Newton, Antoinette, Dylan and I walked confidently into the precinct lobby. Newton approached the front desk, eyeing a particular officer.
"Good afternoon," she purred. Her pupils contracted and I felt the first warm tickle of Newton's power brush along my skin.
"How can I help you ma'am?" he asked, his voice already taking on that monotone that all her subjects seem to catch.
"Is Lionel Reyna still being held here?"
The officer titled his head and frowned at her.
"I'm his mother, Mrs. Theresa Reyna," Newton told him, her eyes never breaking contact, never blinking.
He finally broke eye contact and punched in a few key strokes to his terminal. "Yes, he's still in holding. Would you like to visit with your son Mrs. Reyna?" he politely asked, folding his hands on the counter.
"Has Mr. Reyna been assigned legal counsel?"
"I'm not sure," he replied.
"Would you please check?"
"Sure. But I need to see some identification."
"You don't need to see my identification. You've already made a copy of my driver's license." She took out a single blank piece of paper from her satchel and slid it across the counter. "See?"
He blinked slowly and glanced at the white sheet. "Oh, ok." She turned it over.
"Well then Mrs. Reyna, give me just a minute to check." He reluctantly broke eye contact and began typing again. "Yes, he has."
Newton reached across the counter and gently touched his hand. "Officer Brooks, thank you so much. You are a fine officer doing a superb job of serving and protecting."
Her voice grated against the inside of my skull.
"Heh, that's just frickin' cool." I jumped as Dylan whispered in my ear.
"Sshh!" I whispered back to him.
"That's very kind of you to say Mrs. Reyna. You have a nice day." An automatic but genuine smile filled his face. The tone of his voice slid into a relaxed and easy state. He went back to his previous paperwork as if nothing had happened. We slipped slowly into the background noise once again, gathering in a quiet hall around the bank of elevators.
"It's settled. Dylan, you and Virginia, are up. The two of you need to lead us directly back to holding. Now…we just need to figure out where that is."
"I got that." Dylan nodded vigorously and nervously. "I've been here before remember? More than once?"
"Alright, just remember the physical proximity. Especially you and Virginia. She can only share her power by way of a physical anchor. You have to be touching her. And we'll be behind the two of you."
"Yeah. Don't fuck it up." Antoinette teased the increasingly pale male witch.
"Gotcha. Don't cross the streams. Don't fuck it up." Dylan slapped his hands together eagerly. "Hey, wait a sec. Why do you three need disguises? Can't we just go back there, one uniformed guy leading a grieving family or something?"
"Dylan, I can't be seen by anyone past this lobby. More than a few of these officers here have probably seen me in court. They'll recognize me. And how many of these officers do you think will recognize Antoinette?"
Antoinette shrugged and grinned. "Even with my clothes on, I'm hard to forget."
"Oh. Right."
"Ok, first." Newton stepped into Dylan's space. "Sorry about this. But I need more than one. Especially of yours."
"What? Ow!" Dylan squealed as Newton plucked a pinch of his hairs out at the base.
Antoinette smiled wide and laughed low and long. Dylan rubbed at his head, smirking over at her. "Does that make you happy?"
"Kinda." She grinned.
Mm hmm. I thought, watching Dylan's heart reach out to meet Antoinette's, where their energy entwined and locked together for a moment.
Newton plucked some of her own hairs out, then a bunch from me and Antoinette. She braided them together with my help. "Antoinette, if you will?" Antoinette retrieved her Zippo, brushed the wheel, looked around us, then torched the hair. The Corpalm erupted from the smoke, hanging in the air.
"Why can't you just cut some hairs out? The spell can still use it right?" Dylan asked.
"Cornification," she answered him, taking my hand and Antoinette's, as I took Dylan's. "Most of your life, your DNA, is in the root. It's always better to get a full hair from a crime scene. Ok. Let's get nice and cozy shall we?" Newton grinned evilly.
"You're enjoying this aren't you?" She waggled her eyebrows at me. Yep. Newt was having the time of her life. Breaking the law.
Dylan blew out a heavy breath and shifted his stance to face the double doors leading through the police station. He shook his head, like a dog shaking off water, and flexed his back muscles. The air around him sizzled and popped then turned fuzzy as light bent around him in a cocoon. Newt began the incantation, low and quiet.
"Cloak, mask, and cover, see what we see
When this illusion touches deep
Into thought, into mind
Into bend and swallowed psyche"
The spell drew from Newt's power, and from each of us, soaked in the misty strand offering and seeped out into the foyer and beyond.
My turn.
I called my power and reached out, touching the edges of Dylan's cocoon. I stretched it around us like a limp balloon, encasing myself, Antoinette, and Newton. It was honestly a bit weird to be so close to my coven members. Physically I mean. With each of us expressing ourselves so strongly, I could taste them. Or taste them as they existed in the aether. And there was the spell, extending out in all directions from our group like an opaque octopus.
Dylan stepped forward.
We got no more than ten or so feet from the double doors and stopped, then were dragged as Dylan shot forward, spotting another officer.
"Thanks," Dylan said, as the officer swiped his badge. Dylan held onto to the open door and waited. The officer glanced up at him, then back down at his folder in his own hands, as if he saw something weird or distasteful in Dylan's presence. But continued through the doors anyway.
First obstacle cleared–we were inside the station.
"Holy shit," the comment slurred from my lips. With everything that had been happening, and not being at work that day, I had completely forgotten the day. It was Halloween. And more importantly, it was Halloween night. We had all forgotten.
The immediate area we entered was a long rectangular room filled with desks from front to back. And each desk, every nook and cranny of the room, was filled. The room bucked with the energy of the drunk and disorderly, the costumed and crazed, the beleaguered and bespelled. And not by just us. But by the raucous din of voices and movement.
I squeezed Dylan's fingers, urging him forward, feeling his resolve drain a bit with the obstacles before us. He steeled himself and looked around, probably choosing the best path. When he finally seemed to come to a decision, we started forward again.
Two steps to the left and around a desk where a bored young female officer was questioning a drunk pickle. Two steps forward through the center of a conversation between a fighting couple, with one officer doing his best to negotiate. One step to the left, two more steps forward and we stopped as a giant of a man, pissed-off and struggling, an alien mask half-hanging off his head, was being led to a desk at the end of the row. Dylan let them pass, smiling friendly to the police officer, and we continued.
Dylan got us back on track on the main aisle leading us toward another set of double doors at the end of the room. I could feel his excitement. This is where we want to go. His foot lifted off the ground when I felt Newton squeeze the shit out of my hand and whisper, "Stop."
I pulled on Dylan so hard it threw all four of us back, stepping on each other and almost falling. I grabbed the side of a filing cabinet to stay on my feet and felt Dylan's power slip. Newton must've felt it too. Her eyes were suddenly closed. She had one hand out, the hand that was holding mine, palm up and sweeping from side to side, uttering the spell again.
"Hey! Stop her. Stop her!" I heard from somewhere off to our right.
A half-naked woman streaked passed Dylan, her black bra barely containing her double-D cups. This is what Newt must've seen coming. She would've bowled right into us.
The officer who was chasing her stopped, giving Dylan the once over from head to toe. "Thanks a lot pal," he growled then continued the chase. Poor Dylan. The flesh of his palm instantly wetted. But more importantly, his power slipped again. The officer paused, his back to us. His head titled slightly and his face turned in our direction.
As far as I know, to the other people in the room, it appeared as if a single person was jumping from one spot in the room to another. Almost as if the very act of blinking, for them, caused the disturbing break in reality. At least, this is what people tell me I look like when holding time differently than them. But I don't disappear, and without Dylan's manipulation, we would be seen.
I held my breath and did what I could, ran my power down into Dylan's hand. But he had to use it. Just as the officer stood erect and began shifting on his feet to study us, I felt the unmistakable taste of Antoinette on the air. Her warm energy rushed out and found a person three desks down, playing with his lighter. The man caressed the flint-wheel and the spark ignited, Antoinette's energy sucked on the tiny flame, making it dance into a burst of fire. The man screamed and dropped his lighter, igniting a random piece of paper on the desk. That was it. Whatever the officer found interesting about Dylan, and us, was not as interesting as his runaway and a fire in the station.
Dylan took the sign for what it was and drew himself up, getting us to the doors unseen.
As we reached the back of the room, I made the mistake of looking directly at Dylan. I shook off the vertigo. He looked like a Dorothea Tanning painting–half Dylan and half some-blonde-haired-uniformed-police-officer, existing halfway in and out of reality.
This time the door opened inward as someone rushed out.
The quiet and peace of the hallway beyond was delightful. I felt a certain guilt and a serious appreciation for law enforcement at that moment. We walked down the hallway, turning left and stopped just before the frame of a door with a plague reading 'Holding Admittance'.
Dylan took a small step, framing himself in the doorway. "Hey guy, Lionel Reyna's family is here to see him." The words were out of Dylan's mouth before we could stop him.
I let go of his hand. "Dylan, we're not supposed to be back here remember?"
"Shit," he muttered and looked apologetically to Newt. "Sorry."
She shook her head, letting go of me and Antoinette. There was no need to perform as a group in front of the officer. I let my power recede into my chest. There was no need for that right now either.
"It's ok. I'm going to step directly behind you, Dylan. When you feel me push, walk forward," Newt said, taking her place behind Dylan's right shoulder.
A few seconds passed before I heard and felt Newton's voice reverberate into the open door. "You're very tired." They both disappeared into the room. "So very tired. You need to sleep. Just a small nap." I couldn't see what was happening, but I knew she probably had the guy in a serious pupil-lock.
If Newton ever decides to turn evil, nasty, she'll be hell on wheels.
"Ok," the sleepy man replied.
Antoinette and I shared a smile as we heard the entranced officer agreeing with her. A buzzing noise filled the air.
"Oh!" Antoinette and I launched forward, grabbing the doors to admitting.
Newt and Dylan emerged a second later.
"Ok, we probably have about ten, maybe fifteen, minutes till he comes to. Let's finish this."
We found Lionel Reyna in a cell near the end of the jailhouse.
"Lionel, these women would like a word with you," Dylan said after opening the cage door.
Lionel Reyna looked remarkably improved for two days in the pokey. His body and face appeared clean but terribly depressed. He pushed himself off the cot. "Yeah, sure."
Dylan led us back out into the hallway into a nondescript room. One table, two chairs and four off-white walls.
"Take the keys and badge back to our friend. We don't want him waking up without them. Then come back here but stay outside the room." Newton said to Dylan.
"Got it."
Lionel took the single chair, while Newt and I sat down with Antoinette leaning against the wall.
"Hi Lionel. How are you?" Newton asked him.
"Ok I guess. Hey...you look familiar." He studied my face. "Do we know each other?"
"No Lionel, we don't know each other." I answered, which was true, but frowned. This man had clearly seen me not thirty hours ago. He'd tried to smash someone's face in, thirty hours ago. My face. And yet he couldn't recall that it was me.
"Lionel, can you tell me what happened to you yesterday afternoon? What brought you here?"
He turned to Newt again and sighed. "Well…I don't really remember. Like I told the last four cops," he answered angrily.
"I understand that. But we're not cops."
"And you ain't lawyers," he quickly added. "Except maybe you."
"No," Newt added just as quickly, letting her power seep out across the table. "We're just friends. Trying to help. Why don't you start with what happened, where you were, just before the incident. Before your girlfriend was attacked."
I noted how Newt formed the phrase. Such that it was objective, not subjective.
He took a deep breath and started. "Well…Jany and I were going to the fair. We parked up on Kearney Ave. You know how parking is downtown, especially on days like that."
She nodded empathetically.
"So we park the car and start walking, turn down Otero. Just you know, enjoying the day. And then…" He paused and looked from left to right. "And then something…there was a…" He licked his lips, "There was something." He looked helpless and frightened. "Why can't I remember?"
"What's the next thing you remember?"
"Uh…standing over her. With blood everywhere. Just…standing there and seeing my girlfriend all…" His voice trailed off in horror. "I would never do something like that to my Jany!" His fist shook the table, making me jump.
"Alright, alright." Newt's smooth voice cooed him. "Let's focus on those minutes between. Lionel, look at me." He reluctantly raised his head. "Focus on those minutes between. When you remember walking the street, and you see your girlfriend on the ground. The period of time between these two events. What do you see?"
"The sidewalk," he calmly recalled. "The blue skies. Maria's Taco Stand. Two boys running across the street. A century-twenty office. A…" He paused. "A brown hill. A white cross." Then stopped, looking to us as if we could help.
The Cross of the Martyrs. I thought to myself.
Newt sighed loudly and said, "Virginia." The one word meant a whole lot. She was handing him over to me. I don't know what I could do. Maybe heal or repair parts of his memory that seemed to be missing.
I called my power and reached out to him, focusing on his head. His mind became a pulsing network of yellow lights, streaming information in and out of different areas. Except for those. Pockets of grey fog hung around his brain, seeming to suck energy in from around them. I guessed this was where his chunks of memory should be. I reached across the space of the table and willed light into my fingers, pushing it toward those areas. The light caressed each abscess and cleared the greyness, allowing the lines to link together again.
I let go and nodded at Newton.
"Those moments between Lionel. What did you see?"
"The sidewalk," he repeatedly robotically. "The blue skies. Maria's Taco Stand. Two boys running across the street. A century-twenty office. A…the…hill. A big white cross. My bloody girlfriend."
"Do you think he has amnesia?" Antoinette asked.
"I have no idea." Newton sat back heavily and checked her watch. "Fuck. It doesn't matter. We're out of time."
"Alright Lionel. Thank you for talking to us. Officer Smith is going to take you back to your cell now. Everything is going to be OK. You're going to go back to your cell and take a nap. You'll wake up feeling rested and calm. You won't be able to recall our conservation. You're letting it go like a dream. We were just a dream."
He pursed his lips to the side. "Nice dream," he commented. Mostly of Antoinette.
Newt smiled. "I agree."
Dylan returned Lionel to his cell and met with up us in the hallway, just inside the admittance doors. We pooled our collective powers and cast the deception. Newt had the wonderful idea of avoiding the main floor and we managed to find an alternate, less crowded route to the foyer.
We were all fairly tired and spent by the time we got outside. And we had gained nothing by our visit. Even worse, we'd be leaving for Vegas in a couple of days. Which could be good or bad. Good if this witch was targeting me. I'd be out of town for a while. Bad if she was going to be in Vegas too. With all that magic in one place, how would we see her coming?
…
Antoinette dropped me and Newton back at my apartment that night. After our failure at the police station. I wanted to be mad at Claire. It had been her idea. And, I had no one else to be mad at. But that was just stupid. It wasn't her fault. We had tried.
"I just need to pack my stuff for the weekend. Newton and I will drive back to your place."
Antoinette stifled a yawn and nodded. "Hey, isn't that the little morsel you talked about?" She said, pointing to someone carrying boxes into the foyer.
Before I could answer her, she was out of the car.
Antoinette rushed up to the front doors and stepped in front of him. "Let me get that for you." She smiled brightly.
The little morsel, to which she referred, was Oscar.
"Oh. Thanks!" He bent down to pick up the boxes then stopped when he saw me. "Oh hey Virginia."
"Hey Oscar. More boxes?"
"Yeah. I didn't realize how much stuff I had until I had to move. And here I thought I was a minimalist."
"It's a process right?" I smiled at him.
"Ahem." Antoinette cleared her throat.
"Oh! Oscar, these are my friends Antoinette and Newton."
Oscar stepped forward and took Antoinette's hand. He did not spend too much time on her face, her eyes, or her boobs. This was good. He shook Newton's hand, according her the same respect.
"Well, you're just delicious aren't you?" Antoinette said, causing both Oscar and I to blush. "Are you new to the building Oscar?"
She knew exactly when he had moved in. Cause I had told her.
"Yep, just moved in a few weeks ago. Virginia here was gracious enough to help the first time around." He smiled. "Do you all work in the library with Virginia?"
Heh. I laughed to myself. Picturing Antoinette in a 'naughty' librarian's outfit.
"No, I'm an exotic dancer." Antoinette smiled bright and charming.
Poor Oscar. This was another test. Would he make one of those long 'ah' comments, and look down on my friend. Who I loved. Who was damn good at her job. Would he drift off into his head, dreaming of future lap dances with my busty gorgeous sister? Would he smile awkwardly and turn the other way?
He shrugged. "That's great," he said, smiling politely.
"Attorney at law." Newton answered shortly.
"Wow." Oscar took an extra second to process that.
Yeah, I suppose it was a bit weird. A librarian, an exotic dancer, and a lawyer walk into a bar…
"Well, I have to run. It was a pleasure meeting you Oscar." Antoinette waggled her fingers at him and swished by me, knocking her hips into mine on her way back to the car. I kept my polite smile stretched across my face. Newton rolled her eyes.
"Oh! I'm sorry. Let me get that door," I said, seeing him strain under an arm full of boxes. We had left him high and dry.
"Heh, thanks." We followed Oscar, and his perfect ass, through the front glass doors.
"You two out partying tonight? I don't see any costumes?" He eyed the both of us in a teasing manner.
Oh my god. It was still Halloween.
"Ah…no. We were just ah…running an errand." I smiled awkwardly. Running an errand…sneaking through a police station. Sure!
"What're you doing stuck inside for All Hallows' Eve? You're far too young to have given up on the sexy costumes yet."
He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know about that. No more Robin Hood, men in tights, for me."
"Mel Brooks!" We both shouted in unison.
Newton sort of shifted uneasily on her feet. Mel Brooks, not her style.
"But you could totally rock the sexy pizza slice. Or the sexy corn dog?" he said.
"Oh stop, you're just makin' me hungry!"
We both laughed some more.
"Virginia, why don't you help Oscar get these boxes upstairs? I've got to go check my emails."
As I was frowning at my dearest friend in the world, she took me by the shoulders, turning me around to face her. She began primping at my hair and face.
"What're you doing?"
She licked her fingers, brushing and pasting random hairs on my forehead and bangs into their proper place. "You like this guy." She stated.
I glanced over at Oscar. "Yeah, I suppose I do."
"Go spend an hour with a beautiful man. You've earned it." She finished, swiping at my face like a mother.
I frowned at her. "Do you really need to check your mail? Can't you do that at Antoinette's?"
"Of course I can. Now go." She turned me around, slapping me once on the ass. "It was a pleasure to meet you Oscar." She nodded once and was off toward the elevator.
I stood there for an uncomfortable moment. "Well."
"Well." He repeated. "You don't have to…"
I shuffled forward. "You know what, I feel sorry for you. No arguments, I'll help you get these boxes up to your apartment."
He gave me one of his sideways grins that I was really starting to like. "Thanks."
I bent down and started stacking boxes. "What is all this stuff?" I heaved and stumbled up against the wall as I misjudged the weight. "You know what, never mind. It's none of my business."
"Are you alright?" He asked. I nodded awkwardly, my face not hiding my embarrassment. "Well…I saved the best for last. Or the most precious." We walked to the elevator, grunting under the weight of the four boxes that he had stacked strategically in a pyramid while pressing the button.
"I could've done that."
He smiled. "These boxes are mostly pictures. Albums. Framed photos. Over thirty-six years of memories."
"You have a big family?"
"Yeah, parents are still married. After forty years. And five kids. I have four sisters."
"Wow." I gestured him through the open elevator doors as we reached the fourth floor. "That's crazy."
"Tell me about it. I have a serious appreciation for female troubles. What about you? You have a big family?"
"Uh…" I paused as he set down his boxes, and put his key into his door. My first response, when asked this question, is always: huge. How do you explain to people that your coven is your family? You don't. "I'm actually an only child. It's just me and my mom now. My father died around ten years ago."
"Oh. I'm so sorry Virginia." He grabbed the boxes in my hands, setting them down in his hallway.
"Thanks." I smiled. My awkwardness was cut short by a rush of fur. "Well, hello there! I didn't know you had a dog."
The forty-plus-pound black and blue spotted bundle of energy sniffed violently at my clothes, then gave a sort of canine approval, licking the backs of my hands.
"Yeah, this is Chulo. My partner in crime. I found him in a shopping center parking lot downtown. Just wandering around. He's a Blue Heeler mutt. Spends most days at the ranch with me. Don't you buddy?"
Chulo made several circles around Oscar's legs, moving his head up into Oscar's hands. When he seemed satisfied with the amount of rubs, he walked to a box laying near the wall and picked out a toy. He hoped up on the couch, placed the toy between his front paws, and rested his head on the fluffy bulge, content to stare at Oscar.
Chulo clearly loved his daddy.
I took a second to take in the rest of Oscar's apartment.
There were no knickknacks. Except for a curious cuckoo clock on the wall. The couch was of a nice soft black leather, except for Chulo's blanketed section. He had a coffee table and an over-sized flat screen TV. Why does every man feel he needs a television large enough to act as a movie theater screen? But the thing that caught my eye, the thing that surprised me, were the bookshelves, covering almost an entire wall. I rudely walked forward to study his book collection.
I can't help it, it's the librarian in me.
It was mostly history books. Ranging from the Celts to the Trojan War to the Crusades. And so much more. Oscar was obviously a history nut. And while we definitely had distinct and opposite interests in culture, as my love is that of evolving mythologies and indigenous peoples, I could respect his collection.
"This is my sister Olivia. The oldest of us." Oscar was suddenly next to me. Holding an eight-by-ten framed photo of dark-haired woman, maybe in her late thirties, smiling and surrounded by dogs and cats. "She's a veterinarian."
"She's beautiful."
"And this is my sister Flora, the next down." He switched the frames out for the one in his left hand. "She's a trainer like me. But she works with service dogs for K9 units."
He rushed over, set the frames down to replace them with two more. "This is Fiona and Lita. Fiona is a herpetologist."
I frowned.
"She studies reptiles at the university. And Lita…well, she hasn't quite figured out what she wants to do. Or what she wants at all. She's the youngest of us."
"Wow. They're all so beautiful. And…your family really likes animals Oscar."
He paused on his way back to the display, setting the frames down carefully. "Yeah, that's true. I guess I don't think about it anymore."
"And you have an impressive collection here." I commented on the rows and rows of European and early American books. "My father loved history," I mumbled to myself, touching the long scar at the bottom of my neck, nestled in the valley above my sternum. A bigger one that I'd received the night of the accident.
He came to stand behind me. "You know," he sighed. "Sometimes I feel like the key to understanding myself is in these books. History I mean."
I noted the huge volume of war books.
"You mean you feel the need to wage war?" I teased him.
"Well, that's just it isn't it?" He reached across me and touched the spine of 'Emperors and Kings'. "Why do men wage wars? Didn't someone once say 'Those who ignore history are condemned to repeat it.'
"Those who cannot remember the past."
"Excuse me?"
"Those who cannot remember. It was Santayana. George Santayana. He was a 20th century philosopher. Among other things. He was ahead of his time." I said and drifted off.
"Man," Oscar nodded his head after a few moments of silence. "It's gonna be hard being friends with a librarian."
I looked over at him and smiled. "Don't be impressed. I know a little about a lot." I went back to reading the spines on his shelves. My eyes stopping at Exploits of Alexander.
"Those who don't build must burn," I said, thinking of the libraries in Alexandria. How so many scribes tried to accumulate knowledge, of all the scrolls and books, only to have them burned over the millennia. It was depressing and wrong.
He blinked and cocked his head.
"Oh! Ray Bradbury. I think…it's about the death of curiosity," I quietly added, studying his curious brown eyes.
Oscar, he suddenly reminded me of him. Of Dad. They certainly didn't look a damn bit alike. But Oscar had a softness to him. Even a strange familiarity. Like I didn't know him at all, but I'd known him for years, maybe centuries.
"You've got a lot going on in there don't you?" he asked.
The question was innocent enough. But I couldn't help it. I attacked Oscar. With all the ferociousness and intent to burn him down. Or from the inside out.
Sex with a witch is not normal. As it is with women, sex engages us at every level, in every part of our bodies. From our feet, to our thighs, up through our spines and out every extremity. Our emotions fuel the chemical reactions, and the chemicals feed back into our emotions. But for witches, this is doubled, tripled. And without wanting it, our power is called. It's very difficult to control. We are firing on all cylinders.
I ate and sucked at Oscar's lips and mouth. Pushing him up against the nearest barrier, which happened to be the bookshelf. My hands fighting their way inside his jacket, trying to get at the flesh underneath. He ripped his jacket off for me, throwing it to the floor. Several books fell from the top shelves as I assaulted his chest and his being. The librarian in me scoffed. But Oscar grabbed me and turned us. We fell back into a crevice and against a wall. He kissed at me, biting at my neck. He lifted my right leg up and wrapped it around his waist. The room, Oscar's living room, began to bleed into the lines of the Fabric. Oscar's essence blinking on and off like Christmas lights. The memory of Antoinette's power, so familiar and strong, pulsed out from my center, making my skin warm and toasty. A rush of wind swept up Oscar's back. I could feel the goose pimples charge up his skin.
"Wow," he finally breathed. "You are hot." I knew what he meant. I was literally, hot.
"Yes," my lips parted and spoke the one word. The memory of Newton's power, like an echo, slithered along my tongue and lashed out into the air. Oscar moaned and hardened underneath me as the sound and power caressed his mind.
I should never have waited this long. But I felt like a broken train now. Running toward the end of the track with no brakes.
Oscar leaned back and ripped off his white t-shirt. I took a deep breath in as I took him in. Oscar was quite simply, beautiful. That warm honey-brown skin that covered his face, covered his upper body. His chest was perfectly muscled, not too much, just right. He had little chest hair, just a brush stroke of darkness from the bottom of his sternum to below his belly button. His shoulders were strong and broad.
The sight of him, the feel of his hardness, spiked my sexual energy. Pure power slithered up my torso like a giant snake. My spine, from the very first vertebrae to the top of my head, exploded in a rush, pulling in energy from around me. The few lamps in the room began to flicker. Light seeping out of their bulbs, making its slow laborious way toward me as I sucked it in.
My breathing picked up. Heavier breathing. But it wasn't Oscar. Not just Oscar. I was losing control again.
Oscar's hands were suddenly everywhere, my shirt and bra had come undone. He felt so good.
I reached around and ran my hands through his hair, his impossibly soft hair. I pulled at his head, grabbed at his lips, kissing him deeply, softly, violently.
The thread of time was suddenly there in my head. I didn't call it. I didn't mean to. The room slowed down. The music, previously unheard background noise, was now so clear in my ears. A low thumping of base, the tenor voice now deep and haunting.
Will Oscar notice that? I briefly wondered.
"Oscar," I said, my voice deep and desperate.
"Yes?" he asked between nibbles on my earlobe and neck.
"I need to tell you something."
If I told him, if I at least let him know what I was struggling with, maybe I could get some of my control back. We could do this without me tearing up the aether and his apartment.
"I…I'm a w" As the word hung from lips, a grey band of energy popped down from the ceiling. Like a taut rubber band. It had to be the revelation binding. Though I had never seen it before. It stretched out toward me. I wondered what would happen if I said it. If I acknowledged what I was.
Those bitches. The thought of a group of old women controlling my words really pissed me off. Words are important. Will is important. Those belonged to me.
At least my pants were still on. Though Oscar was pushing up into me. Touching just the right place, just the right spot. I was on the edge of the precipice. Then it finally happened. His body bled into the lines, the patterns. His physical body coexisting with his energy body. They were one. As we continued kissing I saw his emotions. Glowing serpents, swimming around his head and chest, making figure eights. I called them, without meaning to, making them synchronize and resonate with my own. They responded like well-trained circus animals. It was a horrible thought. It made me think of tortured tigers and elephants.
Our energy was singing the same song. Dancing the same dance. But not of his doing. He was resisting me. His mind, his will, resisting the emotional bond. But women need the bond. Especially witches. Especially me. The serpents fought and fussed, creating static instead of harmony. I tried to draw it back in, the power, the pulsing. But it was resisting me too.
Chulo began to whine. Dogs are smart, they can feel magic. Especially when it's gone whacky.
Oscar was sweating, too much; his skin increasing in temperature with each passing second. As my hands caressed his face, I felt something wet. I brought my fingers up and saw red. Oscar lifted his head. He had tiny drops of blood from his nose, resting on his upper lip.
"Oh my god." I pushed him back with enough force and energy that he stumbled and fell onto the floor. I rushed out of the apartment before he could say a word. Apologizing to Chulo on my way out as he cowed away from me. I would not hurt Oscar, and I certainly wasn't going to take the chance of hurting his dog.
I rushed into my apartment, and slammed the door shut. Pressing, hiding myself against the barrier. Newton was sitting on the couch, her eyes glowing off the reflection of the laptop screen.
She took one look at me. "What's wrong? What happened?" She rose and stepped closer. "Did he hurt you?"
I shook out a quick no, tears filling my eyes.
"It happened again didn't it?" she asked, stepping closer.
It was so awful, I couldn't say it. I couldn't speak it. And I could smell Newton, my sense of smell acutely picking out the mint and rosemary in her hair, the sharp spike of lemon in her breath. I could feel her inside me, from a few feet away. She took those extra steps separating us, to comfort me, to hug me. But I was well past hugs. I launched myself at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and kissed her.
I hadn't kissed Newton like that in years. Outside of the temple or a ritual.
She drew back, held me at arms' length. "Take a deep breath." Her voice was like cool water on a hot day, trickling down my back. "And another," she said. And I did. "And another."
Newton kept talking, the peaks between the waves of her voice getting longer and longer. As I stared at them, my patterns began to match them, synchronize with them. I blinked and looked up at her, as if I'd just stepped inside to a warm and safe house coming from a chaotic storm. And then I fell apart. Newt held onto me as I slid down to the floor, crying like I hadn't in years.
…
Two days of wondrous quiet. That's what I had. I went between my library and Antoinette's. Though being watched so closely by my friends, as good as their intentions, was driving me mad. I talked Newton into giving me some private time. We agreed the temple, her property, protected by our spells, was the best place to do that.
We were leaving tomorrow morning for Vegas. Soon enough, we'd find out if Newton was leaving us for good. But for the first time in weeks, I wasn't thinking about that.
Most people feel the need to get-away-from-it-all from time to time. And I was feeling just that. I'd been having such a hard time controlling my sight, that it seemed to be fighting with me. But out in nature, I can let my freak flag fly. I can look at the Fabric as it exists, before we've changed it. Humans I mean. Cell phones, cars, artificial light, pavement, walls…civilization.
I took a deep breath. The air was crisp and clean. The smells–creosote, sage, pine, even the dirt–was refreshing, bordering on dazzling. I looked at the shimmering temple walls. The binding stretching from column to column. My head tilting back, my eyes catching a small glimpse of stars beyond the slight opaqueness of the spell. I looked out again at the tree line and took off. Passing from one world into the next.
Newton has over fifty acres out here. You can run in any direction for a while and see only forest. And her nearest neighbor was miles away. So the boundary between us and civilization was even farther.
I jogged through the thick barrier of pines surrounding the house until the land opened up. I usually run at the gym, but this was different. Better. You have to keep your wits about you when running in the wild, in a dense forest. Especially at night. But my vision, not quite night vision, allowed me to see the obstacles.
"Ouch!" I yelled, tripping over a rather dry and dead branch sneaking through a patch of red ferns. Well…maybe not all the obstacles.
I got my feet under me again and ran till my heart was pumping hard. I jumped, I swerved, I leapt, through evergreens, over dry creeks, over fallen trees, through desert brush and bush like I was a jackrabbit-gazelle hybrid. After some time, I began to feel it.
You see, the world is full of illusions. But there is one particular illusion that defines the word. The illusion that we're separate from everything else. The ground, the trees, the animals, the insects. As I ran farther, faster, that illusion disappeared. I wasn't passing through the forest, I was a part of it. The energy in the ground, in the air, from the trees, pulling me along. I ran until I could not tell the difference anymore. Between me and them. The light of the Fabric weaves through all of us. Connects everything. Even my labored breathing changed. It came in deep twinkling waves, my patterns inhaling and exhaling with the beat of the woods.
I finally emerged onto an old open dirt road. And the illusion returned just like that. Though it was still beautiful. Aspens lined both sides of the road, stretching out to eternity. The flaky white trunks, well above my head, naked and bare; the branches filling out the spaces between the trees with yellow and orange leaves. The road was one of the first on the mountain. If I followed it, I'd end up back on the freeway. Not where I wanted to be, but too many miles to care. My happy place, my simple happy smile, had returned. I walked down the road, singing our song, me and Dad's, quietly for a while.
"You get a line, I'll get a pole, honey…"
Pops wasn't an outdoor type. He actually feared the great outdoors somewhat. It was Mom who was, more or less, a tree-hugger. But he did like to fish. I remember the first time we went fishing at Lake Beaver. He was so excited I caught a big catfish my first time out, he went around the campsite telling everyone. It was a little embarrassing. But what I wouldn't give to feel that embarrassment again.
I stopped singing as high-pitched scraping noise echoed through the woods. It had come from somewhere beyond the right side of the road.
Was the witch that patient? Had she followed me around and waited till I was alone? Somehow breaking through the spells and magic that should've told me someone was here that wasn't supposed to be?
Maybe I was just paranoid now.
I crept up the road, preferring the middle. Figuring if I gave myself room, I'd have a better fighting chance. The noise stopped. I spotted a missing space in one of the trees. Where slow moving lines of energy should be, there was an unnatural square of grey. When I got closer, I could see it was simply an old wooden box. A dried-up birdhouse. I poked my head forward to get a look inside and startled the owner of that sound. A Smoky-tailed Falcon screeched at me, stepping out onto the ledge of the birdhouse.
It took my breath away. I didn't expect to find any birds of that size or type so near the ground.
"I apologize," I whispered and stepped back.
My breath was taken away again as I heard cracking from within the box. I couldn't help myself, I peeked in again, letting my sight tell me what was happening inside the box. Three little oblong shapes sat in a pile of dry grasses and sand. They glowed and pulsed. This falcon was a momma. Or about to be a momma. Smoky-tailed falcons sometimes nest late in summer. But this was definitely into fall. I wondered what had happened to her. Why did she lay eggs so late?
She screeched at me again and flapped her wings, stared while her emotions, wild and instinctual, ran out toward me in red arcs of anger and fear. I pulled gently on her threads, turning them a light blue and back toward her eggs. She calmed down after a few seconds and turned back. This was a great honor. She was allowing me to watch. No matter my species.
The two eggs closest to me rumbled and shook. Finally cracking, a multi-hued glow erupting from each little shape. The fluffy little white balls of fur were already yelling at their mother. The third egg rocked back and forth. A tiny bit of its glow piercing through the shell. The momma falcon nudged it a few times with her beak. I brought my hand up slowly, thinking I could zoom in on the smaller patterns of the egg shell, unravel some of the tiny threads on top to help the chick inside get out. But I stopped. Fighting to get out, would help that chick be stronger. Would help it survive. I would only hurt it if I helped too soon. Some struggling is good for us.
It bucked and scraped, peeped and kee'd, the sounds growing louder with each pass at the shell. The chick finally burst through, its glow thick and white, then settling down to match its siblings' softer multi-hued energies. Yeah, that chick was gonna kick ass for sure.
I thanked the momma for allowing me to watch such an amazing event, and quietly stepped back. I cast a spell of protection over her and her chicks. Then prayed for our Indian summer to continue for a bit longer.
I thought of Dad on the walk back. How he would've loved to have seen that. Though that falcon would probably have tried to poke our eyes out had we gotten that close. Only my gift allowed me to do that. Ironic.
…
I had little to pack. My dress, my nice new black and flashy Bellavindu heels, makeup, hair products–which needed their own suitcase (thick unruly hair has its disadvantages), and lastly, the ribbon from around Maribel's neck. My old teddy bear wore the ribbon most of the time. Until I had to leave town. In these cases, I left her and took just the ribbon.
I tied the worn blue satin band around my left wrist and pulled my shirt back down over it. I couldn't believe the ribbon had lasted this long. It felt good on my skin, under my clothes. It was a silly superstitious thing to do; but somehow, it made me feel at home.
As I turned off the last of the lights and opened the door to leave my apartment, a hand raised and poised itself in front of my face. A person was standing in the doorway blocking me.
"Oscar."
"Hey," he said, putting his fist down and shuffling his feet uncomfortably. "I uh, wanted to see how you were doing."
It took me a long minute to understand what he was asking. My exit from his apartment two nights ago was abrupt, rude, and frankly, weird. For some reason, I'd almost forgotten. Maybe I was getting used to having weird days?
"I'm fine," I said, smiling awkwardly. I didn't know what to say to him. I didn't figure we'd run into each other for some time. I didn't want to lie. But I hadn't prepped myself on a reasonable facsimile of an explanation. "Look, I should apologize. I mean, I do apologize. I left in a rush. It was rude. And I'm sorry."
The look on his face was unbearable. He was actually worried about me. And hurt. My power withdrew into my chest; my wall, my defenses, erected neatly into place.
"Hey, you don't owe me any explanation. A woman has the right to leave a man's apartment if she wants to," he said, trying polite tact as he noticed my change of attitude. "And I'm the one who should be sorry. Getting a nosebleed at a time like that. Probably scared you half to death. I fell off one of the new horses that day. I probably hit my head too hard or something and had a delayed reaction."
Him thinking it was his fault, it was too much. "Oscar, that wasn't your fault. You were just…" I stopped. How could I tell him it was our combined intent, our combined reactions and pattern misalignment that had caused it? I couldn't. It sounded nuts, even to me. And I'd need several hours and a spell or a way to undo that revelation binding. I couldn't be honest with him. I wanted to be.
"Anyway, I wanted to make sure you were ok," he finally said.
"Oh yes, I was simply not feeling up to par." My reply was horribly formal. It felt horribly formal.
"Right," he said, self-consciously running his hand through his hair. The gesture almost undid me. "Look Virginia, that may have been a bit fast for us. Maybe we should just try to do this the right way. I'd love to take you out to dinner."
I stood there in the doorway, staring…not saying a word.
"Or maybe just a coffee," he quickly continued. "Or tea, if you're one of those people." He smiled brightly and disarming. But I couldn't give him what he wanted.
"Oscar, I…" I was suddenly and finally dry. My word-well had deserted me. "I actually need to get going. My sisters, my friends, are waiting for me."
"Oh! Well, hey sure. Maybe we can pick up this conversation later?" The way he asked the question, he wasn't confident that was going to happen. Neither was I.
"Sure thing."