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It Began with a Goodbye
by Riley Berg
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Chapter Twelve
Beginning the day after Christmas, Stephen immerses himself in his studies, training, and duties as usual. I continue to be bothered by his apparent loneliness, but as he seems unbothered by it, I try not to make a fuss.
I do not know why, but we are a little awkward around each other as we enter this new stage of our friendship. Other than for his "lessons" with me, he is as aloof as before, if not more so. But it leaves me a lot of time to read through the collections at Kamar-Taj for the Supreme Procedure.
Eventually, I give in to my concerns about his lack of socialization and invite him to spend New Year's Eve with me at Charles's.
"Well, we could stay here," because I am not leaving him alone, so if he refuses to go, I will stay with him, "but even hidden away in the Sanctum… Well, New York is not the quietest of places usually, but on New Year's Eve…"
Though I cannot seem to form a proper sentence, Stephen understands. This is not his first New Year's in New York.
"It would not be with the children," I assure him. "Charles has a separate get-together for those adults not playing chaperone that want a slightly saner New Year's Eve. We can portal there and back; we do not even have to show up on time or stay the night."
Stephen observes me through narrowed eyes for a long moment before agreeing in his usual reluctant manner.
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I take a moment to roll my eyes at myself as I ponder my reflection in the mirror. One of the advantages of Masters' robes is not having to spend so much time on one's appearance. I purse my lips and wonder if I should just wear my Masters' robes after all. Stephen will probably be wearing his. With a sigh, I decide not to bother with my apparel anymore and remain in what I have already chosen.
"Black?" Stephen's voice sounds behind me as I descend the stairs.
I pause my steps and shrug in answer as I begin to turn around. "Black is usually a safe—" bet, I finish silently, surprised by Stephen's appearance.
He is not wearing his Masters' robes. Perfectly fitted black slacks and a blue button-up, the top two buttons undone and no sign of a tie on him, unless it is hidden under the matching suit jacket draped over his arm. I admit I eye him appreciatively. Why has he been refusing to wear mundane clothes before if they are so… not mundane on him?
"You… dressed up," I comment lamely, turning around to continue my descent down the stairs in an attempt to not stare.
I hear his footsteps behind me, a little faster than my own. "I am more comfortable in my Masters' robes,"—translation: wearing the Cloak—"but in… non-sorcerous company, I have found it more comfortable to dress for the occasion."
I chew the inside of my cheek. Perhaps I should not have encouraged him to wear his robes and the Cloak to Thanksgiving dinner. I thought it would give him comfort, but apparently, the contrast to those of us dressed in modern human style was actually cause for discomfort.
As we step into the front hall, I turn to him with an apology on my lips, but my intentions must also show in my eyes because he silences me with a gesture.
"I know," he says, and I wonder how he does, or if he really does. "No apology necessary. I did not know myself."
So, he does know what I was going to say. Perhaps there is hope for our friendship after all.
I walk to the closet that holds the non-sentient outerwear. Cloaks, capes, coats, jackets, scarves, a box stuffed with gloves and mittens—matches not guaranteed—a basket of winter hats on the floor, and a tub of summer hats up on a shelf at the back. Most articles belong to no one in particular and are worn, moth-eaten, and/or badly out of fashion. Stephen and I have been meaning to go through it, but have yet to do so. Perhaps that will be one of my New Year resolutions.
I pull my wool trench coat off a peg at the front of the closet. It is one of my favorite creations, thus why I keep it in the physical world instead of shapeshifting into it. The charcoal gray matches well enough with my black dress and the hem that falls mid-calf protects the majority of my legs from the winter cold. I snuggle into the satin-lined coat with a smile on my face and pretend that I do not see Stephen as he shakes his head at me in amusement. I like clothes, I pout silently.
"I thought we were going to portal there," he says as he vanishes into the closet in search of something suitable for himself.
"We are. But I think it is rude to portal into someone's home. Or school. So, we will portal outside and then enter like anyone else."
Stephen nods his understanding as he exits the closet with a coat that causes me to pout.
"That is worn enough to justify throwing away," I mumble, wondering if even the Salvation Army would take it.
Stephen looks at it in the brighter light of the entry hall and appears to agree with me. I stare at the garment, pondering. I wonder if I can extend my shapeshifting abilities to someone else the way I can extend them to my clothes? I have never done it before. It would just be an article of clothing anyway, not the actual person. If not, maybe I can shapeshift into something not made to my measurements and then give it to him.
"Put it on."
Stephen looks at me doubtfully.
"I have an idea."
With a tentative sort of trust, Stephen dons the moth-eating coat. I extend a hand to him, wrapping it around his arm, and thus the sleeve of his coat. I close my eyes in concentration. Even when I gave up my sorcery for a time (a long time), I still used my so-called shapeshifting abilities. With all that practice, it comes so naturally that it requires little thought, but this is something new.
I cannot seem to form an image in my mind of what I want. Bother!
I purse my lips but neither open my eyes or release Stephen. I will just have to start with something familiar. I imagine my own coat and slowly morph the image into something a little more masculine and better fitted for Stephen. Doubtfully, I try to solidify the image in my mind and imagine it on Stephen. A flicker of warmth passes through my fingers and I open one eye tentatively.
"I did it!" I clap my hands together happily. "I never did that before."
Stephen ignores my enthusiasm and inspects himself in the mirror. He must find it adequate because he does not complain. He does not say anything, in fact.
Neither of us mentions that we are now nearly matching as I open a portal in front of us.
"Oh, look at that; it is snowing at Charles's," I smile, pulling Stephen through the portal with me.
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