by Mathew Ortiz
Ezekiel had possessed the demon and used the Athame that Cimcoe was going to use to kill Duncan to stab the demon in the chest. Piercing the skin of the demon released the fiery soul, killing him. In doing so, it broke the curse on Ezekiel, the curse placed on him by Duncan’s ancestor. In saving Duncan, Zeke was freed to move on instead of being bound to the earth to eternal unrest. Unfortunately, it meant that Duncan and Ezekiel were torn apart. The loss of half his soul shattered the beaten and battered Duncan. He had holed up in his room and barely eaten for months. Oliver had told the aunts about a particular morning recently that frightened him …
***
“Please eat, Duncan,” his sister Jaime entreated. William, Duncan, Rush, Oliver and Jaime were all sitting around the kitchen table having breakfast, and William and Rush were conversing about the work being done to the roof on the east wing. Both of them cast looks over at Duncan. The fact that he had joined them for breakfast was a feat. Since he had lost Ezekiel, he had isolated himself in his room day after day, barely accepting visitors. Only Jaime’s tears could persuade their brother to come out of his self-imposed exile.
“I am.” It was barely a whisper. The dark smudges under his eyes told of sleepless nights. Pushing his polenta and scrambled eggs on his plate, Duncan scooped up a small dollop with his fork and shoved it in his mouth. Slowly, he worked it over in his mouth and swallowed. “Happy now?” The sarcasm was palpable. Jaime sagged, defeated. William moved his hand across the table to touch his brother’s.
“She’s only trying to help.” His voice gentle, Oliver’s heart ached for his brother. Normally William and Duncan were snapping and arguing good-naturedly during breakfast. The last few months, William had told Olvier that he had noticed the acrid tone of their arguments had fallen away and was replaced with good-natured teasing. William enjoyed the change. His relationship with his brother had suffered over the years, partially from William leaving home for college and then coming home and being--and he admitted it--a total fuckhead. Duncan, though quieter, had the Blackthorne steely spine and fought back against William’s dictatorship. It wasn’t until William met the love of his life, Rush Harrington, that he stopped butting heads with Duncan, and the two were mending fences. For the first time in years, Oliver felt like the three of them were really brothers.
Duncan sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, Curly.”
Jaime shook her head vigorously. “No, I shouldn’t push so hard.”
“Yes, you should.” William corrected and returned his gaze to Duncan. “You’re losing weight. You don’t have enough to spare, bro.”
Duncan pulled away from them and sat back in his chair. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” William said around his coffee mug.
Duncan’s eyes flashed anger behind his black rimmed glasses, and tears welled up. “What do you want from me, William? Happiness, puppies, and kitties? Fuck! I found my bondmate, who’s a ghost. How messed up is that? The dominant I had been going to see for months raped and tried to kill me! I barely survived, only because Zeke saved me, breaking that ancestral curse. Free of that, I thought we were finally going to be together, but noooooo. He was forced to cross over and leave me. Leave me alone. Alone and broken.” Duncan pushed away from the table, a loud screech of chair legs.
“We’re only trying to help,” Oliver started, but Duncan slashed the air with a hand, cutting him off.
“You don’t understand, Ollie. Only William can.” Duncan’s gaze bore into William. “Imagine Rush being taken away from you. Imagine a day where his constant, loving presence was not always in the back of your mind, reassuring you, loving you, and supporting you. It’s a hole, a jagged wound in your soul when your soul mate is taken from you. You’re half a person. Each day is horrifyingly long. Night are sleepless, and if you do sleep, you dream of him. Only to wake up alone and I grieve all over again. Death’s cold touch would be better than this nothingness.”
“Don’t say that!” Jaime cried out, and she began sob softly.
“You know what I’m talking about, William.” Duncan stood and started to leave the room. He halted at the entrance and gave them a haunted look. “William, I own you an apology. I was such an ass to you and Rush in the beginning. For that I can only ask forgiveness. All I ask for now is some space. Some consideration.”
William dashed away the tears falling down his own face. He nodded to his hurting brother. “We’re here if you need us.” The smile was forced and weak, but Duncan acknowledged him. With that, he left. Oliver sat back, exhausted already. Duncan was right. Only William understood the pain he was going through. Being bonded to Rush was the most wonderful, fulfilling and complete thing to ever happen to him. Rush was the other part of his soul. The mere thought of losing him terrified William and he had told Oliver that in confidence.
“William, what are we going to do? He barely eats.” Jaime’s fingers curled in knots from her anxiety.
“We support him.”
“Is-is it like he said? Does bonding enslave you to the other person like that?”
William jerked and stared at her. “Enslaved? Hecate, no! Jaime, bonding is a completion. A melding of two souls. When Rush isn’t here, I miss him. His being near me calms me, allows me to focus. My powers have never been stronger or more finely tuned. I sleep better, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I love him with all that I am.” William turned to Rush and slipped his hand into his bondmates’. “He is the other half of me. If that is slavery, then yes, I am a slave.”
“I didn’t mean it to sound so bad. I-it’s just that Duncan is in so much pain.” Jaime lowered her gaze and fiddled with her spoon, swirling circles in her cereal.
“Duncan found joy and love with Ezekiel, only to have it torn away. For the same reason I’m calmer and more focused with Rush, Duncan was able to control his fire better with Zeke around. The bondmate can help stabilize a witch. Give them balance. Duncan even said so. Torn asunder like they have been, Duncan is drowning in the deep end of sorrow. We have be there for him. I don’t want him to die!” William stared out the nook window. Snow blanketed the ground, and the clean whiteness of it all oddly soothed him.
“He can’t just die….can he?” Fear in her voiced matched the fear in Oliver’s soul. William couldn’t lie to her. It wasn’t fair.
“He could. It happens to some witches when their bondmate is torn abruptly from them. They wither and die, unable to go on without the other half of their souls.”
“Oh, William.” She jumped out of her chair and ran into his arms. Hugging her tight, William rested his chin on her head and let her cry, his tears joining hers.
***
“The loss of the other half of your soul is a wound few can recover from. I’m surprised Duncan lives. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Bea. You know as well as I most witches fade away once their bondmate is taken from them. Cousin Alvin lasted only three days after Pamela passed on.” Mags stated matter-of-factly. He may find peace if he joins Ezekiel. As hard as it is to say, death might give him the peace and happiness denied him in life,” Mags countered.
“…Margaret, please,” Bea entreated. “The last few months have been horrible for Duncan, but--”
“It’s the truth. Duncan was beaten, raped, and nearly killed. He survived all that because his bondmate saved him, only to have his bondmate taken from him as Ezekiel’s ghost crossed over. In short order, Duncan found his bondmate and lost him. The loss of his bondmate nearly destroyed him. Death walks the halls of Oswald House, and it comes for my nephew.”
“Don’t say that!” Bea cried out.
“Enough!” Oliver snapped, and his aunts stopped talking and stared at him. He had never spoken to them like that, and they both looked shocked. “All we can do is be there for him. He is ultimately responsible for his fate. Duncan is very stubborn. Hecate will decide.”
Bea looked at him like he’d grown another head. Mags appeared inordinately pleased.
“Spoken like a tr
ue Keeper.” Mags lifted her cup and saluted him.
“I’m starting to realize what you go through, Aunt Margaret. The enormity of what you deal with as The Keeper of the Tomes and as Mistress of the Earth Clans is frightening,” Oliver sighed, straightening his char. “But if anyone should be Keeper, it should be an Oswald.”
Bea tilted her head and smiled. “Mia would be so proud! Her baby’s balls finally dropped!”
“Aunt Beatrice!” Oliver colored pink.
“Take the compliment,” Mags sniffed. She twisted her fingers in the air, and a cigarette appeared. She took it between her lips and lit the end with her finger. Inhaling, she held her breath then exhaled slowly, the gray cloud swirling around the air above her. Bea wrinkled her nose and Oliver coughed.
“Great. Rush finally gets William to stop, and you start back up,” Oliver groused.
“Piss off. And what in the hell is with that man bun hair-do?” Mags inclined her head at his, and Oliver’s hand went to the knot of hair on the back of his head. He had been letting his hair grow, and now it was long enough to twist up in a bun.
“Just trying something new. I don’t want to cut my hair.”
“I think it’s cute.” Bea reached over and tucked an errant curl behind his ear.
“It’s ridiculous,” Mags dismissed him. “I wonder—”
“Mother!” Everyone stopped and turned. Grace stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on hips. She stalked over to where they were sitting and snatched the cigarette from her mother’s mouth. She ran it under water at the sink and threw it away. “If you insist on smoking, please do it outside.”
“Busted by the fuzz again,” Mags muttered.
“What did you say?” Grace pierced her mother with a hard look.
“Nothing, sweetie.” Mags rolled her eyes and Bea snickered, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I’m going up to check on the boys.” Grace turned around to leave, and Oliver stood quickly.
“Can I come, Grace?”
“Sure.” Grace smiled at him, and they left the room, Bea waving goodbye and Mags grumbling. They ascended the long stairs and walked to the last door of the second floor hall. Grace gingerly took the door handle and turned it slowly with a soft click. Crossing the threshold, they quietly made their way to the matching cribs in the large, cozy room. Painted white with a tint of blue, the two cribs sat on the wall parallel to the door. Floor to ceiling azure curtains hung at the two large windows, adding a bright pop of blue. A large glider sat to the left of the door, flanked by a large changing table. The wood floor was covered with interlocking blue, white, green and yellow carpet tiles.
As they approached the cribs, Oliver couldn’t stop the grin from spreading along his face. In each crib lay a snoozing ten-month-old baby boy. The left crib had the name Sebastian in scrolled letters above it. The other crib had the name Benjamin above. A soft snuffle got his attention, and Oliver looked down at Benjamin. The baby’s lips smacked, and he yawned. Oliver’s heart melted.
Both boys had a head full of black hair like their mother, and they both had blue eyes. Perfectly formed with porcelain skin, they were like a pair of dolls. Oliver loved coming over and feeding them, changing them, and cuddling them. They recognized him now, as he was the only male to hold them. Gregory, Aunt Mags’s son and Grace’s older brother, had no use for them and in his words, detested the little rug rats.
When Grace announced sixteen months ago she was pregnant, all hell had broken loose. Her mother was apoplectic and demanded Grace tell her who the father was. Grace had sat there amid the typhoon of her mother’s rage and steadfastly refused to give her a name. To this day, no one knew who the boys’ father was. Grace had done her work well. She had cast a spell to block any inquiries, much to her mother’s fury. Grace told Oliver in confidence that she didn’t want the father involved. She never told him who it was, only that she was going to raise the boys alone. Oliver had hugged her hard and told her she wasn’t alone. The two of them had grown close from working together investigating paranormal phenomenon with Oliver’s ghost hunting team, Restless Spirits. He was closer to Gregory in age but closer to Grace personally. Gregory sometimes got on his last queer nerve.
“How was their last check up?” he asked in a soft whisper.
“Excellent. Sebastian weighs more, but Benjamin is longer.” Her fingers twiddled a dark curl on Sebastian’s head.
“We still on for Friday?” Grace was coming over with the boys to visit. He and Jaime loved having the babies in the house. William usually rolled his eyes, but the boys were the only ones who could make Duncan smile. That was enough for Oliver.
“Of course. The boys and I will be at Oswald House at eleven.” Grace lips quirked. “I heard from Duncan that the wolves arrive this week.”
“So?” Feigning indifference, Oliver ran a finger over Sebastian’s cheek. He marveled at the softness of the skin.
“If memory serves me, one of them made your pants dance during the Clan meeting last year.”
Oliver scrunched up his nose. He didn’t really want to talk about it. Yes, his witch’s sense tingled at the meeting, more so when he came near the Temple brothers. Curious, he had walked toward them and stopped short. Dathan Temple, the Alpha of New Moon Pack, had been talking tersely with Katherine Laks. His pack and another had recently merged and now was called the Cold Creek Pack. Safety in numbers and all that jazz. The looks he had been giving the various men and woman of the council could only be described as suspicion and loathing. It was no secret Dathan Temple was a solidphobe. He didn’t trust or like anyone who was unable to change their shape. Too bad, as Oliver had thought the man was gorgeous.
Turning his attention to the other man, Oliver’s stomach had dropped. The man in question was laughing, and the rich sound filled the room. The owner of that gorgeous laugh was the one and only Donovan Temple. Oliver had snorted and thought, the proverbial horn dog himself. Donovan’s reputation as a tail chaser was renown in the supernatural community. Oliver admitted he could see why. Tall, at least six-four, Donovan Temple was a mix of all the best of several races. His skin was a light cocoa and his hair medium brown, loose dreadlocks cascading from his head. His smooth forehead led down to a pair of perfectly arched brows. His eyes were an odd color, and as Oliver squinted, he had made out a weird, stormy blue-grey. Perhaps some other colors were there, but he hadn’t been able to tell. The nose was strong and thick above full, pouty lips, and he sported a tightly trimmed golden brown beard. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to an impossibly tiny waist and a pair of legs that went on for days. Oh, and the man had big feet! If Oliver had a fetish of any type it was men’s feet. The bigger the better.
He had been about to say something when Donovan looked over at him suddenly. The gaze was assessing, and Oliver froze. He was given the once over and…suddenly dismissed. Donovan turned away without as much as a single backward glance.
Oliver balked. He had never been dismissed like that. Not bragging, but he knew he was the hot brother. He was muscled and thick like William but not chubby. He was nearly hairless unlike his fuzzy brother. He had green eyes that had blue and gold in them, and they shifted with his mood. He was clean-shaven and had been told more than once he was beautiful. So having that butt-sniffer of a wolf reject him like that had stung. He was about to say something scathing, but Margaret had called for him to come to her side. Angry, he had stomped over to his aunt, refusing to let Donovan Temple get under his skin.
Now Grace was bringing up that day, and he was not interested in talking about it. “I didn’t say that he gave me happy pants. I said I thought he was cute. I’m not over Rory yet.”
The memory of their parting made his eyes well up with tears. Hecate, he missed Rory: his laugh, his touch, his kiss, and simply everything about that crazy redhead. Oliver hadn’t dated or even had sex since he broke up with Rory. That was several months ago, but the loss of the one man he had loved still hurt Oliver every day. He won
dered if Rory thought of him. If Rory missed him. Sighing, he walked over to the door to the nursery. Grace’s eyes held sympathy for him.
“I’m not ready yet, Grace.”
“Ollie, Rory wouldn’t want this for you. He’d want you to be happy. He left because he knew he wasn’t your bondmate. He didn’t want to interfere with the possibility of you finding the one.” Grace was only repeating what Rory had said that last day they were together.
“I know, Grace. It doesn’t make it hurt less or make me miss him less.” Oliver leaned on the door handle. “I’ll see you and the boys on Saturday.” She gave him a smile, and he returned it. The door clicked as he closed it behind him. He descended the stairs and left the house. Hopping on his motorcycle, he gunned the engine and headed home.
Chapter 2
Ming finished polishing the upper banister. She and Karina had set aside most of the morning to clean and polish all the woodwork of the Grand Staircase. They had already gone through three bottles of polish. This was a once a month job that neither woman liked doing. Over the last few months, Ming and Karina had begun to divvy up various household jobs. Ming put down her rag and leaned against the glossy wood. The Grand Staircase was one of the jewels of the house. That being said, it didn’t mean some days she didn’t want to take an axe and turn it all into kindling!
Pushing on her lower back with her hands, she attempted to force out some of the kinks in her spine. Groaning, she heard giggling from across the way. She spotted Karina, sitting Indian style, polishing the top spindles on the stairs. Smiling, she waved at her.