Dream Lover

by Kristina Wright (ed)

  “Amy?” he asked.

  The voice that I remembered as honey sweet and soft as mist had got deeper, like an afternoon darkening. His eyes, when I turned to look into them, were as deep as the pit where we’d throw our stones and as black. His hair was still pale red, but brushed through with silver. Lines spread from his eyes, like the rays from sun behind a gray cloud.

  “I’d been wondering when you’d visit.”

  Usually I could read faces without even trying, but at that moment I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Perhaps the punch had clouded my abilities, or maybe I was just caught unawares. I knew there was something electric still there; I could sense a deep buried longing that flowed through his veins like an underground river—so strong it took me aback. But just what he desired wasn’t clear to me.

  “How can you see me,” I said, blurting it out without thinking. “I mean, you know it’s me?”

  Beautiful, I thought. Well done, Amy. Fifteen years away and you open with that? I straightened my spine. “Scott,” I said, and it could have been a warning or an incantation or a plea.

  “Oh.” His eyes looked full of gray clouds. “I’d know you anywhere.”

  He had the most curious mouth, his lips fine and pale, drawn in a line so delicate and precise. At that moment they were open slightly and I moved a little closer. His gaze traveled over my face, as if reading a story. It wasn’t hard to imagine what kind of story. Especially not if he was sharing the same memories I was—stolen afternoons exploring each other’s bodies, how he used to look naked, how he used to touch me. I blushed. And then his eyes dropped, and I reached up reflexively to touch the locket around my neck.

  “Why are you here?” Scott asked. Something in his voice grated like granite.

  “I wanted to see you.” It sounded lame now that I said it out loud.

  I looked around, embarrassed, and noticed that heads were turning. Scott must have looked curious, talking to midair. The haze was not a complete magic; it wouldn’t protect me forever, and if anyone was sober and shrewd enough, it might not protect me at all.

  “Nostalgia?” He pressed his lips together. “What, a trip down memory lane, Amy?” He raised his voice.

  To my left, I saw Tabitha Oldham and registered her frowning at me. Something was stirring in the crowd, some restless suspicion. I didn’t have long. The magic might start to slip. High emotion weakened my powers—and seeing Scott was draining me more than I thought it would.

  “I can’t explain. Not here.”

  There were murmurs on either side of me and suddenly I was claustrophobic. “Not now.” I shook my head. Desperately, I tried to keep my eyes fixed on Scott’s, wishing there were a way to explain.

  It would have taken a hundred years. Longer than we’d ever have. Already, I was shrinking back, looking for the doorway behind me. The path was clear. I had time. Just like before, there was time to run, but nothing more.

  Scott was watching me intently. “Not this time,” he said. “Not again.”

  When I turned and started running a cry was torn from my throat. To leave Scott like that, to run from him a second time—it was too much.

  I left like the soles of my feet were burning, heading without thought back down the roads I walked in my dreams, without deciding on a direction. Once outside of spitting distance I grabbed my hazel stick and pointed it toward the clouds. Just getting away was my only impulse. The stick rose into the welcoming sky, and I held on and followed its surging power, kicking hard until I had enough momentum to swing round and sit sidesaddle.

  Please let the haze hold, I chanted to myself. Give me time to get away.

  Only when the blood had ceased to pound in my ears did I notice where I was flying—up the winding road that led to Black Hill, the scene of all the old troubles. My heels trailed the tops of the willow trees and I could smell the river. There was the outline of the chestnut tree against the dusk sky, its shape as familiar as a much-loved friend. I aimed for it as if it had always been my destination. Perhaps it had, one way or another.

  Buttercups grew over the field and what had been scorched earth was now covered with a lush tangle of grass and wildflowers. I came lightly to ground and walked toward it, remembering everything as though fifteen years had passed in a few hours. As I approached, though, my mouth went completely dry and I wanted to pinch myself.

  “Scott?” I asked, my voice high and cracking. “How did you get here?”

  The track up there was half-ruined, not an easy drive. And I hadn’t heard a car. But Scott was there, by the tree with his arms folded. His head turned as I approached, and this time I didn’t run.

  The air between us was soft and clear and when I reached for his arm, the realness of it under my fingers was enough to make tears choke in my throat. His skin was warm and solid; the pulse of his body felt through the thin fabric of his shirt. Without even pausing I reached for a kiss and when he met me halfway it was like something broke inside me. I was shaking as I tasted him: the sweet, slight apple booze of his tongue and the scrape of his stubble and a lick of salt that I realized was from my tears, because I was crying. It was like drinking water after years in the desert and as I sank into him I felt that I was finally home.

  He pulled away and held me at arm’s length.

  “I thought you’d never come,” he says.

  I tried a smile. It didn’t quite stick. “I came as soon as I could. When I thought the binding spell was fixed.”

  I touched the locket automatically, reassuring myself it was still around my neck. Scott stared at it wordlessly. What storms were blowing through him? I couldn’t tell, and it puzzled me once more. My emotions must be clouding my vision.

  “It’s okay,” I said, even though I knew it wasn’t. “Tommy can’t get past this.”

  “No,” said Scott. “And neither can I.”

  My heart seemed to slow to a halt in my chest. “What do you mean?”

  “I want you. You’re the one I waited for, Amy. Not some stranger dressed up in a glamour magic.”

  “This isn’t glamour, Scott. It’s protection. You understand that more than anyone, surely?”

  “Magic is magic, Amy.” He bit his lip. “I can taste it on you.”

  I thought of the talisman, Tommy’s charred hair tangled in with resin and blood. Sealed tight for fifteen years, worn close to my pulse points to keep the magic strong. It was true; you couldn’t use a spell without it affecting you. Truth be told, there were times when it was the magic using the witch. But to lose the locket—and on this, Tommy’s hunting ground—I felt sick at the thought of it.

  “That’s madness,” I said.

  Scott nodded. “And what do you call this visit if it isn’t madness?”

  I bowed my head.

  “You may be right. But the talisman is the only thing stopping him from taking revenge.” I paused. The thought of being stripped of magical protection was enough to curdle my blood. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because it clouds you,” Scott said. “Because there’s no difference between a glamour and a haze and a love spell as far as I’m concerned. And because if I have you, I’ll have you naked.”

  He kept his eyes locked on mine even as the blush rose to my cheeks. He lifted his wrists and started to unbutton his shirt. Underneath, his skin was the alabaster-smooth, taut pallor that I remembered, like a polished sculpture. A drift of freckles was strewn over his shoulders, and his nipples were as pale as rose quartz.

  “Without adornment.” He walked to me, close enough that I could smell the milk and wool of his sweat. He lifted my hair and laid it behind my shoulders. Such a small gesture, but I felt so exposed. Between us, the locket lay heavy on my collarbone.

  “Let history be left behind,” he said softly. “Trust me, Amy.”

  I wet my lips. Scott was asking me to let go of everything I’d carried with me for all these years.

  To be free of it, to lay down all the enchantments and the regret and the hi
dden weaponry and meet him as just a woman again, oh, how the thought of it made my bones ache with weary longing. Up above us a violet sunset seeped into the clouds, and somewhere in the forest a woodpigeon sang.

  Without speaking, I pulled down the zip on my dress. I didn’t turn away from him as I removed my clothes. This was only half a striptease and half a promise. A way to show him that I was willing to lay myself bare for him. Fear rose in me along with desire—between my stuttering pulse and my shaking hands I couldn’t tell what was driving me anymore, I just knew that if I could hold my nerve I would be in his arms.

  I dropped my underwear on the grass and stood there wearing only the red marks on my skin where clothes had been. The air was summer-evening sweet, but the breeze was cool enough to prickle my skin into goose bumps.

  Scott was still. Only a muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “Everything,” he said.

  I threw a prayer into the ether and hoped the goddess would hear it. I undid the clasp of the locket, letting the warm weight of it slide down the valley between my breasts and fall to the ground. The spells unwound, with a sound like the wind moaning, and I felt the world free and loose and dangerous against my skin. Scott stepped forward and I let him hold me, his arms warm and strong and the crook of his neck smelling of sweet hay.

  “This is dangerous,” I said.

  “Kiss me.”

  And so I did. With open mouth, breathing hard.

  For the first time in fifteen years I was vulnerable, and although I was scared it was exhilarating, too, to let go of the fight. I could not protect us, if Tommy came here. The vigil had been abandoned. There was nothing between us and the sky, the rest of the world, all the cruelty and the bloodlust and the hungry snarls of angry men. When Scott bit my neck, his teeth left marks that reminded me just how fragile, how human I was. When his hands dragged over my body his fingertips tugged at my skin, leaving it tender. I felt the pulse in my throat, the boom of his heart, the puff of his breath tickle my ear.

  We were like two teenagers discovering each other for the first time. And though my flesh was older now and had known many others, it still leaped under his touch. When he pressed his hard prick against me and the long yearning of it dug into my belly, I laid my forehead on his chest. This was my altar to worship, for now.

  I held his smooth cock and kissed it tenderly. A single tear wept from his slit and I licked it away, tasted the salt of him. He was whispering my name and falling to his knees. Was it because we were so aware of the danger that every touch seemed magnified? Scott dipped his fingers between my legs and stroked the wetness he found blooming there. I wanted to swallow him whole.

  “Stop, stop, stop,” he said, “I’m too close.”

  I sucked in my breath and pulled away, smiling like I was drunk. He lowered me to the ground, his hand at the small of my back as he entered me. That was my Scott, so gentle even when the desire darkened his face and made him sweat. I noticed that, his kindness, and then I was overtaken by the hard, beautiful feel of him inside me. Rocking back and forth on our bed of meadowsweet and nettles, we clung to each other. It was more than fucking, that act. ’Twas a banishing of the darkness, a promise to each other and a memento of the time we’d lost.

  Scott wrapped my hair around his fists and bore down on me, his hips swooping over and over, his body singing against mine. We were beasts again, simple beasts chanting each others’ names into the gathering night.

  “God, how I missed you,” he said.

  “Show me,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Our movements slowed. He fucked me emphatically, punctuating every thrust with a kiss that was as deep as the river behind us. He ran his hands once more over my face, as if memorizing it or reawakening an old memory, and then he reached down and plucked at my nipple. His hands were rough and impatient.

  “I know you,” he whispered. “I know you, Amy.”

  Then his hand slipped between us and he found my clit and rubbed it, pinched it with an expert’s fingers, summoning my orgasm as surely as he called my name. I dug my nails into his back and kicked at him with my heels, trying to gather him inside me for good, trying to keep him there welded to me with sweat and lust. We cried out like jackdaws.

  It was something beautiful, that orgasm—as pure and sweet a flowering as I’d ever known. Scott must have felt the same, because tears sprang to his eyes as our gazes locked. His lips parted, but he said nothing. His shoulders shook and his body jerked, so that his cock plunged into me hilt deep. Yes, it was as good as a handfast, coming together like that: pure alchemy.

  “Good ride, that girl. Almost worth losing everything for, isn’t she?”

  The voice cut into our world like a hard, blunt knife. Tommy. He’d found us. Everything in me recoiled in revolt, and I struggled to get to my feet. Where was the locket? I searched the grass before me, desperate, breathless.

  Tommy stood just a few feet from the patch of flattened grass where Scott and I had made our bed. Everything in him was menace. His fists were clamped to his side, and I kept my eyes on them, knowing just what power he could unleash given the slightest provocation. The damn locket!

  “Lost something, witch?” Tommy gave me that filthy smirk of his. My nakedness didn’t bother me, though I knew Tommy’s eyes were raking over my body as though he possessed it. I was more conscious of Scott, his skin as white as paper, a pale smear on the night. How could I have let him disarm me? What a fool, to risk a good man’s life just for a few minutes of stolen pleasure!

  Tommy lifted his hand and a stripe of energy tore across my flank, scorching my skin like a whip. I cried out before I could stop myself.

  “Tommy. Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t? I’ve waited fifteen miserable years to catch you bare of protection. You think I’ll walk away now?”

  “So take your revenge. Take it on me. Let him go,” I said, trying to keep the steel in my voice.

  “Scott? Dear Scott? But we have the biggest score to settle,” Tommy said quietly. His tongue flickered like the blade of a flick-knife. I saw his hands twitch, the magic gathering between his fingers. I readied myself to cover Scott, to try and deflect the blows. Even if it was just my mortal body, just a flesh and blood barrier, it might be enough to save him.

  Witches, we have to keep the magic contained within our own kind. It’s only right. Protect the mortals; that was one of my first vows.

  And then the light came, the bolt of power that ripped the sky open and half blinded me. I screamed, but the sound was swallowed up, and for a moment everything was pure, blank, white.

  I drifted or fell through space.

  Then the smoke filled my mouth and the landscape remade itself around me. I doubled over, coughing, feeling the static from the discharge of energy playing in my hair. I reeled, and lifted my head and looked for Scott.

  He was not where I thought he was. Under the hazel tree, where Tommy had been, Scott now stood, still naked. His head was bowed and his shoulders rose and fell in a fast rhythm. The ground at his feet was dark and churned. At that moment, a crow rose, flapping and squawking, from the undergrowth. It took off and wheeled around once before flying off to the east. Scott cursed once, under his breath, and spat on the ground.

  Only then did I understand why I had not been able to read Scott and how he had moved so fast to meet me at Black Hill.

  “Scott?”

  He turned to me. “You’re okay?”

  “Aye. Have you taken the vows?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t tell me. You don’t wear the mark.”

  Scott shook his head. ‘I’m a farmer, Amy, not a witch. But after you—” He stopped and closed his eyes. “After you left, I had to make sure I was safe.”

  “Tommy was bound,” I said. “The charm forbade him from harming you.”

  “Aye. And Tommy never broke a promise? He was powerful, he’d have found a way. He always got what he wanted.”

  The sorrow squee
zed my chest. I couldn’t apologize now, not after so long. I’d broken Scott’s heart when he was young enough for it to shape his whole life. Nothing I could do now could make up for it. He rubbed the back of his head.

  Just as quickly as we’d fallen on each other, suddenly the years and the mistakes yawned between us. I reached for my dress, though it was far too late for false modesty.

  “Getting cold,” I said, to cover my shame. And if I didn’t leave now I would likely cry, and I couldn’t let him see that, not when it was my fault that this whole mess had come about. “Time to go.”

  “Where will you go next?” Scott asked, his voice low. I looked west, to where the sun was drowning behind the lake. Out there was the whole wide world, everything I’d run from and everything I’d worked for. Scott picked a stem of grass and started tearing the seeds from it. I wasn’t used to seeing him angry. He’d always been the most gentle man I’d known.

  Here there was nothing but Margaret’s empty house, and a small village full of people who would never fully understand me. I’d always be the witch. I’d always be the outsider. I looked at the grass seed scattered on the earth where we’d lain. With luck each seed would sink into the black earth.

  “I’m not sure,” I started to say. And then I stopped. I looked back down the hill. Brambles and honeysuckle tumbled down the path, a glorious tangle of creeping vines and sweet-smelling flowers. I knew every step of this path. I looked at Scott, at the dappled, freckled skin and his hair like copper wire.

  “I think I want to go home.” There. It spilled out of me like a cloudburst. “If you’ll take me.”

  His eyes were steady when he looked at me. They were the old violet blue of spring skies. We used to lie under skies like that and dream of the future.

  When he smiled, it was like the sun coming up.

  “Scott,” I said, just so that I could have his name in my mouth.

  I’d have said it again, but by then he was kissing me.

  MOONGIRL MEETS THE WOLF MAN

  Alana Noël Voth