“Then don't watch,” said Morgan imperiously, and she leaned forward and kissed me again, her mouth pressing against mine.
I pressed my forehead to hers as she grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the counter, probably to make me a latte, when I managed to take in the fact that the Ninth Order was very full of customers this morning. Not abnormal, especially with the Farmer’s Market going on. But everyone was dressed up in costumes…again. Most of the customers were wearing moonwalking suits this time. There were only a few in Star Trek uniforms.
“Another alien convention?” I marveled, sitting at the closest table to the counter. Morgan began making my pumpkin latte, steaming the soy milk with a smile.
“Yeah… You’d be surprised. Alien conventions happen pretty often in Wolf Town,” said Morgan, exchanging a glance with Victor.
“When does the Farmer's Market open?” I asked, furrowing my brow as I watched them exchange that look. “Ten? Nine?”
“Nine,” said Morgan. She stalked out from behind the counter and set the latte down in front of me, tugging out the adjacent chair with a toe and sitting on it backwards as she watched me with a wolfish grin. I smiled at her and sat still for a blissful moment, inhaling the steam of that delicious-smelling latte.
“A perfect ten,” I whispered to her, sipping at the cup in what I hoped was a suggestive manner. I burned my tongue.
Victor rolled his eyes—for the fifth time.
“You gonna go to the market with her?” he asked Morgan, who looked at the clock and nodded, taking off her apron as she leaned back in her chair.
“Surely you don't need me?” she asked the vampire with a wry smile and a wink. He sighed and glanced over the ridiculously packed coffee shop.
“No, I should be totally fine,” he said, voice flat. But then he shook his head with a smile. “They all ordered already, anyway. You’re set. You kids go have fun,” he said, wiping the steamer off with a towel.
“You’re wonderful,” said Morgan, tossing him a high-five into the air.
“We’ll be back soon, Victor, I promise,” I told him. And Morgan and I strolled out of the coffee shop arm in arm, and latte in hand.
My earlier ominous feelings had seemed to evaporate. After all, how could there be anything terrible in the world when you’re falling in love?
I was so happy that it colored everything I saw: the white booths unfolded and set up before us on the sidewalks of Wolf Town; the tie-dyed skirt of the old woman who sold goat milk soaps which she placed them in rows on her starched white tabletop; the blue suspenders of an older guy who was setting up a little table with brochures on horse-riding lessons for the nearby Throne Farm. The logo for Throne Farm told the truth about the stables, however—a pegasus rampant, with stars behind its streaming mane. It was kind of indicative that Throne Farm didn’t offer normal horseback-riding lessons...
I breathed in the scents of autumn, the soaps and the latte and the fallen leaves and the fresh-baked pies on the bakery table. I heard the sounds, the laughter and the music as a busking violin player began to tune his instrument, drawing his rosined bow over the strings. Morgan bumped her shoulder gently against mine, and when I looked up into her eyes, took in the warmth of her face, I knew something with a bone-deep knowledge, which was weird and sudden, but I knew it like the lifelines on my palms: I belonged here.
I belonged in Wolf Town. I was meant to be here.
And I was absolutely and utterly meant to be falling in love with her.
The morning was perfect, a golden, glorious set of autumn hours. Until we were on our way out of the market. The not-so-great feeling began with a little chill traveling across my right shoulder. I turned, and though we were quite distant from one another, I locked eyes with a stranger. A tall, beautiful...odd man. He wore silver clothes, and his hair shifted colors in the sunlight, and he leaned against a great, old oak tree on the outskirts of the Farmer’s Market, practically behind the buildings. As I watched him, he stood, stretched nonchalantly, and turned and went back into the woods.
He had wings.
I rubbed at my eyes, looked again. He wasn’t there. That meant nothing, of course. He could have disappeared in a flick of fairy dust, or maybe he’d never really been there at all—but I knew better. I knew, in that moment, that I had seen one of the fairy court. And he had been watching me.
“Ready to head back? Hey...”
I turned, blinked. Morgan was frowning, looking from me back to the distant tree.
“Are you all right?” she asked, stepping closer, brow furrowed in worry as her strong fingers closed around my elbow.
“Yeah,” I fibbed, shaking my head.
I don’t know why I didn’t tell her. It was complicated, really, my reason. I had a bad feeling about her father, and who wants to tell their girlfriend that her father gives them the creeps?
And, anyway, there was probably nothing to worry about.
Probably…
---
I saved the apple pie we’d bought at the market for after the ritual and began to peel potatoes late in the afternoon, chopping them into large chunks, pouring veggie broth over them after browning them. My mother always made Harvest Stew for the full Blood Moon, one of the only esbats that had a specific menu in our family. For about half a minute, I actually considered making bread from scratch, but I wasn't masochistic, and I remembered I'd bought a stone-ground wheat loaf from the bakery table, along with the pie. It’d go well with dinner.
The kitchen became rife with aromas that made my mouth water. They even caught the attentions of Winifred. I'd assumed that ghosts had no sense of smell, but she wandered in now, led by her nose, exaggeratingly sniffing the air, her eyes closed happily.
“Goodness, that smells wonderful,” she said and sighed, leaning against the door jamb. “But why are you going to so much trouble?”
“It's the full moon, and Morgan is coming over for a ritual and feast,” I replied, stirring the stew. When I took the cover off the pot, a bellow of steam filled the air. My stomach growled loudly.
“That'll be fun,” she said, sitting at the small kitchen table, covered with my purchases from the market. She hovered above the kitchen chair. “Will there be any devils involved?” she asked politely.
I rolled my eyes and cast her a sideways glance. She snickered, most unladlylike, covering her mouth.
“Don't be ridiculous. And you know better,” I said, covering the pot again as I brandished the ladle in her direction. “Keep this up,” I told her, waggling my eyebrows, “and I'll exorcise you.”
“You wouldn't dare!” she giggled, laughing. “You love me. You know it. You don’t exorcise ghosts you love.”
“I admit—you do provide a certain amount of company,” I sniffed, but ended up grinning, sitting next to her. “Honestly? I'm a little nervous…” I confessed, picking up the white candle I'd gotten at the Market, too; it was perfect for the full moon esbat I had planned. Well, that I had sort of planned. I chewed on a nail distractedly.
“Don't be nervous,” said Winnie, putting her see-through arm around my shoulders in loose terms. I couldn't feel her, but the gesture was appreciated. “You're going to do fine. Why are you nervous? You have absolutely nothing to be nervous about.”
“She's…she's very different from my previous girlfriends,” I said, peeling back a bit of wax from the candle’s wick. I held the wax in my hands, so white it almost shone in the dim kitchen. “This is the big stakes now, you know?”
“No, I don't know,” said Winnie, burning eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. “Tell me.”
“I think she's the one,” I whispered, feeling my heart pound as I said it aloud.
“The one?”
“Oh, goodness, Winnie,” I said, pushing off from the table and pacing across the small kitchen. “I think she's the one for me,” I said very, very quietly.
“Oh,” she replied, and sat and thought about that for a long moment. Then she cocked her head and glanced
up at me. “What makes you so sure?” It wasn’t asked in an unfriendly tone: she was genuinely curious.
I sat down again, biting my lip. “I had a...vision,” I said with care, “before I came here. It showed me the Witch Way Café, and it showed me Wolf Town, and it showed me...her. And a love I’d never felt before. That I’m feeling now.”
Winnie pondered this, chin in hands. “I have to admit—I sort of see something when you two are together,” she ventured, then. “As a life-challenged person, I’m able to see that there's a glow of color, usually different colors, around all living people, but when the two of you get together, the colors change; they kind of merge. It's quite beautiful, really,” she said, and smiled shyly at me. “I wish I'd had something like that when I was alive.”
“Forgive my ignorance on such things,” I said, leaning forward, “but, I mean, can't ghosts…” I waved my hands helplessly. “Date?”
She snorted and laughed, but then she paused. “I actually…don't know. I've never met another ghost I liked. They're mostly creepy. Or, you know, distracted, being dead and all.” She tugged at the collar of her blouse and sighed.
“It's now my mission to set you up with someone of ghost-kind you might like,” I said, rising to stir the stew once more. “What's your type?”
“Oh…” she said, trailing off. She shook her head. “Anyone without a pulse that might be interested in me. It's all well and good for you,” she scoffed. “You wouldn't understand how difficult it is to find someone…”
I snorted so hard, the tea I was sipping came out of my nose. I wiped at my face with a tea towel and kept chuckling. “Oh, goddess, Winnie, you do know who you're talking to, right?” I chortled. “Come on, seriously! I'm a lesbian! Do you know how hard it is to find a woman who happens to be a lesbian, happens to be my type and who happens to be single?” I raised an eyebrow and shook my head, chuckling. “Let me just tell you that I totally understand,” I told her then, placing my ladle over my heart with a nod. “Aren't there many ghosts in Wolf Town?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” she told me, nodding. “Many. And we have little get-togethers pretty frequently, for the undead. We even gather on the night of the Halloween Carnival and actually have a little ball all our own in the old Town Hall.” She jerked her thumb to indicate down the road. “But it's a dreadfully boring affair. We mostly just stand around and look at our feet. We don't have music.”
“Surely there are some dead guys who were once musicians,” I pointed out.
She shook her head. “Not around here.”
“Huh…” I thought about it. “Well, it’s such a simple thing. I can totally fix that! What if I asked Allen MacRue if he would leave—oh, I don't know—maybe a radio going all night, the night of the Carnival, at the old Town Hall?”
“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Absolutely,” I grinned at her. “You must dance with everyone you find remotely attractive, and then tell me how it all went.”
“The one ghost who I do like best happens to be headless, unfortunately,” she said brightly. “But it really is more about the heart, rather than the appearance!”
I closed my mouth and blinked. “Yes,” I said, trying to not imagine Winnie dancing with a headless horseman. “This is true.” I stirred the stew once more absentmindedly, then started when I heard a knock at the door. “Oh, goodness!” I murmured, my heart beginning to beat loudly against my ribs as I practically tore off my apron, ran to the bathroom and smoothed down my hair in the mirror.
“Please,” I said hurriedly, waving at Winnie as I trotted to the front door. “Please, would you give us a little space?” I asked, clasping my hands in front of me.
“What? Leave you alone for an evening?” She raised an eyebrow, wolfish grin widening her lips. “But that wouldn't be proper, Amy. You know us stodgey Victorians. Really, I'm more like your chaperone—”
“I might just totally rethink exorcising you!” I told her, folding my arms as I shook my head.
Winifred sighed and rolled her burning eyes. “Oh, very well, missy. But you owe me one!” she said, and she gave me a little half-bow and drifted through the apartment door, presumably through Morgan, and down and into the Witch Way Café, leaving the apartment ghost-free. And leaving me and Morgan alone to be together…in whichever way we saw fit.
I threw open the door, and there she was, fiery red hair in a cloud of scarlet about her head, her eyes sparkling as she took me in. We embraced tightly, and I inhaled the scent of her as I pressed my nose to her shoulder: sandalwood. She'd brought some wildflowers she'd picked, and she almost dropped them as she swept me up into a warm hug, closing the door behind her.
“So!” she said, dropping me down, kissing me squarely. The kiss lasted for a moment or longer as I tasted the spice and warmth of her (she tasted like coffee). She cleared her throat, smiling sideways at me as she brought the flowers up and proferred them to me. “Um…I brought you flowers,” she said. “I…didn't ask you ahead of time if I should bring anything, or, you know—” She cleared her throat, spread her hands with a smooth shrug. “Dress a certain way? I asked Victor, but apparently vampire sabbats are very different from witch sabbats, and he was radically unhelpful—”
“You're fine,” I said, hiding my blush in the blossoms as I inhaled their heady fragrance. “These are wonderful,” I told her, smiling up at her. “Please! Come in! Get comfortable! I thought we'd eat after the ritual if you aren't too famished—”
“I'm fine,” she said, even as her stomach growled loudly. She laughed, shook her head, put a hand over her belly. “Don't listen to it,” she said, winking at me. “Truly, I'm fine.” When she looked at me, her eyes were gleaming, and there was a constant smile turning up the right corner of her mouth. She looked impish, mischievous, and I wanted to melt into that, wanted to hook my thumbs in her belt loops, draw her to me strongly and kiss her again. Once more with feeling.
I could feel my cheeks blazing and, suddenly, I was self-conscious. “So,” I told her softly, folding my hands in front of myself to keep them from fidgeting, from reaching out to her. “Are you ready?”
Her eyes darkened with need, but she stood tall, resolute, and nodded once.
I turned, flicked on the lights in the living room. It was just seven o'clock, but it was already dark out. I dragged the little coffee table into the center of the space just as I assumed my mother was doing at exactly the same moment. I'd made her promise not to call me tonight, had told her about my plans with Morgan. She'd screamed with delight (almost causing deafness) and had made me promise to give her all the details tomorrow. I'd agreed; she'd agreed. I hoped the evening went well enough to coo about.
I didn't really know what to expect. None of my other girlfriends had ever shown even the slightest interest in the things I did on esbats or sabbats. One of them had been completely unsupportive, convinced for a very large portion of our dating time that I really did invoke demons in my rituals.
I sighed, closing my eyes, grounding myself, imagining the earth beneath me cradling me, holding me up. I spread a purple cloth over the coffee table, placed my new white candle on a little silver plate. I added my clay pentacle that I'd made when I was twelve at art class in school. It was a little misshapen, but it still made me smile. Next came the wand my mother had made for me the day I was born. She’d gathered a branch from the apple tree I'd been conceived under (a fact that had once embarrassed me, but now gave me a sense of place and gravity), wrapped in tarnished silver wire that my mother had bent around it while she labored with me. It was a little crooked, but it was filled with love.
I had no need for an athame or cauldron or the elemental candles. It would be too much, and it might overwhelm Morgan, all of those tools of my religion. I wanted to make the ritual bare bones tonight, create the thing to be simple and elegant. I rose, lit a few candles along the wall, and turned off the light in the living room. I smoothed the front of my skirt, adjusted my worn pentacle around my neck,
the star shape pressing against the pad of my fingers as the familiar rush of energy from the beginning esbat filled me, now tinged with equal parts nervousness and hope. I hoped Morgan would not be bored out of her skull. I hoped that maybe she’d enjoy it a little.
I hoped she loved me…
I hoped, I hoped, I hoped.
I held out my hands to her now, beckoning her to come to me. She rose from where she’d perched herself on the edge of my aunt’s couch, came forward quietly, took my hands, gazing into my eyes with no reservation, no wavering, head held high.
“Welcome,” I whispered, and then felt the familiar embarrassment when someone new came to a ritual. It was all very dramatic, and I guess if you came to it without an open mind, or with a sarcastic bent, it might seem very silly. But her eyes were wide and wondering, and I didn't think she'd make fun of me, no matter what happened. I drew her into the room, and together, we stood on either side of the coffee table.
“Um,” I said eloquently, still holding her hands, now forming a circle between us. “Do you want me to explain the stuff on the altar? Do you want me to explain what I'm doing…” I cleared my throat, swallowed. “What do you need from me?” I asked then, simply.
She shook her head, squeezed my hands. “I need you to do whatever you need to do. I need you to enjoy yourself.”
What I really needed in that moment was to pinch myself. Was she real? Was this real? I closed my hands, felt my connection to her, through and over my skin, through and over her skin, hands held, completing a circle.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay…”
The ritual began.
“We have come here, you and I, to celebrate the fullness of the moon,” I whispered quietly, drawing back the curtains, letting the full moonlight wash into the room. “We celebrate her bounty and her beauty. We recognize that the waning year is here. We know that Samhain is coming…”
Morgan watched me curiously, eyes never wavering from my face as I invoked the moonlight, the four elements in succession, the Goddess into the circle. She watched me spin the magic; she held my hands when I asked her to. She turned deosil—clockwise—when I did, and widdershins—counterclockwise—when I did, and she followed my directives with ease.
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