Then we went in to join the others for dinner.
FIRST AND LAST AND ALWAYS
THANA NIVEAU
There’s a danger in wanting something too much, and when you couple that with sorcery, the consequences can be grave indeed. Thana shows us what happens when a casual witch takes the plunge into a more complex arcane world than that found in popular books on love magic. Desire has its own kind of magic and in playing with it, Tamsin finds herself on a dangerous path.
TAMSIN PLACED HER hands on either side of her phone and gazed intently at the picture of Nicky she’d taken the day before. Her heart soared as she said his name aloud.
The flickering candlelight gave him the illusion of movement and Tamsin could almost believe she was watching him through a portal, seeing him as he was right at this moment. After a few seconds the picture faded and the screen went dark. She peered into the smooth black surface, focusing on the afterimage – Nicky in negative, overlaid by the reflection of her eyes and the ghostly glow of the flame.
“Nicky.”
When the image behind her eyes finally faded, she tried to see beyond the scrying glass of the phone’s screen, into whatever dimension the emptiness might reveal. Past, present, future – she didn’t care as long as she saw him.
When nothing happened she tapped the screen to wake it up, to reveal the photo again and repeat the entire process.
It was just a quick candid shot but she’d captured the vibrancy of the setting sun. Nicky had been on his way to rehearse with his band, Valhalla, and he was smiling at someone out of frame. His head was turned slightly to one side. She’d shot straight into the sun, creating a dramatic lens flare that partially obscured one hazel eye. A lock of black hair fell over his other eye, just reaching his cheekbone.
Tamsin tried to visualise herself in the picture with him, her long blond tresses transformed by the evening light into burnished gold. That was how she liked to imagine she looked to him, anyway. Her hair was her best feature. It fell in lustrous waves halfway down her back and it made her average face a little prettier, gave her the wild, windblown look of a gothic heroine. Nicky had complimented her on it one day when she’d had it down and she’d worn it that way ever since.
“Hey there, Tamsin,” he’d said, hearing the click of her camera phone.
His low sleepy voice turned her knees to water. And his smile...
“You coming to our show tomorrow night?”
It was only a half hour spot at a local student hangout but to Tamsin it may as well have been a major concert.
“Of course,” she’d said, thrilling to the sound of his voice. It rang in her ears as she cast about for something else to say. Anything to keep him there for another minute. “Oh – I saw the video you guys posted on YouTube.”
He’d blushed then, shyly lowering his head as though he had anything to be shy about. She’d played the clip endlessly, imagining that every time he looked into the camera, he was looking right at her.
“Oh, it’s just a demo,” he said. “Rob said we should build up an online presence before we send anything to the record companies.”
“Just a demo? It looked completely professional to me!”
“Thanks.”
Nicky smiled again and they shared an awkward silence before he glanced at his watch. “Well, guess I’d better go.”
“Yeah,” she’d said, dying but not daring to take another picture of him. She’d already copied all the ones on his Facebook profile and even printed some of them out. Her favourite one sat in a little gold frame on the nightstand by her bed. His beautiful pale face in closeup, his eyes meeting hers every night and every morning.
“OK, see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “See you...”
The memory of the conversation echoed in her mind as she woke her phone up again and said his name, willing him to hear her in his mind, to acknowledge his true feelings for her. She was dressed and ready for the concert, determined that tonight would be the night. Tonight he would love her back.
But it was not to be.
VALHALLA PLAYED FIVE songs and Nicky was brilliant, as always. The pub was full of students who cheered as though they were at the Glastonbury Festival. Tamsin stood as close to the stage as she could but Nicky didn’t look her way once. He seemed completely lost in the performance, singing with his eyes closed, oblivious to everything but the music. Someday he would be a big star. Tamsin had no doubt about it. But she had to make sure he was hers before that happened. Once he was famous he would be hounded by groupies. Girls with tramp stamps and black lipstick. Tamsin was what he needed, what he really wanted. He just didn’t know it yet.
After the show he was surrounded by his friends and Tamsin’s stomach clenched with jealousy at the sight of all the other girls flocking around him. There was no way she could push her way through the crush of bodies. It was torture to be so close to him, yet unable to reach him. Torture to watch him with all those other girls, none of whom understood him the way Tamsin did.
Tears blurred her vision and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing her mascara. She couldn’t let him see her like that so she made herself turn away. As she opened the door of the pub she glanced back one last time, hoping he would sense her anguish and signal to her to stay. But wishing only made the reality worse. He hadn’t noticed her at all.
That night she sat cross-legged on her bed, staring forlornly at an uninspired Tarot spread. It was her third attempt. Each time she had managed to draw cards that told her nothing meaningful or even relevant. The Knight of Cups hadn’t appeared in any of the three spreads. Cups represented the world of feelings and the Knight was the most romantic card of all. But he was nowhere to be seen tonight. Nicky’s symbolic absence felt like a sickness, something that would grow and spread until it consumed her and spat out her indigestible heart.
She swept the cards away in disgust. Her chest felt tight, as though her insides were trying to shrink away from the pain. If she closed her eyes she saw his face. Her skin burned for the touch of his hands.
Her flatmates had teased her about him, calling him “goth boy” and other dismissive names. Beth had drawn a cartoon of him as Dracula and Chrissie had once left a pair of comedy fangs in the bathroom for her to find. Tamsin was sure they didn’t mean to be cruel; they just didn’t understand. After all, neither of them had a boyfriend either.
At least they didn’t mock her religion. Beth had got Tamsin a book on witchcraft for her birthday and she had tried both the love spells in it. They were of the ‘bad poetry and herbs’ variety, probably inspired more by Harry Potter than by any real magic. But she’d tried them anyway, feeling silly for doing it and then feeling even sillier when they didn’t work. What had she expected?
She’d been so sure he would notice her tonight. Her feelings were too intense to be only one-sided. In desperation, she powered up her computer and began searching online for proper love spells. She quickly found a naff website hawking ‘love spells that totally work’, along with ‘amazingly accurate’ astrological charts and other rubbish that was probably just designed by spammers to harvest your email address if you were gormless enough to provide it for a ‘personalised’ reading. But there must be other witches online, real witches who knew what they were doing.
It was on a forum called eBook Of Shadows that Tamsin finally found what she was looking for.
In order to truly love something, you have to make it part of you.
The post was by someone called Osprey and she was relating a story her gran had told her.
There was a young girl who lived with her family on a farm. Times were hard and one year there was a drought, the next year a flood. The crops were destroyed and the family was facing ruin. But the girl was in love with a boy from the neighbouring village and she was terrified that her parents would decide to move. If they did, she knew she would never see her true love again.
So she cast a spell to bind t
hem to the land. She took a spoon and circled the farmhouse, collecting one scoop of soil for each member of the family. That night she sprinkled it into the stew her mother made and mixed it well. She said a few words over it and wished very hard for it to work. Her family complained that the food tasted strange but they ate it all the same.
A year passed and love continued to blossom between the girl and the boy even as the crops failed yet again. Her family was forced to sell all the animals but they insisted on staying with the farm. Friends and neighbours urged them to sell up and move somewhere else, suggesting that the land was cursed. No one could understand their stubborn refusal to stay. No one but the girl, who lamented their poverty but was comforted by the knowledge that now she could never be parted from her soulmate.
Tamsin had no idea if the story was true or not, but she liked to think it was. At least the happy part. She knew she was supposed to be too old to believe in fairy tales, but she couldn’t help it; she was a romantic. She wanted to believe that wishes came true, that love conquered all. Most of all she wanted to believe that there were magic spells that worked.
She lay awake in bed for several hours that night, her mind racing.
In order to truly love something, you have to make it part of you.
How could she make Nicky a part of her? The girl in the story had bound her family to the land by physically feeding it to them, although perhaps she should have tried binding herself to the boy instead. Tamsin had tried so many different love spells over the months but nothing had worked. Was it because none of the spells had any physical link between her and Nicky? Gazing at his picture and saying his name wasn’t getting her anywhere. She might as well be clapping to keep Tinkerbell alive.
She was always hearing about girls who had date-rape drugs slipped into their drinks. How hard could it be to turn the tables? But the very thought made her feel like a stalker. She didn’t want to rape him; all she wanted to do was make him recognise what was already inside him. Surely there was no harm in that. But even as she brainstormed different scenarios, she knew she couldn’t spike his drink in a public bar. If he saw her – or worse, if someone else saw her – that would be the end of everything.
No, whatever she did had to be done in private. And the only way to do that was to screw up her courage and invite him over for dinner. But what could she feed him? It had to be something she could sneak into the food undetected but most importantly, it had to be something uniquely hers. Uniquely her.
The question obsessed her over the following days. Then one night while she was revising for a poetry exam, the answer jumped out at her. It was a line by Thomas Carew.
Those curious locks so aptly twin’d
Whose every curl a soul doth bind.
Tamsin sat before the mirror, her heart pounding. In the joy of her discovery she looked radiant and she brushed her hair slowly, sensuously, as she focused her mind on crafting the perfect spell. She pulled several loose hairs from her brush, wondering how many she would need. But as she looked at them, curled in her palm like a tiny nest, she knew it wasn’t right. Those hairs were already dead. She dropped them in the bin and met her eyes in the mirror.
Then she carefully selected a strand of hair from the top of her head. She smoothed away the other hairs around it and tugged. It did not come free at once. She had to pull it several times before she yanked it out at the root. The pain was astonishing. It was only a single hair but it felt like someone had jabbed her scalp with a needle. She cried out as it came free and wasn’t surprised to see a tiny drop of blood on the end.
Her voice trembled as she whispered, “First.”
With her fingers she combed through her hair on the left until she isolated another strand. It also proved reluctant to come out and when it did it brought with it another drop of blood.
“And last.”
She moved to the right for the final strand, taking hold of it firmly and holding her breath. She yanked, hoping it would pull out more easily than the others. But it was the most difficult of all. Only after many painful jerks of her hand did it finally come out. She yelped and had to resist the urge to scratch her scalp, to rub away the burning sensation where the hairs had been plucked.
She took a deep breath and laid the three strands side by side on her dressing table. “And always,” she said. “Mine.”
The blood held them together at one end and Tamsin weighted them down with her phone while she set about plaiting them together. She found herself humming as she did, barely aware of the warm trickle from her scalp until the blood dripped into her eyes. She paid it no mind. Her hands completed the task as though guided by external forces.
When at last she had a long thin braid she wiped the blood from her face and knotted the ends together to form a circle. It would remain unbroken until the right moment.
She tucked the charm beneath her pillow to keep it close to her while she slept. She knew it would bring her dreams of Nicky, dreams that were about to come true. In the morning her pillow was stained with blood.
SHE SAW HIM the next day, chatting with his friend Rob, and she didn’t hesitate. She had dressed up for the occasion. Her athletic frame was showcased in her tightest jeans and a lacy purple top. She’d worn a push-up bra and gothed up her makeup. Smudged black eyeliner and blood red lips. Just enough to get his attention.
It worked. His face broke into an easy smile as she walked boldly up to him before she could lose her nerve. Rob was eyeing her cleavage.
“I saw your show the other night,” she said breezily. “It was awesome!”
Nicky’s smile broadened. “Hey, thanks! I wasn’t sure about that Sisters of Mercy cover. Was it really OK?”
Rob jumped in before she could answer. “Of course it was. I told you.” He rolled his eyes at Tamsin as though compelling her to agree with him.
But Nicky was still watching her expectantly, waiting to hear what she thought. She hid her exhilaration and nodded as though she had any business telling him whether something was good or not.
“I thought it was brilliant. Better than the original.”
His eyes shone with genuine delight and her heart twisted a little at the thought of him doubting his talent. And before the opportunity could slip away she said “Do you want to come to mine for dinner tonight?”
He blinked in surprise but his smile didn’t falter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rob’s face fall a little.
Nicky glanced at his friend and then back at Tamsin. “Sure,” he said.
“Great! I’m making a curry. Hope you like it spicy.” She knew full well he did, just as she knew loads of other little things about him that he’d never told her. Just to leave him in no doubt about what was on offer she added, “My flatmates are away for the weekend.”
He actually blushed. “Brilliant,” he said.
Her heart leapt and it was all she could do to maintain the casual act. “Cool. It’s a date. I’ll text you my address. What’s your number?”
It was almost too easy. Just like that, the deal was sealed.
“Well, I’ve gotta get to class,” she said. “See you tonight!”
Nicky waved as she trotted away, pretending to be in a hurry. She felt lighter than air.
Mine, she thought.
SHE SKIPPED THE class she’d pretended to be late for and went to Waitrose to buy the poshest ingredients she could find. Then she spent the whole afternoon making the curry. Soon the aroma of coconut milk and chillies permeated the flat and Tamsin left the meal to simmer while she tidied away the few things Beth and Chrissie had left lying around. She closed the doors to their rooms and opened her own like an invitation.
She placed two red candles on the small dining table and set it as though she were entertaining royalty. A bottle of chardonnay was chilling in the fridge although she suspected Nicky would prefer beer. Too bad. This was her big night and it was going to be classy.
Choosing what to wear took even more time. Jeans were too cas
ual but a party dress would look like she was trying too hard. She eventually settled on a flirty red skirt and a black velvet top. She admired herself in the mirror and looked at her watch for the hundredth time. She’d told him to come at six and there was still nearly an hour to go. She spent it pacing, checking the curry, making minute adjustments to the place settings, straightening the pictures on the wall and making the bed. With a gasp she suddenly spotted the framed photo of Nicky by the bedside and she hurriedly shoved it to the bottom of her underwear drawer.
That done, she returned to the curry. She would have to wait until the very last minute to add her secret ingredient. The kitchen smelled heavenly and she was sure the spicy brew would disguise any odd flavour. But she threw in an extra chilli and another splash of ginger wine just to be sure.
At ten to six she put on some music and tried to slow her galloping heart as she waited for Nicky to arrive.
He was almost ten minutes late. Tamsin had been just about to text him when she heard the entryphone ring. She took a deep breath and picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Tamsin? It’s me, Nicky.”
Warmth flooded her face and throat at the sound of his voice. “Hang on, I’ll buzz you in.”
She hung up the phone and pressed the button to unlock the downstairs door. Then she ran to the bathroom for a last look at herself in the mirror before racing back. She could hear his boots thumping up the stairs and she held her breath until he reached the door, opening it before he could knock.
To her delight, he had worn her favourite shirt. It was a deep silky black with vivid green pinstripes. He always wore black but the green brought out the colour of his eyes. She stilled her trembling hand against the door as she closed it behind him.
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