by Jane Tara
“I take it you won’t serve Apsley on tap.”
“Only when hell freezes over.”
“Who’ll run it? You’ll run it? What about Megan?”
“I’ll run it. Megan will be the MC and entertainment booker.” Simon was actually jiggling up and down on the spot. “I’m bloody inspired, Taran. Beats the hell out of pushing papers at Apsley.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to dash. Megan expects me at the pub. You sure you’re okay?”
“I will be once tonight’s done and dusted.”
Simon looked embarrassed for a moment. “You will be my best man, won’t you?”
“Of course, buddy. I’d be honored.”
“Thank Christ for that. I don’t have any other family to ask.” Simon gave Taran a rough slap on the back and headed for the door.
Chapter Thirty-four
A shot of Jagermeister will soothe a cough and sore throat.
Gisella was furious with Franz for calling Calypso and even more upset that her friend had flown to Vienna.
“You are completely insane, Calypso.”
“Rubbish, it’s what friends do.”
“Friends email, they call. They don’t fly over.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a couple of hours on a plane. You live in Vienna, not Vanuatu.”
“I might move to Vanuatu if you two don’t leave me alone!” Gisella shouted.
Calypso placed her hands on her hips and looked down at Gisela, sprawled out in bed. She was pale, her hair hadn’t been washed in days, and her eyes were red from crying. Calypso needed to be careful. She could sense that Gisella was close to completely cracking.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
“You should know,” Gisella snapped.
“I didn’t know, because you didn’t tell me.” Calypso sat on the edge of the bed. “But that’s okay, because you’ve been busy … getting yourself all worked up over nothing.”
“Nothing? Nothing? I’m pregnant because of one of your spells. Witchcraft! God knows what’s growing inside me.”
Franz saw the look of distress on Calypso’s face and jumped to her defense. “We asked Callie to help, Gisella.”
“I would never have asked for her help if I knew I’d feel like this.” Gisella turned to Calypso. “I’m sorry, Callie, I am, I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t help how I feel. I wish you’d never done it.”
“I didn’t,” Calypso said quietly.
A deathly hush fell over the room for a moment and then Gisella sat up. “You didn’t? What does that mean?”
“I didn’t cast a spell. You fell pregnant naturally.”
“You’re lying, to make me feel better.”
“I wish I was.” Calypso stood. “Get up, have a shower and clean your bloody teeth. You stink. Then we’ll talk about it over dinner. I owe you an explanation.”
*
Calypso sat opposite her friends and poured her heart out. She explained that she’d lost her ability to read people and mix cocktails to cure.
She picked at the varnish on the table. “I was hoping my powers would work when I made that dinner for you, but they didn’t.”
“Not at all?” Gisella asked.
“Not at all. Every ingredient I used has power. We shouldn’t underestimate the energies in those foods. They were strong fertility foods, but there was no spell. I wanted to tell you that night, but you were so happy and relaxed … I was hoping that alone would be enough.”
“Obviously it was,” said Franz, staring at Gisella.
She nodded. She looked tired, but like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Calypso reached out to her. She needed to make something very clear. “I apologize for not telling you, Gisella, but I’ll never apologize for my gift. The spells and potions do nothing but good. They help people. It’s not dark, or manipulative, or anything you should be scared of.”
“But if I’d fallen pregnant because of that—”
“It would have been the same as if you’d fallen pregnant after a course of IVF. Women use whatever they can to conceive.”
“That’s science,” Gisella snapped. “It’s nothing like what you did – what I thought you did. It’s cloaked in mystery. The unknown aspect of it is frightening.”
“No more so than lighting a candle at Stephansplatz and praying to God. It’s simply putting it out there and asking for help from a higher power.” Calypso looked her friend deep in the eye. “My faith is filled with as much light as yours.”
Gisella nodded. “I’m sorry, Calypso. My reaction must seem so disrespectful to you. And I know you do help. I see our customers returning time and time again.”
“But you realized that it’s not for you,” Calypso said gently. “And that’s fine.”
“And irrelevant,” Franz added. “Seeing as no magic was used.”
“No magic,” said Gisella. “Fancy that.”
Franz and Gisella nodded slowly for a moment but then couldn’t contain it a moment longer and their display of concern turned to chuckles.
Calypso rolled her eyes. “I’m glad you’re happy, but I happen to be quite upset that I’ve lost my magic.”
“I know … It’s not that, Callie—” Gisella could no longer hide her laughter.
“It’s just we’re so happy for you.” Franz was now grinning from ear to ear.
“I thought you would be.”
“You get another chance,” Gisella said.
“I’m not sure I want one,” Calypso said.
“Whether you want one or not, it’s here,” Franz pointed out.
Calypso felt like she was tied to a roulette wheel. The whole room began to spin. She’d spent the past couple of months barely admitting to herself what the loss of her magic meant. But now, with her friends, there was no escape. They knew exactly what it meant.
Franz prodded. “Aren’t you happy?”
Calypso blinked a few times. Everything was blurry. Oh hell, she felt quite faint.
Gisella reached out and took her friend’s hand. “It’s okay, Calypso.”
“It’s not okay. Sixteen generations of Shakespeare women have had one … one true love …”
Franz shrugged. “Looks like you have two.”
*
Calypso had never been so happy. Each day, each minute with Scott was an incredible adventure. They were roaring through life as only the young can.
They were in Rome with Franz and Gisella. It had only been three weeks since Scott had joined the group, yet they all felt like they’d known each other for much longer. Perhaps forever.
Calypso, Franz and Gisella had already spent a lot of time in Rome together, and were having a blast introducing Scott to each and every one of their regular watering holes. They took Scott to their favorite restaurant where they were treated to pasta and lashings of cheap house wine. Guido, the owner, loved it when Calypso visited and they were treated like royalty. As the evening wore on, the bar was cleared for her to mix her magical cocktails behind.
Calypso had always loved this particular bar. It was filled with bottles of booze most people would never dream of buying. She doused some sugar cubes in cinnamon bitters, mixed them with Pomme Verte and topped it with rum and lots of rock ice. All the while, she spoke and gazed around the restaurant at the remaining patrons: some wary tourists, a few regulars who’d seen her work before, two horrified nuns, the staff, who all adored her, and her expectant friends.
“Who will be my first victim?”
“You’ve done us so many times.” Gisella had never been comfortable with her friend’s gift.
“True,” Calypso agreed.
She poured the drinks and passed them over the bar to Franz, who handed them out.
“Some starters,” Calypso explained. And then her green eyes rested on Scott. “Step up to the bar, handsome. I’m doing you first.”
“You’ve already done me,” Scott said with a wink. “I’m a done dinner, darling.”
He pulled up a stool at the bar and watched his new girlfriend. She was something else: drop dead gorgeous, outrageously funny, wild, free and wonderful. Sure, it had only been a few weeks, but he already knew there would never be another woman for him. He felt like a bit of a dingbat, and certainly hadn’t admitted his feelings to anyone, but it was as though he’d finally met his other half.
She ran her eyes over him and forced herself to look beyond the physical. It was hard. It was all so new and she couldn’t get enough of his body. Their passion for each other was all-consuming and it was difficult to even get out of bed. When they did, they were constantly searching for places to hide, where no one would see the hurried undoing of buttons and zippers, the tearing of lace knickers, and the frantic, breathless sex.
Calypso emptied her mind of that now and concentrated on reading him. The ethers around him shifted slightly and she waited for them to open, so she could move through. She blinked a few times to get a new perspective … and tried again.
Everyone waited.
Nothing happened.
She turned away, had a sip of water, and then tried again. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Calypso’s gut twisted into a thousand knots. She shook her head, as though trying to free her gift. Nothing worked. Her eyes darted around the room, looking, looking for the other realms that had always been so clear up until that moment. It was a total first. She’d spent her whole life accessing other realms, easily entering the paranormal doors, but suddenly she’d lost the key.
Franz sensed her panic. “Callie, are you okay?”
Scott stood, as though readying himself to catch her. “What’s going on?”
She drew her focus back into the present, and into Scott’s curious stare. Their eyes locked and held, and everything was fine. Calypso nodded and her eyes filled with light as she beamed at him.
“I’m sorry, everyone, but I’ve lost my powers.”
There was a rush of comforting suggestions.
“No, you’re just tired.”
“Or drunk?”
“PMS?”
“Have a big glass of water.”
“It must be God’s will.”
That brought Calypso back to reality. She’d thought the nuns had left.
Calypso held up a hand, asking for silence.
“It’s okay, and it’s temporary,” she assured everyone. “I’m not concerned. In fact … I’m thrilled. It’s a hereditary thing. It happens to us Shakespeare women when we meet our one true love.” She moved around to the front of the bar and into Scott’s arms. “That’s you,” she whispered in his ear. “We’re meant to be together.”
“Thank Christ for that.” Scott chuckled. “I thought I was going bloody crazy.”
*
Back in Birdland, Calypso stared at her friends. How could it happen twice? Shakespeare women only ever loved once. Didn’t they? Two true loves? It was unheard of. Calypso had been raised on the romantic mythology of her clan. Every single generation spawned another great romance. But only one. One witch, one true love.
Yet she couldn’t deny what was happening to her any longer – and she’d obviously spent weeks trying. She’d fallen in love and lost her powers. And every inch of her being knew those two facts were totally interconnected. Was she destined to love twice? And if so, what the hell was she going to do about it?
Gisella and Franz sat quietly and watched her for a while, and then Franz couldn’t help himself.
“So, Callie, liebling, how is Taran?”
Chapter Thirty-five
Prevent shaving rash by wiping the skin with vodka first
Taran was as happy as a wasp in a glass jar. His day had been a write-off. He’d been unable to paint so he drank instead. He’d paced Simon’s apartment, emptied his liquor cabinet, and tried unsuccessfully to call Finn three times.
Taran knew he was there – he just wasn’t picking up.
Eventually he threw on some jeans, grabbed his wallet, and headed out. He needed to clear his head, so headed toward Primrose Hill. He was restless; wound up, despite the copious amounts of booze he’d consumed. He was anxious about the opening, but not overly so. He had enough confidence in his work. It was his personal life that he had no control over.
Taran kicked an empty Coke can off the pavement. He was angry with Calypso. Why did she have to be so difficult? She was like tax forms … a pain in the ass to work out but unfortunately essential. And without her, how would he ever solve things with Finn? His ultimatum was clear.
Taran missed his brother. He knew Finn missed him. He could feel him. They were twins with that type of bond. It was the most important relationship in his life, yet he’d been careless with it. What on earth had possessed him to sleep with Finn’s girlfriends? Some of them weren’t even that attractive. It was a question he’d been asking himself a lot these past few weeks.
Taran paused and looked into the window of Baker’s Second-Hand Books, as if the answer would be there.
And it was.
Perched up on display was Speak of the Devil, his mother’s autobiography. There she was, dressed in her High Priestess robes, sprawled across a sacrificial altar: The True Story of Brigid Dee, Straight from the Devil’s Mouth.
Taran rolled his eyes and kept walking. His mother was the type of woman who ate her young. She made Joan Crawford look like mother of the year. He shoved his fists deep into his jeans. That was unfair. She was perfectly nice to two of her three children.
Taran had always prided himself on reaching adulthood relatively unscathed by her, but that wasn’t really the case. He thought about all the times she’d call to him and Finn when they were young, “Oh, you’re so alike … which one will I choose?” And then she’d reach out her arms to Finn. Taran’s mother seemed to enjoy rejecting him. She often said the only thing that needed to come in pairs were shoes.
Taran understood it now. Finn was more likable. He always had been. And kind. He would always give his mother a quick hug and then return to Taran’s side, to show where his true loyalty lie. The twins were inseparable, and Taran adored his brother, but that didn’t stop Taran from nursing a deep-seated desire to beat Finn. And in the affections of women he’d won, time and again. Not just one girlfriend, but a string of them. He was never again the rejected one.
Until Finn himself rejected him. Taran got it. He should’ve stayed away from Tye. But he’d been punished enough. At first Taran thought Finn just needed some space; that he’d come round, like he always did. But Finn wouldn’t budge and had refused to see his brother for six months.
It was long enough. Taran wasn’t able to give Finn what he’d asked for. He’d tried, but it wasn’t going to happen. Instead, Taran would face his twin and ask for forgiveness. For now he knew what it felt like to be heartbroken, and was ashamed that he’d ever hurt Finn. Taran would work at earning Finn’s trust back – however long it took.
Taran finally made it to the top of the hill and stopped to take in the view. Two London skylines stretched out before him. He swayed a bit and realized that he was still quite drunk, so picked a spot under a tree and sat.
The sun was setting. He watched the usual cast of joggers, walkers, dog owners, Frisbee throwers and families. It was like something from a film. He almost expected Keira Knightly to totter past in a bustled gown, or Mary Poppins to swoop by on her umbrella … or one of the zombies from 28 Days Later to hobble up the hill.
If his life was a movie it would go straight to DVD. He needed to liven things up. No more moping. Enough of the hermit act. Forget about Calypso. He’d emailed, he’d called, she’d ignored. It was time to move on. And the minute he was sober he would.
But while he was still drunk, he might as well have some fun. He grabbed his phone and brought up Laura’s number. Then, through his beer goggles, texted: Fished work. Would love to ketchup. Meat Ewan there.
*
Calypso woke with a start. Another dream of Bangkok. It took her a moment to realize ho
w far from that city, and that time, she actually was. She knew she wouldn’t sleep again, so threw on some clothes and headed outside. It was cool, so she zipped up her jacket and began to walk. She knew where she was going. Her mind was like a dog, chasing its tail round in circles. She needed to go to the one place in Vienna that might calm it.
She turned up Kärntner Strasse and headed toward the opera house. It was a beautiful evening, and although late, the concourse was still busy. There were families on their way home from dinner, couples strolling hand in hand, pausing to look in the windows of jewelry stores and boutiques. She passed a string quartet. Further along was a woman playing a piano. She had no idea how she’d managed to get her instrument into the pedestrian thoroughfare.
She turned left into Weihburggasse, and left the hustle and bustle behind. The Franziskanerplatz was quiet. She passed the fountain in front of the Franziskanerkirche and she stood for a moment. She loved the smaller baroque church, and the adjoining monastery, with its renaissance façade. Being a witch, she didn’t have to like the Church, but she certainly appreciated its art and history, both beautiful and bloodied.
Calypso noticed some free tables at the Kleines café and took a deep breath. Their table was empty. She walked over and claimed it.
Kleines was her favorite Viennese cafe. She’d been there with Scott a number of times. The last time had been just after they flew back from Thailand, after that trip, or the Second Chance Saloon as Scott often called it. She could almost feel Scott take his place at the table with her, and smiled, ever so slightly. Should she order two coffees?
She caught the waiter’s attention. “Ich hätte gern eine Tasse mélange.”
The waiter nodded. “Noch etwas?”
“Das war alles, danke.”
Calypso relaxed back and watched the occasional passerby. The waiter returned with her coffee and she sipped the frothy drink. Mostly, she just thought about her dream. She thought about Thailand.