Elemental Love

by L. M. Somerton

  Chapter Three

  “Evrain, if you don’t sit still and concentrate, I swear on our lady moon, I will make sure you regret it.” Agatha stamped her foot, her frustration all too evident. “You have to apply yourself. Practice makes perfect.”

  Evrain, sitting at Agatha’s well-scrubbed kitchen table, scowled. “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I swear, Evrain, if you weren’t my grandson…” Agatha narrowed her eyes and treated him to a glare capable of withering thistles at the root.

  Evrain swallowed nervously. His grandmother never made empty threats and he’d been on the receiving end of her harsh discipline too many times in the last few months to risk further punishment. She might look like a sweet old lady but Agatha was frighteningly creative when it came to making his life difficult. She was the one person he respected enough to back down when his impatience and frustration threatened to get the best of him. Compliance wasn’t in his nature, something all too apparent in the sometimes fiery relationship he maintained with his father. Agatha was ten times scarier than his dad, even on his worst day. Evrain pushed back a smile. He and his dad might fight but the love between them was just as fierce. He missed him. Not that he would admit that in a million years.

  “Sorry, Grandmother.” Evrain’s tone was sweet enough to be decorated with candy flowers and hearts. That got him another hard stare.

  “Sarcasm is unbecoming in one so young and untried. Perhaps in fifty years or so, when you have finally managed to absorb what I’m trying to teach you, then I might grant you a little latitude. But not now. Do I have to call your godfather Gregory again?”

  “No! No, Grandma. I’ll behave.” Evrain batted his lashes shamelessly. He resisted the urge to point out that in fifty years’ time Agatha would be breaking world records in the age department. She might be a tough old bird but she was still his grandma and therefore susceptible to his dark, spaniel eyes. The last thing Evrain needed was to be tag-teamed by Agatha and his godfather. Separately they were formidable. Together. Evrain shuddered at the thought.

  He shifted his chair back a little, twisted his fingers into the required shape and pushed his thoughts at the fat, white candle in front of him. The tingle that shot down his spine could have preceded an orgasm. If only! There was a whoosh of heat as the flame shot toward the ceiling and the candle became no more than a spattered puddle of melted wax spreading across the table. Evrain yelped and blew on his singed fingers in an attempt to cool the scorch marks. He scowled again.

  “Take that look off your face, young man.” Agatha was pitiless. She scraped at the cooling wax with a brightly painted nail. “Once this has cooled, you can lift it all off the wood. With a toothpick. That will give you some time to meditate.”

  Evrain groaned. “Grandma, this is hopeless. I’m not getting any better, just more and more destructive. If I keep going like this, you’ll need to have the fire service on standby for when the cabin goes up in flames.”

  “Nonsense. You’re like all young people these days—you want everything easy. The craft takes time, patience and perseverance. You would do well to remember that,” Agatha scolded.

  “Mind you… A bunch of firemen hanging around does have some appeal.”

  Agatha rolled her eyes. “You are a very bad boy. Less daydreaming about men and more application to your studies, please.” She sighed. “That’s enough for today. Put the kettle on and make your old grandma a cup of primrose tea. Then you have a table to clean.”

  Agatha watched Evrain as he moved with effortless grace around her kitchen. His aura flickered and sparked. The colors had mellowed as he’d matured, changing from aluminum foil silver and gold leaf to warm copper and platinum swirls. The energy around him burned hot. Agatha worried constantly about his need to channel some of his power. Evrain was restless, unfocused. His abilities manifested in intense creativity and extreme emotion. Even though he vented almost every day, he still needed a calming influence in his life, and soon.

  Evrain set a burnished copper kettle on the range. He flicked his fingers and steam immediately issued from the spout. The kettle rocked and shook as its contents boiled with unusual violence. Evrain gave Agatha a sheepish glance. “Sorry?”

  “Why are you turning an apology into a question, young man? You shouldn’t have done that and you know it… Especially after what happened last time.”

  Evrain peered up at the ceiling. “There’s hardly a mark.”

  Agatha shook her head. Kitchen paraphernalia exploding into the air was a minor annoyance in the scheme of things. She shifted in her chair, settling into a more comfortable position. “Do you realize it’s been six months to the day since you turned twenty-one?”

  Evrain poured steaming water into two mugs and spooned in aromatic herbs. “Six months to the day since you turned my world upside down.” He brought the drinks across to the table. “Let it steep for a few minutes.” He took the chair across from Agatha. “I still can’t believe your opening line was ‘Evrain, you’re a warlock.’ Subtle, Grandma.”

  “Your expression was a picture.”

  “You gave me no time to think, just launched into seven hundred years of family history over what was supposed to be my birthday lunch.”

  Agatha’s thoughts drifted back to that late autumn day. They’d enjoyed a pleasant meal together then had settled in the armchairs next to the open fire with a glass or two of home-brewed sloe gin. Without preamble she had told Evrain of his heritage, Gregory and Coryn chiming in now and again. There had been no softening of the news. Evrain had to be strong to cope with his abilities and the training entailed in learning to control them.

  “Virtually every generation of our family has sired a witch, though your mother did not inherit the gift. You are a great rarity.”

  Evrain sighed. “I don’t feel special… I feel… I don’t even know how to explain it. Disconnected. That’s as close as I can get. I have this strange sense that I’m being pulled in several directions at once and I don’t know which way to go.”

  “To varying degrees witches and warlocks are linked to the elements, some more strongly than others. For witches, the Earth’s pull is by far the strongest.” She held him with her gaze. “You are a true elemental warlock—all four powers seem to call to you equally at the moment, though you might still find a stronger link to one. Fire maybe.” She rolled her eyes. “It was obvious, even while you were growing up. I suppressed your abilities until you were old enough to cope with the pressure, but you are so strong that you started fighting the block without even knowing it. Your mother noticed, of course, and it was crystal clear to your godfather and me whenever you came to stay in the holidays. Whenever your emotions were heightened, tiny indications of what you might become began to manifest themselves. Fires burned brighter around you, storms became wilder, streams surged faster—the evidence of your link to the elements was plain to see for anyone who knew what to look for.”

  Evrain wrapped slim fingers around his mug and hunched his shoulders. “Will it ever get any easier?”

  “You have a great deal of learning ahead of you. You know that. This isn’t an easy life, Evrain. Very few people know that warlocks exist, but among them there are those that would harm you. Those that would seek to manipulate you or use your abilities for their own ends. Gregory and I will teach you as much as we can, especially how to defend yourself, but you must be careful to keep your talents secret.”

  “I know. Believe me, I do not want to end up committed to the funny farm. You had to tell Grandpa, though, and Gregory told Coryn.”

  Agatha placed her mug carefully on the hearth. “Perhaps it’s time…”

  “Time for what?” Evrain asked. “There can’t be any family secrets left that are worse than what you’ve already told me.” He gave her a sharp look. “Can there?”

  “Every day your strength increases. It’s finesse you lack, but despite what I’ve been telling you, that doesn’t just come from practice. Not for a wa
rlock. You need balance, a calming influence through which some of your immense power can dissipate. It’s called channeling.”

  Evrain frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “How can I explain?” Agatha leaned back in her chair. “Coryn isn’t just Gregory’s husband—he is a conduit for Gregory’s energy. A channeler. When Gregory uses his power, his deep emotional link with Coryn allows some of that power to filter through Coryn’s body. Think of it like power generation. You’ve seen how a substation sparks in a storm, yet electricity through wire is safe and controlled. Gregory is the power station.”

  “And Coryn is the wire?”

  “Yes.”

  “So was Grandpa a channeler for you?”

  “No, witches don’t need to channel, our power is nowhere near wild enough. But all warlocks need someone. It’s not easy to find the right person either. Channeling for a warlock hurts. It requires a relationship founded on the deepest love and trust, and that in itself is hard to find.”

  “So what you’re saying is that until I find a partner prepared to channel for me, my power will remain unpredictable?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s not something you need to worry about yet, but without a means to channel, the wild magic can overcome you. Subsume you, until you no longer wish to control it.”

  Agatha observed the emotions flashing through Evrain’s eyes. Anger, fear, a touch of hope. Beside them the fire roared, flames shooting up the chimney as if someone had dumped kerosene on them.

  “What man is ever going to want me if it means a lifetime of pain?” Evrain asked. “And if I never find someone, what then? Wild magic let loose can’t be a good thing.”

  “Just like Gregory found Coryn, there is someone out there for you, Evrain. He’ll probably be where you least expect him.”

  Evrain’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something else you’re not telling me, Grandma.”

  “Not at all,” she denied it with a smile. “Now, it’s been a long day. Go home. You will need to have studied the next chapter of the grimoire by tomorrow evening.”

  Her grandson stood and looked down on her from his full six feet and two inches. Dark green eyes flecked with gold regarded her with a frightening intensity until black lashes blinked and he smiled. For a moment Agatha saw herself in the sharp features and raven-black hair. She insisted that he should be neat, clean-shaven with tidy hair. He grudgingly complied, accepting her justification that discipline in his personal life would filter through to his mastery of the craft. Only the slight hollows beneath his eyes shadowed his pale, smooth skin.

  “No one else is allowed to speak to me as you do, Grandmother.”

  Evrain’s voice was unexpectedly quiet but authoritative, and Agatha knew that only his understanding of what she was trying to do ensured his obedience. Evrain was self-assured and confident in most things, but this aspect of his life was still uncharted territory.

  He bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “And get some proper sleep, boy. You have a lot of hard work ahead of you and I can tell you’re tired. No partying.”

  He grinned. “No burning the candle at both ends, huh?”

  “Candles everywhere just quaked in fear. Get out of here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, Evrain?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that table. The wax will be waiting for you tomorrow.”

  He was out of the door before she could cuff him for his cheeky tone. Agatha watched through the small kitchen window as Evrain strolled down the garden path and out of the gate, shutting it carefully behind him. He moved with the ease of youth, and just for a moment Agatha regretted the passing of the years. True, her talents allowed her to stay healthy and few would credit her with the seventy-five years since her birth, but she was beginning to feel tired, her bones ached. Her driving need to ensure Evrain’s future kept her going but she looked forward to a time when she could relax in the knowledge that he was safe.

  Chapter Four

  Dominic Castine straightened his slim frame and rubbed his lower back with a groan. Much as he loved his gardening business, sometimes it could be backbreaking work. It certainly kept him fit—he had no need of an expensive gym membership—but sometimes the aches built up enough that there was certainly some appeal in the thought of a sauna or steam room. “I’ll just have to make do with a hot bath,” he muttered. He took a step back and ran a muddy hand through sweat-dampened hair, taking a critical look at the herb bed he had been planting.

  “It looks perfect, Dominic.”

  Agatha’s voice at Dominic’s shoulder made him jump. He would never get used to the fact that she could sneak up on him so silently but he turned and smiled down at her diminutive frame. He stood almost a foot taller than her stooped five feet nothing but she still managed to make him feel like a little boy, eager to please.

  “Thanks, Aggie. There are one or two plants that I haven’t managed to get hold of yet but I should have them by the end of the week. It’s coming together nicely, though. Should keep you well stocked with herbs for your medicines once everything takes hold. The ground here is so fertile I’m sure everything will thrive.”

  “The earth works hard for your green fingers,” Aggie said. “The light will be going soon. Why don’t you come inside and have something to drink. I’ve also got some balm that you can take home with you to rub on your back.”

  “How did you…? Never mind.” Dominic was sure Agatha hadn’t been there when he’d first stood up so how did she know his back was sore? She always seemed to know about his aches and pains, how he was feeling or if something was bothering him. He had decided long ago not to question her intuition. He suspected that she practiced some form of witchcraft, but whatever she did it was certainly benign and he’d never had cause to think that she meant him any harm. Quite the opposite in fact.

  He followed her back toward the kitchen, stopping on the way to use cold water from the outside tap to wash some of the sweat and grime from his face and hands. He removed his heavy work boots, left them under the porch where they wouldn’t get wet if it rained, then went inside. In his thick woolen socks, he padded across to the kitchen area of the open plan room and sat in his usual spot at the table. A small bouquet of wildflowers nestled in a jelly jar was positioned in the center of the table. He recognized autumn crocuses and hebe among the blooms. The scent rose to tickle his nostrils. The warmth of the room wrapped around him like a hug.

  “Something smells good, Aggie. What are you cooking?” Savory aromas drifted from the range, overwhelming the sweeter scent of the flowers.

  “Vegetable stew, with some of your herbs of course. It does smell good.” She rubbed her stomach and grinned. “It’ll be ready in half an hour or so. There’s plenty if you want to stay.”

  She didn’t push the invitation, and Dominic was grateful. Agatha never pressured him into anything or made him feel guilty for preferring his own company on occasion. He disliked making decisions unless it concerned where to plant a particular shrub or when to cut back a fruit tree. People were complicated. Dominic preferred clear instructions and loved the sense of satisfaction he got from meeting expectations. Social situations were a challenge even with someone as easygoing as Agatha.

  He never charged Agatha for the work he did on her large garden. In exchange for his hard labor, she taught him about the many uses for herbs and plants. Her knowledge was extensive and she was a mine of information about natural pest control and the best way to encourage plants to flourish in difficult conditions. It was an arrangement that suited them both, and Dominic genuinely enjoyed her company.

  Cupping his mug with fingers engrained with mud despite his attempts to clean them, Dominic listened intently to Agatha’s latest lecture on the medicinal properties of sage.

  “Let’s see if you’ve been paying attention, shall we?” She sounded like a particularly stern junior high-school teacher D
ominic had once been taught by. “Which herb family does sage come from?”

  “The mint family. I don’t know the Latin name,” Dominic said.

  “And which other herbs come from that family?”

  “Oregano, lavender, rosemary, thyme and basil,” he recited, happy that he remembered.

  “Very good. Now, can you describe sage for me?”

  “Gray-green leaves and blue or purple flowers?” He thought he recalled other varieties.

  “Yes, the flowers can be white or pink as well, though. What about some uses?”

  “There are quite a lot. It has antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties and it’s supposed to be good for digestive problems.”

  “Very good. There’s also been some research into it improving memory and, though this won’t be of much interest to you, it’s good for controlling hot flushes in women of a certain age.”

  Dominic chuckled.

  “It also tastes damn good in stew!” Agatha got up to stir the pot on the stove.

  Dominic relaxed in his chair and gazed around the cozy kitchen. Aggie’s cabin had become a second home to him in recent months. There was something about the old building that felt safe. Crazy really because Aggie rarely locked her doors. The décor was a mishmash of colors and styles that suited Aggie perfectly. Most of the furniture was reclaimed or gifted from people who’d benefited from Aggie’s home remedies. The walls were adorned with tapestry work, delicate watercolors and detailed oils that glowed with jewel-like colors. Bunches of drying herbs hung from hooks above the window.

  “I wonder why they ran electricity out here, it’s pretty remote.” Dominic eyed the expensive coffee maker on the kitchen counter. He’d never seen Aggie drink coffee the whole time he’d known her. She was strictly a herbal tea girl.

  “My powers of persuasion are world-renowned. Forty years ago there were state grants to connect more remote properties to the grid if you knew where to go. I have a few connections. I like my home comforts. What would I do without my nature documentaries and current affairs programs?”