The Association

by A. K. Caggiano

  “Uh…” His voice cut out, and then he cleared his throat. “I just realized what I said. Hold on, just processing.”

  Ivy, however, knew an opportunity when it was presented to her, and instead of her normal hesitation, jumped. “I’ve been there before, you know, it’s not really a big deal. I’d love to.” When they hung up, she briefly questioned the decision, but then bolstered herself from nowhere: her gut telling her this was the right thing to do.

  The Proctors were uptight, this she knew, but it was like a whole different world when she entered their house the second time. Hunter had picked her up in a dark blue button-down and fitted chinos making him not just a charming but also a cute possible accomplice to murder, but the rest of the guests were dressed in suits and cocktail dresses, and Mrs. Proctor even wore a floor-length, green number with sequined sleeves.

  “You didn’t say this was, like, black tie.” Ivy dug her fingers into his arm, glancing down at the teal, strapless dress she’d picked out as they stood in the foyer. “I would have changed!”

  “I don’t see any black ties.” He leaned down close to her, his voice right in her ear. “And I think you look great.”

  As she turned her eyes up to him with a playful look, Mae Proctor called across the room. She threw up her hands and floated to her son, enveloping him around his waist which he awkwardly stood through. “Oh.” She glanced at Ivy as if seeing her for the first time. “And our own little Ms. Sylvan.”

  Ivy found it strange to be called little by someone standing at least two inches shorter than her, but the thought was chased out of her head by what she wanted to scream: I know the truth! Somehow, she was instead cordial. “Congratulations, Mrs. Proctor. Thirty years is amazing.”

  “Why, thank you.” The witch took her hand and guided her away from Hunter and into the sitting room she had interviewed Alastair in. “I’m so glad you’re here to help us celebrate.”

  The space was rearranged, the furniture moved to the far corners revealing the ornate rug in its center and a set of long tables at each side, but this was no ordinary buffet. Atop the tables were stations where containers sat on gold or silver trays, in front of each a folded card.

  “Here.” Mae handed Ivy a thick-walled, copper shot glass. “You absolutely must try everything.”

  Each guest had their own cup, and they were sampling from the bottles, but Ivy had her suspicions that these were not specialty wines and top-shelf liquors. Three people stood near a bottle of something sky blue. One took a sip from his cup, stiffened, then began to vibrate all over. At another table where a hot pink liquid was swirling autonomously in a heart-shaped bottle stood two people who clinked their copper cups together and downed the substance with a wink. Though she didn’t recognize all of them from the neighborhood, these were all charmed folk, undoubtedly, and she wondered if her human chemistry would allow her to handle anything. Even without trying, the Proctors might just end up killing her anyway.

  Mae was pushing her toward a table where something akin to mercury was being poured at a molasses-like pace by Alastair into Mrs. Jiang’s cup when Hunter stopped them both. “Mom, do you think we could eat first?”

  Mae clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “But they’re stronger on an empty stomach.”

  “I know.” He frowned.

  She rolled her eyes and pat his arm. “I just want you to have a good time, but fine, fine! Oh, but you have to say hello to the Faulkners first. They’re all here,” she added with a wry smile.

  “Sure.” He pointed into the room. “It looks like Mr. Barker’s getting thirds of the Nitrox. Might want to limit him.”

  When Mae’s head was turned, Hunter whisked Ivy back out into the hall and to the kitchen where the counter tops were covered in finger foods. He took a breath and promptly apologized to her.

  “I’m not a witch,” she said quietly. “Is that going to matter?”

  “No, you’re sylvan,” he assured her with as much misplaced confidence as Rufus had in whoever offed him. “You might not even feel a thing if you do partake. Which you don’t have to!” he added earnestly.

  Ivy didn’t know what he meant, but before she could ask, there was a voice behind them. “A sylvan? Well, I’ll be blessed.”

  A man stood behind them that she’d never met before. He was lanky and tall with a thick mustache to make up for the hair he was missing atop his head. “Mr. Faulkner.” Hunter shook his hand. “How are you?”

  “Oh, splendid.” He offered to shake Ivy’s hand. “Rufus, gods rest him, really managed to pull it off, eh?”

  “This is Ivy Sylvan. She and her brother moved in a few weeks ago.”

  Shaking his hand, she smiled toothlessly and nodded, her heart pounding.

  “So I heard. Awfully nice of you to grace these folks with your presence.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but something about how he looked at her made Ivy feel he meant what he said.

  “Mr. Faulkner is on the warlock sub-council of the Sylvan Society,” Hunter explained.

  “We live in The Glave, of course,” he said as if that should hold some weight. “But I’m glad to see Avalon won’t be losing its status. Laura, Elizabeth, come here.”

  Before Ivy could properly panic about what he had just implied, two women walked up, nearly identical save for their ages. They were striking with small, piercing eyes and high cheekbones. The younger one made eyes at Hunter immediately as she greeted him. “This is Ivy Sylvan,” he repeated to them, “my date.”

  Ivy’s face got hot.

  “Of the Manchester Sylvans?” The older woman’s thin eyebrows raised.

  “Yup,” Hunter was quick to answer. “You should see her heal a tree. In fact, I need to get her out back to help me with a problem Antirrhinum. Great to see you guys, as always.” And then his hand was on her waist, and he was guiding her out through the back door.

  “I don’t know who the Manchester Sylvans are,” she whispered as they stepped onto the back porch. “I hope I didn’t make you think that or—”

  “No, no, I just wanted to get away from them.” Hunter had grabbed a tray on the way out and offered it to her. “Hungry?”

  There were pear slices wrapped in some sort of cured meat and hunks of bread dolloped with a creamy dip. “None of this is spiked with magic, right?”

  He ate one and shook his head, and she followed suit. It was a decadent mouthful.

  “Oh, wow, you sure about that?”

  “Definitely. Mom and Dad are purists about that sort of thing. They don’t even use the term tea if something has a magical property, they insist on calling them herbal brews,” he said, leaving the tray on a patio table and walking down a square stone path off the porch. “They’ve always insisted enchanted ingredients are for potions and spells only.”

  Before them, the Proctors’ garden spread out endlessly beneath the setting sun with raised planter beds housing all sorts of colorful blooms and long stalks that reached up taller than the eves of the house. Fruit trees dotted the outer edges of the expansive yard, and a gravel path ran down its middle to a stone fountain. It made Oakley’s work look amateur.

  “Whoa.” Ivy was breathless, taking careful steps on the dark slate pavers between the plants. The colors were vibrant, and the blossoms were buzzing with fat, little bees even as the grey sky above them and the trees out in the forest beyond were showing every sign of autumn. She turned back to Hunter. “You know I can’t really help you with anything out here, right?”

  Hunter laughed. “Can’t you?” He pulled her down another path between two of the flower beds and beneath an archway of thick, crawling vines. Overhead, the plants climbed across a trellis that covered the area in shadow, walled in by hedges on all sides, completely obscured from the rest of the garden.

  “Nope. Not that it looks like you need any help out here anyway.” She grinned at him. “You, sir, are a liar.”

  “Oh, no,” he feigned concern, “You caught me.”

&
nbsp; Ivy let him kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her, in fact, and grabbed his shirt to pull him in even closer. His hands found the small of her back, and she circled hers around his neck. The dull din of crickets out in the garden and the chill in the air made her melt right up against him, and just as she thought this place was probably private enough for just about anything, the high laughter of a guest somewhere else out in the garden cut through the perfect moment.

  Ivy pulled back, though her hands were still locked behind his neck. “I don’t think your parents would be very happy if their fancy friends found their son in a compromising position in their backyard.”

  “I’ve just wanted to do that again for days,” he groaned, fingers skimming up her spine. “Shall we go mingle then?”

  “It would be the responsible thing to do,” she said, staring back into blue eyes. She swallowed—the eyes of a dead man, in fact, and she had to look away.

  She refocused on the ground by Hunter’s feet where some bushes were growing in the shadows of the hedges. Unlike the others which seemed to be flourishing in the filtered light, one was short and sad with ragged leaves and only one bloom popping up from its center as if someone had taken shears to it carelessly. Ivy thought she recognized the bloom from the books she’d borrowed and knelt down for a closer look.

  “Having some fun, are we?”

  Mrs. Jiang stood at the archway, arms crossed, smirking.

  Ivy glanced up from where she’d knelt on the ground, and Hunter was looking down at her, eyes wide, confused.

  “Oh!” She hopped up so her face was no longer level with his crotch, a nervous laugh erupting against her will.

  “Just gardening,” Hunter managed with a swallow, looking to Ivy for help.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Jiang’s piercing gaze never left Ivy. “That is what sylvan are best at, is it not?”

  Ivy nodded as they slid past her into the garden proper, her face on fire.

  Chapter 35

  “That was embarrassing,” Ivy said though she laughed, surprising herself.

  “Mrs. Jiang knows her way too well around the garden.” Hunter rolled his eyes, offering her more substantial food from another tray. “The plots out back are enchanted to be evergreen, and she loves her tea, so she rents a couple from us.”

  “Well, surely you know of at least one other secret spot in this house.” She raised her eyebrows at him, but before he could respond, she gasped. “I mean, maybe…later.” Ivy swallowed, shocked at herself.

  He grinned. “We can leave now if you want.”

  “No,” she said quickly putting a hand on his chest then pulling it back. “You have to make a better appearance than that.”

  With a resigned sigh, Hunter guided her back out to the potions. He remarked that he was surprised Safiya was not there. Ivy, of course, was not.

  She held her bag a little tighter, the orb nestled inside. Carrying it around interminably was the only thing she could think to do with it besides give it to Safiya, and whether it was her anger or her intuition telling her that would be a bad move, she listened.

  “So tell me what all these things are,” Ivy whispered to Hunter amidst the other guests. She still had her little copper cup, but it was balled into a fist.

  “These are the—well? They’re sort of the fun things, the experimental things. They’re expensive, difficult to make, and their purposes are…dubious at times. Sometimes there are bad side effects, but there’s probably something else out here to counteract those.”

  She watched his face as he struggled to explain. “They’re drugs,” she said plainly. “You’re describing drugs.”

  Hunter opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked thoughtful, then confused. “No, no. Come here.” He took her to a table where no one else was standing at the moment. “This is benivoletia. It’s pretty new.” Inside the bottle was a sunny-colored liquid, chunks of opaque resin floating inside that sparkled. It didn’t look to have been touched yet. “Drinking this fills you with a sense of peace and confidence and an innate wisdom to make the right choices.”

  “Oh, give me some of that.” Ivy held out her cup.

  Hunter laughed.

  “I’m serious.” She shook her glass. She’d been way too impulsive that night, she already knew, and she needed some tempering.

  “Hold on.” He put out a hand. “I haven’t told you the side effects yet. There’s a high ratio of two different ingredients in here that disallow you from causing ill will to anyone while it’s in your system.”

  Ivy thought hard but came up with nothing. “It makes you be nice? How is that bad?”

  “Uh, well?” Hunter picked up the bottle. “We’ve never really mixed the two before, and no one seems to want to find out exactly how that will turn out.”

  “Well maybe,”—she pushed up on her toes and whispered in his ear—“that’s because a lot of these people like being jerks.” She wiggled her cup once more in his face. “Hit me.”

  He hesitated a moment then uncorked the bottle, and a sparkling hiss fizzed up from the top. Pouring her a tiny amount, he started to say something, but she quickly threw it back.

  It warmed her throat like whiskey but didn’t burn. Instead her muscles loosened, her limbs tingled, and her mind mellowed. She stood there feeling like a contented little block of jello, and then she gasped as if someone were coming at her with a spoon. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes found Hunter’s, and she placed a hand on his arm, giving him a squeeze. “You were trying to tell me something. Please, go ahead, I’m all ears.”

  “Wow.” He held the bottle up to his face and glared at it. “Strong stuff.” Then with a shrug, poured himself a shot as well and downed it. “I was just going to say you might not feel anything, so don’t be disappointed. I guess everyone is avoiding this stuff because they’re—” Hunter cleared his throat and placed the bottle back down. “They’re doing the best they can, you know?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded and hooked her arm through his. “I think so too.”

  They smiled at each other stupidly, all the trouble in the world fading away. Ivy didn’t exactly forget the horrible secret she knew, the murders, or the possible danger she was linked arm in arm with, but she did feel like those issues had been wrapped in a fine brown paper with a red velvet ribbon and stashed in the back of a deep closet where they would stay for at least the next couple hours, and that was good enough.

  Hunter walked her around the room and explained the other potions’ purposes. Ivy handed out compliments like a grandma handing out hard candies as they met the other guests, profusely apologizing at any inconvenience she felt like she had caused, and Hunter apologizing on top of that for Ivy’s apologies when the others were visibly confused.

  “I guess you’re more susceptible to ferulasa than most,” Hunter laughed, and Ivy just grinned at him.

  Even when Victoria Jiang and Alastair Proctor came up to her while Hunter was off in the bathroom, Ivy felt calm. She just stood sweetly and beamed at them, and they both cracked at least a bit of a smile back. “So, you came with Hunter, then?” Alastair asked her, a thin, white eyebrow crooked.

  She nodded. “He’s so sweet. And handsome. He must get it from his father.” She found herself winking at Mr. Proctor.

  Alastair laughed deeply then raised his glass to her and took a drink.

  “Ms. Sylvan turns up everywhere we are,” Mrs. Jiang remarked. “But I suppose it’s true what they say: the fair folk are like flies always buzzing about.”

  Ivy wasn’t sure that was a saying, and probably not a very nice one if it were, but she giggled anyway. “You are so funny, Mrs. Jiang.”

  The warlock gave Victoria a long look then shook his head and greeted someone else, excusing himself. Mrs. Jiang stayed with Ivy, crossing her arms and forcing her lips down into a twisted half frown. “And how have you been?”

  “Oh, great!” She bounced from her heels to her toes.

  “No, dear, I mean since finding the body. Yo
ur second, I believe.”

  “Oh, that.” Ivy sighed. “Well, that was pretty terrible, but I will admit it makes you appreciate being topside.”

  “Any inkling who might be clinching the presidency now?” she asked with the nonchalance of a cat staring at a cup of milk.

  Ivy shrugged. “Everyone loved Evan, and now he’s gone. I say it’s a fair shot all around.”

  Mrs. Jiang looked her over. “Your mood, it’s very curious.”

  Ivy bounced again.

  “It’s as if you’ve figured something out. Like you know something that you’re not willing to share just yet.”

  “Oh, really?” Ivy saw Hunter making his way across the house. His blue eyes were locked onto her, and she wanted to kiss him right there, to make him his favorite food for dinner, to read all his favorite books, and to fall asleep watching his favorite movies. “Maybe,” she said dreamily.

  “Hey, Mrs. Jiang.” Hunter passed Ivy a glass of water as he came up. “Having a good time?”

  “I suppose,” she sniffed.

  “Hunter,” Ivy looked down at the glass, then back up at him. She felt for a second like she might cry. “How did you know I was thirsty? This is so sweet. Thank you so much.”

  He was confused, but only for a second. “You think you might be ready to go home?”

  She took a deep draught of the water and shook her head. “Everyone’s being so lovely. Let’s stay.”

  He hesitated. “Okay, whatever you say.”

  Ivy never ended up particularly tired, but an hour later Hunter insisted she probably was, and he was going to take her back. She happily agreed to leave with him, realizing he was probably right. Linking her arm in his again, they walked in the night air down Alder Crescent and back to Ironwood Place, chatting about the guests. Ivy told him at least three times how much fun she had.

  When they got to the door, Ivy turned on him quickly and grabbed his shirt. “Come inside,” she said, leaning against him. “I’ve got the place to myself.”