For the Love of Magic

by Natalie Gibson

  “He did a good thing tonight.” It nettled her to admit it. That didn’t mean he was a good person. Even bad people sometimes do good things, especially if it meant getting something they wanted. Aaron wanted Maeve. There was no doubt. Everyone wanted Maeve. Nathalia had seen suiters do some pretty crazy things trying to catch Maeve’s attentions.

  AARON’S RIBS really hurt. The doctors said three were broken and two more cracked. His head throbbed, even with all of the pain meds they had given him. His jaw wasn’t broken, but was very bruised on the right side along with the cheekbone. JD told him his face looked a mess with the black eye and numerous random stitches. He wondered how he looked to the man questioning him about his mother, of all things, in the wee hours of the morning. His injuries couldn’t be too bad or he wouldn’t be pressing Aaron so hard.

  Aaron also wondered whom the guy questioning him was or whom he was sleeping with to get him inside so long after visiting hours were over. He certainly wasn’t family. Aaron had been unable to detect a single physical detail except that he was large. The man stayed hunched in the shadows of the private recovery room. Aaron briefly wondered what organ he’d have to sell to be able to pay for this treatment.

  The man said, “Tradition dictates that we appear directly to the mother, but it will take time to repair the damage. She cannot give us the information, so I must ask you again. How are you related to John David Douglas?”

  His voice sounded unfocused, out of sync with itself and Aaron wondered just how bad a concussion had to be for auditory distortion. Blurry vision he’d been warned about but fuzzy hearing? Poking his fingers in his ears, he jiggled them, trying to knock loose whatever was rattling.

  Aaron replied, “I’m his cousin.”

  “In what manner?”

  Aaron gave an exasperated sigh. “The usual manner. My mom and his mom are sisters.”

  “No, this cannot be. Our records indicate that your mother is the only daughter of a son of the Family. John David Douglas is a son of a daughter’s daughter. He carries the gene.”

  Those sentences stabbed at Aaron’s consciousness, threatening to rob him of it. “What?” Aaron closed his eyes, holding up a hand to stop the man from speaking again. He’d changed his mind. He didn’t care what this madman was talking about. He said, “Look. It’s late. I’m tired and I’ve already told you.” Irritated, injured, exhausted, Aaron felt compelled to answer the man honestly. He repeated himself, “Our moms are sisters.”

  “How?” said the man.

  Aaron scrunched his face at the absurdity of the question, but flinched at the ache in his cheek.

  The man pressed, “They come from the same branch of the Family tree? Same parents?”

  “Same mom, different dad.” He shrugged and then grimaced. Everything hurt. He needed to not move for a while. “Some ‘child out of wedlock’ drama, so my grandma’s brother raised Mom instead of her.” At least the man hadn’t insisted on turning on the overhead lights for this inquisition. Aaron wasn’t sure his eyes could handle the assault. “Avoided controversy,” he added. “He was married, and my real grandma wasn’t.”

  Aaron had only found all this out a few years ago. His real grandmother had confessed in her will, voicing regret for not having been a bigger part of their lives. It had been a different time when she found herself “in the family way” with no husband, and she would have been a ruined woman if anyone had known. Too bad the confession had come after Aaron’s mother’s stroke, and without any inheritance. She might never know who her real mother was and Aaron sure could have used some help taking care of her.

  “So, because we cannot risk missing an opportunity, I accept that you, Aaron James Wright, are the son of a daughter’s daughter and could, if matched with the correct daughter, be the Holy Father.”

  Holy Father? Oh, now he got it. This man was a crazy person, a religious kook. Aaron would have rolled his eyes if he thought it wouldn’t hurt. Whatever. He just wanted the man to stop talking.

  “I will amend our records immediately and see to your match. One will be sent to heal your injuries as soon as he completes your mother’s.”

  His mother? What was this asshat on about? His mother hadn’t been clobbered by six guys tonight. She was safe in her nursing home completely oblivious to her own or anyone’s condition. Aaron closed his eyes. He was much too tired to follow what this lunatic was talking about.

  Aaron floated on a painkiller cloud. His pain started to dull now that the man stopped speaking. Aaron heard the swish of the hospital room door and smelled the sweet smell of her. He opened his eyes to Maeve’s worried face.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  The light from the hallway backlit her head and shoulders, giving off a halo effect. Funny how she had used a modern version of the first words angels always spoke whenever they visited humans with a message. Hadn’t the man used a similar phrase? “My angel,” Aaron said. “I’m only supposed to have one visitor at a time.”

  Maeve looked around the room. She spoke slowly, “It’s just me, Aaron. JD left hours ago.”

  “No, not JD. I was just talking to a man. He was standing right over there when you came in.” He gestured to a dark corner of the room. His clothes, coat and extra pillow and blanket were draped over a chair, making a man-shaped blob. Aaron furrowed his brow, trying to remember how the man had looked.

  Maeve glanced over. “Aaron, I think you were dreaming. You were asleep when I came in.”

  The details of the visit did seem to be fading. Maybe she was right. They must be giving him the good drugs. “How’d you get them to let you in? It’s supposed to be family only, not that I mind you being here.”

  “JD told them I’d be coming later, that I was your fiancé and was worried sick, but couldn’t get off work until late.” She flashed her ring finger and the engagement ring her mentor had worn.

  Aaron felt a chuckle crawl up from his belly, clawing at his ribs as he tried to hold it back. The laughter came anyway, accompanied by a moan.

  Maeve rested her hands on her hips. “What’s so funny? Being engaged to me is ludicrous?” She pursed her lips.

  He reached out to take her hand. “No.” He grinned at the thought of trying to cage this beautiful exotic creature. Impossible. He might want her but he’d never trap her, keep her from the world. She was passionate about her coven, her matchmaking. Aaron’s parents had been swingers and it worked for them. Maybe he could handle it too, as long as he knew she loved him. “It’s just the medicine.”

  She eyed him suspiciously but moved on. “What have they got you on?”

  “Something strong,” he answered. “I think I hallucinated. Hell, maybe you’re a figment of my imagination.” He looked up at her. His blinks were slower and every time they lasted a little longer than the previous. Moving his hand, he fingered her palm and then moved up to the soft skin of her wrist. “You’re so beautiful. Come to bed with me.”

  “You’re in no shape to have sex. Every inch of you is busted.”

  “Not every inch. My fingers are functional.” Aaron released her arm and reached out to slip under her skirt. It had only been a few hours since he’d touched her there and already he hungered for it again. “We need to practice more. The nurses’ station is so close.” He grinned, his knuckle rubbing her inner thigh. “They could walk in at any moment.” It had worked last time. She’d orgasmed and hadn’t cast her spells.

  She stepped back out of range. There was something akin to fear in her eyes. Aaron realized that she’d seen him attack a complete stranger only hours ago. He laid his hand back on the bedspread beside his hip. Aaron explained, “That was the first time I’ve ever even hit anyone. I hope you don’t think I…” He drifted off, not really knowing how to say what he wanted.

  The machine beside him clicked and a wave of relief washed over him washing away his worries. He fell asleep to the warmth of Maeve’s soft lips on his forehead and her whisper, “You’re a good man, Aaron. I wish…I was
free to be yours.”

  LIBBY SAT up in bed and listened. Was that a voice? She looked aside at Leonard, who sat up also. “Did you hear that, too?” she asked in a hushed tone.

  Leonard nodded, frowning as he listened.

  She looked at the clock. 3:45am. Libby and Leonard shared quarters attached to the library, to keep her close to her beloved books and artifacts. The library opened at 7:00am, so whoever was out there broke the rules.

  There it was again. Maybe a Daughter just ducked in for a midnight rendezvous. Or maybe someone had snuck past their defenses and was robbing them. Either way, as stewards of the library, Libby and Leonard had to check.

  Leonard slid his legs from beneath the covers and slipped his feet into his slippers. Libby did the same.

  They tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. Libby’s finger hovered over the alarm button. Security guards would be here in thirty seconds, tops, if they were needed.

  The dark library had been a bell tower, designed for easy defense. The full moon only shone through slits in the walls that served as windows. One of those glassed-in slits shone a moonbeam across the floor and onto a woman standing in the middle of the room. The podium sat several feet from its place, to illuminate the achievement book within the moonlight. Nathalia, in her nightgown with her hair flowing free, read names in the book aloud.

  Leonard silently closed the door and they both climbed back into the already cooled bed. He spooned her and she gratefully curled back against his warmth.

  As Abbess, Nathalia could do what she wanted, library hours aside. Libby wondered softly, “Why didn’t she just turn on the light, instead of dragging the podium into the moonlight?”

  Nathalia had slept on the couch in the adjoining room all night, or what was left of it after Maeve brought in the battered woman. She wanted to make sure that Christy didn’t wake up alone and scared in an unfamiliar place. Nathalia knew about waking up after traumatic nights.

  She was tired but couldn’t decide why. She’d certainly operated with less sleep on a regular basis. She couldn’t remember having nightmares so it couldn’t be that. Her recurring ones of Michael had even been absent, but she obviously hadn’t slept well. Her eyelashes were growing back after her last episode and she had no new cuts, scrapes or bruises. That was good; how could she talk to a battered woman about self preservation and self respect when the evidence of her own deep-seated issues was so blatant?

  Waking to find her hair loose, when she knew she’d braided it, was baffling. Even more vexing, she noticed that her feet were dirty, like she had been walking barefoot for hours. She’d never sleepwalked before, that she knew of.

  She sat drinking coffee at the little table in the common room of the women’s shelter. Her favorite pale green micro fleece pullover and slightly worn jeans were supportive in a whole other way. She thought them every bit as comforting as other women found food, or reading, or shopping.

  Nathalia fingered her mother’s necklace, deciding what to say to Christy. She wore it without fail, every day and night since the police had given it to her. She couldn’t remember seeing her mother wearing it, but the Sergeant had said it was on her neck when they got there. The “junkie” hadn’t stolen it because it was just leather and carved dull stones. It had value to Nathalia though, because it was touching her mother at the moment she was killed. It made her feel connected with her mother.

  Christy came out of her room, clean and wearing the clothes Nathalia laid out for her. The slim jeans and royal blue fleece flattered her pale skin and blonde hair, and covered up the evidence of last night’s violence. Nathalia hoped they provided this girl with the same comfort they provided her.

  Nathalia gestured to the seat next to her and poured Christy a cup of coffee. Christy sat down and stared at the cup. “We have a cook on hand who can make you anything you want for breakfast,” offered Nathalia. “Can you stomach anything this morning?”

  Christy shook her head no. When Ingrid appeared at the kitchen door, Christy slouched down in her chair, and looked embarrassed. Nathalia dashed down the hall to intercept Ingrid, who carried two plates, each with a fresh fig muffin on it. Nathalia took the plates from her.

  “Thank you, Ingrid. She isn’t hungry. We don’t need anything else right now.”

  Ingrid hesitated. “Abbess, Tara Kay didn’t go to her meeting. She went out that night and never came back. It feels like she went home.”

  Tara Kay had been homesick for years, oddly obsessed with “family land.” It was only a matter of time before she went back. Nathalia shook her head. Tara Kay’s departure did not shock her, but damn it, they were still no closer to finding the SOFE. “That tracking potion worked,” she mused. She had not expected it to work so well. “Can you make up a batch for all the sisters?”

  Ingrid nodded. “But it will take a little time. They have to be tailor-made for each woman.”

  “Can you handle the extra work? I know you’ll be busy without your top apprentice.”

  “I’m happy to use my craft and honored you would ask me.”

  Ingrid left and Nathalia took the muffins to the table. Sitting down, Nathalia said to Christy, “No one here knows anything about you or what happened. Even I only know your name and what Maeve told me. There’s no need to be embarrassed here. The police certainly don’t share any information with us, and I would never dream of making you talk about it.” Christy still had not touched anything, so Nathalia asked her, “Don’t you drink coffee? We have tea if you prefer, or juice.”

  Christy said her first words then, to Nathalia’s relief. If she could speak, she wasn’t completely broken. “I can’t drink it black.”

  “Of course, I am sorry. I drink it black and I always mistakenly think that everyone else does too. Do you want real sugar, or pink or blue?”

  “Do you have any yellow packets?”

  “As many as you want.”

  Nathalia chuckled as the girl put five packets in her cup along with a generous helping of milk. Christy looked embarrassed again, and Nathalia was quickly explained. “My best friend drinks hers the exact same way. We always joke that she would like coffee a lot better if it didn’t taste so much like coffee. She’s addicted to artificial sweeteners, and swears that Diet Coke tastes better than regular.”

  Christy smiled weakly. “I’m a Diet Dr. Pepper girl.”

  That the girl was trying to make conversation was a good sign. “It tastes more like regular.” Nathalia quoted the commercial motto and Christy’s smile broadened a minuscule amount. The phone in her pocket vibrated. She pulled it out, flipped it open and read the text from Maeve. Speak of the devil.

  Margaux is here in your office.

  I need you.

  “I gotta be brief, Christy,” Nathalia said as she flipped the phone closed. “I’m the Abbess of the Daughters of Women. We’re a community of women who devote our lives to improving others.”

  “Like a nun?”

  She nodded. “But we’re not Christian. We don’t expect anything from you. We just want to give you what you need.” Nathalia pulled from the communal power and used her ability to make Christy feel welcome, safe, wanted. “I’d like to get to know you better. You’re welcome here as long as you’d like. We have a driver who can take you to work or to pick up some supplies or whatever you need. The men who accosted you last night are in jail right now and can’t hurt you.”

  Christy looked panicked and started shaking her head.

  “Don’t worry,” said Nathalia. “You don’t have to do or say anything against them. They attacked and nearly killed a friend of ours when he tried to protect you. We’re the ones pressing charges. They won’t be able to blame you for their incarceration. I have to go, but I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  Nathalia stood up to go and Christy stopped her. “I need to call my mom.”

  Her mom? Nathalia studied Christy’s face. She was young, but surely she wasn’t underage. Her face looked older than eighteen. Nathalia kn
ew the effects of long-term abuse could age a girl fast. “Right over there. Just press nine to call out. I hope to see you later, Christy. I think we could gain a lot from each other.”

  THE ARGUMENT was already underway when Nathalia entered her own quarters. She would call it a discussion, except that Maeve didn’t like being bossed around and took offense at being told what to do. Margaux had broken the cardinal rule with Maeve. She had told her what was required.

  Outside the door, the Guardian bowed deeply and retreated to the shadows. Nathalia ignored his respectful manner. Nothing would cure her irritation at having a man forced on her coven compound. She opened the door to hear Maeve say, “I’m the matchmaker of the heartland chapter and will match for who I choose, when I choose.”

  “Oui, you are the Vinculum Primo and as such you ‘ave taken certain vows. Vows that procure your devotion to the matches of Family members.”

  Margaux tried the wrong approach to convince Maeve. Nathalia had known her friend long enough to know that this was going to get ugly if she did not intercede.

  “Who are you to tell me about my vows? Those vows ensure my own power of decision. The sacrifices I make to love and life, and the pursuit of happiness, guarantee my freedom in one aspect… Who I matchmake for is my business, my choice. No matter who the Council recommends, it is I who decides each and every name that goes in my achievement book.”

  “Whoa.” Nathalia took over the conversation. “Let me order some tea for us. You both need to take a breather. If you are not Abbess, don’t say another word until I have opened the floor for discussion.”

  They all three sat in silence as Nathalia sent out the telepathic order for tea. This was going to take some magic to sooth over and the Abbess intended to use every skill at her disposal, and Ingrid had recently proven herself. She trusted Ingrid to use every calming agent she could think of. The woman was silently, persistently, determined to give her position validity.