Homecoming

by Amber Benson

  Then she headed outside. No cell phone or wallet. Just a ratty old hoodie, a slice of bread, and her thoughts.

  * * *

  Leaving the warmth and safety of Eleanora’s house, Lyse stepped out into the chilly, gray October night. She left the outside lights off, the moonlight making them unnecessary, and crossed the expansive deck. She wandered out onto the arched, wooden bridge overlooking the koi pond and took a seat, letting her feet swing over the side.

  She felt like a kid, the pain of childhood nostalgia sharp in her bones. She ached to be young and innocent but still have all the knowledge she’d won as an adult.

  The scent of autumn leaves blew in with the wind, reminding Lyse how much she loved the fall. Even in California—which boasted no real seasons, just unrelenting heat and moderate cold—there was still a crispness in the October air.

  Thinking about the seasons made her realize that she didn’t know when she’d be going back to Georgia. This stuff with the coven was bizarre, and whether she believed in it or not, she’d promised Eleanora she’d be a part of it. Which meant she was gonna put a smile on her face and just go with it until Eleanora wasn’t there to see what she did anymore.

  After that, well, she didn’t think she’d be staying in Echo Park and hanging out with a witches’ coven. Not with a house in Georgia and a nursery to run.

  She’d called Eleanora and the others “witches,” but they didn’t seem to like that word. Blood sister was what Lyse had heard them call one another over and over again during the course of the evening.

  Lyse supposed she was a blood sister now, too. She’d performed a sex ritual and tasted everyone’s blood—and she still didn’t know if magic really existed, or what it was the coven actually did . . .

  She began to laugh as she realized how ridiculous the whole thing was. She got even more tickled as she tried to imagine herself explaining the antler-man-sex-fantasy to Carole: Yes, Carole, can you imagine? The size of his penis was in direct proportion to the size of his antlers!

  Lyse snorted at the thought.

  Feeling lighter than she had in days, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking off any bad vibes. She took the bread out of the pocket of her hoodie and began to drop small pieces into the koi pond. It was a joy to watch the giant carp rise to the surface in order to search out the food. When the slice was gone, she stood up and stretched, zipping up the hoodie to keep out the cold.

  “Night, fish,” she said, and offered them an abrupt wave.

  It was time to go exploring.

  * * *

  She left the bungalow behind her and plunged into the darkness, not really paying attention to where she was going. She just wanted to see where her feet would take her. It was good to move without thought, to release her brain and body and let the wind caress her face as she strolled through the night. Even though she hadn’t been up some of the streets in years, it didn’t seem to matter. Echo Park welcomed her back unconditionally.

  Up in the hills there was enough space between the streetlights that as she walked she felt like a ghost flickering in and out of existence. This thought spooked her and she started to jog, wanting to stay in motion so nothing could touch her.

  Maybe she was just trying to outrun herself, but soon she was flying down one of the hills, pumping her legs to the rhythmic beating of her heart. She didn’t want to think about Eleanora’s death. Didn’t want to deal with what she’d seen and heard of Eleanora’s past. Didn’t want to entertain the idea that she might be something more than just a normal human being. And most important, there might be a magical world she knew nothing about.

  Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the deep fissure in the sidewalk until the toe of her shoe snagged its lip, pitching her forward. She landed on something sharp, cold metal slicing through her thick denim jeans and into the fat of her calf.

  At first she only felt a throbbing numbness and thought maybe it was just a scratch. But when she scooted her leg out in front of her, the illumination from the overhead streetlight was bright enough for her to see that the pant leg of her jeans was soaked in blood. Through a rip in the denim fabric, she spied a two-inch-long flap of skin folded over to reveal the subcutaneous fat beneath it.

  She looked for whatever she’d cut herself on and was surprised to discover that it was only a small piece of bloodied metal sitting a few inches from her right foot. On its own, it didn’t appear to be dangerous, but with the momentum from her fall, it’d really sliced and diced her.

  Despite the cold, she unzipped her jacket and slipped out of it. Looping the red cotton hoodie around her calf, she tied the sleeves together to create a makeshift tourniquet that would hopefully put enough pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.

  The rattle of a car engine caught her attention, and a pair of headlights crisscrossed the sidewalk, illuminating her in their bright yellow glare. The light was intense, and her eyes began to water, forcing her to shield her face with her hand. Part of her worried the car would stop and some homicidal maniac would get out and chop her into little pieces. But her rational mind knew help meant a lot less walking on an injured leg, and this was what finally compelled her to raise her hand above her head and wave.

  She was annoyed when the ancient Volvo station wagon didn’t slow down—she was sure the driver had seen her—but then its right signal light came on, and it pulled into the next driveway.

  Too dangerous to stop in the middle of such a steep hill, Lyse thought. Smart driver.

  In the chilly night air, the station wagon steamed and hissed like a steed pawing the ground, waiting for its rider to dismount. From her vantage point on the ground, she could only hear the driver’s-side door opening, but in the gap between the undercarriage of the car and the sidewalk, she saw a pair of black men’s boots hit the sidewalk and circle around in her direction.

  Over the growl of the car’s engine, a voice called out from the darkness: “You okay down there?”

  “I’m, uh, a little indisposed . . .” she started to say, but bit back her words when she realized the voice belonged to Weir.

  “It’s you,” he said, tugging off his woolen cap and stuffing it into the pocket of his navy peacoat. A wide grin split his face. “From Burn this afternoon.”

  “Yep, one and the same,” she said, having a hard time looking at him without imagining him naked.

  “You never came in,” he said, stopping when he reached her side so he could kneel down beside her. He pulled a small flashlight from the pocket of his coat and gave her a mischievous grin. “I thought you’d come in for a drink and I’d at least get to ask you for your number.”

  She was glad for the dim light. He couldn’t see her blushing.

  “So what happened here?” he asked, smoothing over a moment that would’ve been awkward otherwise. “How’d you end up out here in the middle of nowhere with a busted leg?”

  “Tripped and fell. Cut myself pretty good,” she said, reaching for the sleeves of the hoodie.

  He shone the beam of light across her leg, gritting his teeth when he saw the blood soaking the dark denim.

  “Well, that’s not very good, is it?” He spoke matter-of-factly.

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t think it’s as look as it’s bad,” she said, her words not making sense. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth with her hand. “Wait, not as bad as it looks, sorry, I mean.”

  It was hard to think straight, and her body was shivering uncontrollably. She wondered if this meant she was going into shock—and, if so, maybe she needed to sit down and put her head between her legs.

  “But I’m already sitting,” she murmured, and started to lie down on the dirty sidewalk.

  “All right,” Weir said when he saw what she was doing. “Time to get you in the car.”

  “My leg hurts,” she said matter-of-factly, watching whi
le he retied the hoodie tourniquet. Then, as if she weighed nothing at all, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the car. Her head lolled back against his collarbone, and she turned her face to press her cheek against the warm skin at his neck, catching a whiff of his cologne.

  “You smell the same,” she murmured into the collar of his jacket. “You feel the same, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he said, amused.

  She closed her eyes.

  “I’m delirious,” she whispered, her lips grazing his throat. “And you’re not wearing your antlers.”

  He laughed out loud.

  “I only put those on for special occasions,” he teased, shaking his head.

  He opened the passenger door and eased her into the front seat. It was warm and toasty, the car heater turned up to high. She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment before remembering she was leaking blood all over his upholstery.

  She sat up and grabbed his wrist.

  “Put me back on the sidewalk,” she demanded. “Blood in your car is a no-no.”

  “Be quiet and don’t worry about it,” he said, shutting the door before she could protest further.

  She closed her eyes and began to drift. When she came back to consciousness a few moments later, he was in the driver’s seat, smiling at her.

  “Hey there, out-of-it girl,” he said, touching her arm. “Where do you belong?”

  “Athens,” she murmured, starting to feel a little bit more alert.

  “Like the Athens in Greece?” he asked, as he put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

  “Like the one in Georgia,” she said. “But you only need to take me a few blocks to Curran.”

  “You staying with someone in the neighborhood?” he asked, curious.

  “My great-aunt,” she said, as she watched the houses on Echo Park Avenue rush past her window. “Eleanora Eames. Do you know her?”

  “You’re Eleanora’s kid?” he said, turning his head, so he could get a better look at her.

  “You know her?” Lyse asked, surprised.

  “Of course I do,” he said. “Everyone in the neighborhood knows Eleanora.”

  “Well, I’m not her kid. I’m her grandniece. I’m visiting for a while.”

  He gave up trying to look at her as he drove, returning his eyes to the road.

  “My sister was talking about you,” he said, putting on the turn signal as he approached Curran. “Well, talking isn’t quite the word. She’s got this sketch pad—”

  “Wait, Lizbeth is your sister?” Lyse said, and this time it was her turn to be surprised.

  “Yeah, I know we don’t look anything alike,” he said as he pulled up to Eleanora’s bungalow. “Half siblings with different mothers.”

  “Why doesn’t she talk?” Lyse blurted out before she could stop herself. “Shit. That was rude. I’m sorry.”

  He waved off her apology.

  “She’s had . . . a pretty rough time of it,” he said, pulling the Volvo over to the shoulder and putting it in park. “Her mom, Helena, divorced our father when Lizbeth was a baby. When she died, he got custody. He’s a real fucking piece of work—a bastard the likes of which you’ve never seen—and from the beginning he couldn’t handle Lizbeth’s developmental problems, so he just acted like she didn’t exist. Had her institutionalized.”

  “Jesus,” Lyse said, frowning.

  “She was seven when he did it,” Weir said, “and she really wasn’t that bad. She had temper tantrums, couldn’t socialize with other kids . . . but she was super-loving . . .”

  He paused.

  “What happened?”

  “She was catatonic when I got her out of there,” he continued. “It’s taken three years just to get her this functional.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lyse said. “I had no idea.”

  “How could you?” he replied, shrugging. “Look, Eleanora’s been wonderful to Lizbeth. Invites her over for tea, helped her get an internship with an herbalist in the neighborhood. As far as I’m concerned, that woman hung the moon.”

  “She’s got the biggest heart,” Lyse said, but she knew this didn’t even begin to cover how amazing Eleanora was.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. There was an effortless intimacy between them, and Lyse felt comfortable with Weir in a way she hadn’t with a man in a long time. She wasn’t sure if this was because he was easy to talk to, or if, in her mind, she’d already had sex with him, getting some of the awkwardness out of the way.

  “Well, I guess this is where I get out.”

  “Let me help you inside,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt before reaching over to help her with her own. “The buckle can be a little tricky—”

  “Wait, I don’t want to go inside,” Lyse said, suddenly.

  “You don’t?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is that all right?”

  “Better than all right,” he replied, grinning. “I didn’t want to say good-bye yet.”

  She blushed, feeling giddy with the high of having a new crush.

  “So, we do need to get that leg disinfected and bandaged—”

  “All-night drugstore?” she asked.

  “Look, I’m not being forward and I’m not trying to take advantage of you, but why don’t you come back to my place, and let me put a little bandage on you—”

  Lyse cracked up, laughing so hard she was almost crying.

  “Oh my God, that was, by far, the most sexual-sounding non-come-on I’ve ever heard,” she said, gasping for breath in between giggles.

  He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, so bits of blond stuck up every which way.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “You’re right. That sounded terrible. Put a little bandage on you sounds kind of S and M—”

  “Totally,” Lyse said, still giggling. “But what’s not okay is that we haven’t done this yet.”

  She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “What? You’re kidding,” he said, pulling back and looking chagrined. “We didn’t do that already?”

  “Nope.”

  “No wonder you weren’t itching to get out of this car,” he said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Where are my manners?”

  He leaned in and kissed her again, wrapping his hand around her neck so he could pull her closer.

  The touch of his bare skin on hers was like fire. He must’ve felt the instant connection, too, because as soon as they pulled apart, he lifted her hand to his lips and gently brushed his mouth across her knuckles.

  She swallowed, her body lighting up with attraction.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, rubbing the underside of her wrist with a callused thumb.

  “I’m soft everywhere,” she heard herself whispering back.

  The purr of her voice and the intent of the words she’d just spoken shocked her back to reality.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she went for the door handle. “I don’t know what that was—”

  “Wait!” he said, but she already had the door open and was sliding out, careful not to put too much weight on her bad leg.

  “Thank you for the ride,” she said, and closed the door in his face.

  She could hear the Volvo idling behind her as she limped toward the stairs, her eyes on the arched wooden bridge that would take her over the koi pond and back to the safety of Eleanora’s deck. She didn’t turn around, didn’t dare look to see what Weir was doing. She knew if she did, it would all be over: He’d be out of the car and at her side before she could do anything to stop him.

  Just let me get up to the deck, she thought. If I can get to the deck, everything will be okay.

  She couldn’t help herself; she turned around.

  She
saw the car door open, heard his footsteps on the sidewalk, and, as she’d predicted, moments later he was at her side, his strong arms encircling her waist and lifting her into the air.

  “Just wait,” he said, his lips against her ear. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to, but I need you to let me take care of you.”

  He shook his head and amended: “I need you to let me take care of your leg.”

  She laughed despite herself. He turned her around to face him, their bodies mere inches apart.

  “I’m a gentleman, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  She was having trouble thinking straight, but this time it wasn’t because she was in shock.

  “I’m okay,” she murmured. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Nope,” he said, tucking an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I can’t let you. As a friend, even, I feel like I need to do this for you.”

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “I can’t,” he murmured, running a finger along the line of her jaw, then letting it trail down into the hollow at her throat. “Man, you weren’t kidding.”

  “What?” she said, distracted by his lingering touch.

  “You really are soft everywhere.”

  Fuck it, she thought, lifting her chin to look at him.

  Their eyes met for a split second before his lips were all over her, tasting her mouth with his tongue, nipping at her lip with his teeth.

  Lust kicked pain right out of her head, and she threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body down the length of him. He moaned into her mouth, his hands roaming across her back and waist and hips before cupping her ass with both hands.

  “This is insane,” she growled, as his lips continued to devour her.

  “If this is insanity,” he murmured into her ear, “then lock me up.”

  Daniela

  Daniela left the moonlight behind as she entered the dimly lit bar. It wasn’t an unfair trade—the moon for candlelight and wine—but given her druthers, she’d have asked the wine bar to add a patio, so she could enjoy all three at once, and smoke, too.