a chance to think.
To prepare for Raymond’s visit.
What was I going to say to him?
I came home with the fixings for burgers and a green salad. Things I knew I could do. And I stashed Petrana upstairs at least an hour before Raymond could be expected to arrive.
He showed up a little before five o’clock, six-pack of beer under one arm. “It smells…interesting in here,” he said, glancing around the entryway as if in pursuit of an elusive memory. “That’s not Chinese food.”
“I cooked! And beer will go perfect with it.”
“You really did?” He grinned and handed me the beer, rather than leaning in for a kiss or embrace. Playing it safe.
“I did. Come on, it’s almost ready.”
I’d set the table in the kitchen; I couldn’t face the formal dining room, not yet.
“Open us a couple beers?” I asked, as I toasted the hamburger buns.
“You want a glass?”
“Nah.”
I brought the platter of burgers to the table and set it down with a flourish. “Voilà!”
“This is awesome,” he said after the first bite, wiping his mouth before taking another.
“Thanks.” He was right. These were damn good burgers. I smiled as I watched him eat, as he took a generous swig of beer to wash down a bite. Yes, he was a good man. I didn’t want to let him go. If I never again got to touch that body? The thought filled me with a keen physical ache. (Despite how I’d spent last night.) I thought of Raymond smiling at me over a carton of Chinese takeout. Of how much I enjoyed watching him play his bass on stage, the marvelous times we’d had in bed… But not just our physical relationship. I missed all the conversations we’d had, his gentle humor, just his intense, well, goodness.
How could I make this work? Could I tell him just enough to make him stop trying to get to the parts I couldn’t share?
And if I could, would that even work for me?
(And where did Jeremy fit into any of this?)
“Babe? You okay?”
“Huh?” I shook my head, realizing I’d been staring at him like I could magically will everything to solve itself. “Sorry. Woolgathering.”
He looked at me. “Yeah. You’d mentioned…things going on.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just…I’m sorry.” Open your mouth, witch, I told myself. Talk to him. You invited him here to talk to him. But I still didn’t know where to start. I gave him a helpless smile.
He sighed, and took another swig of beer before setting the empty bottle on the table, obviously coming to some decision. “So. Things aren’t…right. You know, between us.”
“I know,” I said, my voice gentle.
“And I…babe, I don’t want to break up, but I feel like…you know, I need more, okay? I need at least something.” He grabbed his bottle and started picking at the label. A little strip tore off, which he rolled absently between his fingers as he went on. “I know you’ve got… other stuff in your life. Your—community, whatever. And that’s all cool with me! That’s the deal. I get to see other people too, and that’s just fine!”
Neither had I, until last night.
“But, well, we never really talked about it, so…I’ve kinda been reading up on polyamory, and, well, the important thing there is no secrets. It’s okay to have separate lives and…all that…but everyone tells each other stuff. The primary partners do, at least.” He looked up at me, his eyes pleading. “And that’s the thing—I don’t even know if we are primary partners! I mean, you’re mine, but I don’t know a damn thing about the rest of your life. The people you…used to live with. Aren’t they supposed to meet me? Or your family, even?” Again, that vague, searching look on his face, there and gone in a moment. How much did he retain through the fog I’d put on him the night of the dinner party? Anything?
“You’re right,” I said. “We haven’t worked any of this out. And it’s long past time that we did.”
His face softened. “Oh, babe. Thank you.” He reached across the table and took my hand. I squeezed it.
“The first thing you need to know…” I paused. But no, it couldn’t wait. “You need to know that my friend who was here, the one who was very sick? She…died. A few weeks ago.” Tears filled my eyes as I uttered the half-truth. Well, it wasn’t like he could understand what had really happened. And she might as well be dead. She was certainly gone.
“Oh my god! Why didn’t you tell me!” He got up, still clutching my hand, and pulled me up into his arms. “I’m so, so sorry!” He stroked my hair, rocking me gently. We fit so well together. He kissed my forehead, then bent a little lower and kissed away some tears.
I kissed him back, snuggling closer as I sniffled. He was so warm, so solid. Familiar. Loving.
“I’m…still processing it,” I said, into his chest. “That’s why I’ve been out of touch, what I’ve been dealing with. I’m sorry, I should have—”
“Oh, jeez, no, of course!” His hand moved from my hair to my shoulders, rubbing me as he held me. “We don’t have to talk about… any of this other stuff.”
“We do, though. I just…” Now my throat was filling with that lump. The one that says the good cry is imminent. Inevitable.
