Night Magic

by Susan Squires

  “I’m glad to have someone to share the burden of being a daughter-in-law,” Maggie said, mischief in her eyes as she got up to help Tamsen.

  Brina laughed. “She means your mother-in-law is a nightmare.”

  “I do not mean that,” Maggie protested. “I mean . . . well, I’m the only one who’s not a daughter.”

  “You are very wrong about that.” Brina smiled.

  The champagne cork gave a soft pop under Drew’s skillful hands and she tipped the foam over into the glass Maggie held out.

  “Now about this, quote, wedding, unquote. . . .” Keelan began. “You can’t go to the courthouse. What about flowers and dresses? What about cake?”

  Tamsen gasped. “How will we have time to get presents?”

  Jane shook her head. “Kemble and I don’t need presents.” She hesitated. “And I think Kemble wants to get married as soon as possible.”

  A shadow crossed Brina’s face and Maggie’s. Drew tightened her lips. They all thought he wanted to rush into this before he could come to his senses and change his mind. They were right. Maybe she was selfish. She’d wanted Kemble all her life, it seemed, and this evening her impossible dream dropped into her lap. Should she have refused him? Yes. But Kemble was truly hurting. If his pain that he was a disappointment to his family continued, it would make him bitter, or worse yet, broken. But maybe she could show him that he was already invaluable to the family. His business sense, his computer skills—well, they seemed a lot like magic to her.

  Jane cleared her throat. “You’re right. It’s too sudden. He should think about it more.” She paused, trying to gather herself. She wasn’t used to putting herself forward like this. “But sometimes you can only do the best you can to find what’s right. This . . . this feels right to me. Then you just have to have faith and take the leap.” Her eyes had filled by the time she finished. If she wasn’t what they had wished for Kemble, she knew she could still be good for him, if they’d let her. She knew full well she needed their acceptance.

  “Oh, my dear,” Brina said, gathering her into her arms. “We’ve all had very unexpected paths to happiness. Look at Keelan and Devin.”

  “Tris and I went down fighting. We didn’t believe it could happen for us,” Maggie said. “I think you’re lucky to be sure it’s right.”

  Jane looked to Drew. Her friend’s beautiful gray eyes were glistening. She shrugged. “Mysterious are the ways of the heart. This is between you two.” There was a long pause. Then she looked away, exasperated. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Jane, you have our blessing.” She turned back, chuffing a half laugh. “My blessing.”

  Jane looked around at the people who were her family, far more than her absent father(s) or her abusive mother. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  Now she had to deliver on her promise to make Kemble happy. Well, happy might be too much to ask. Okay, content. She’d help Kemble find contentment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “It’s very good to see you,” Brother Theodosius croaked. Morgan had always thought his voice might be so hoarse because he’d spent his life chanting for so many hours a day.

  The monk didn’t use her name, since women were not permitted on Mt. Athos. He was not opposed to breaking some rules if it benefited the monastery. However, his brethren might not be so sanguine. So she wore a cloak and hood of venous red that cast her face in deep shadow over slacks, a simple linen shirt, and boots. To the casual observer she looked like a man. She hired a deaf and dumb peasant from the mainland to row her to the Xenophontos Monastery. Though technically a peninsula, the mountain might as well have been an island since it was virtually inaccessible from the narrow isthmus that connected it to the mainland. The monastery was right on the rocky beach, backed up to where the mountain cascaded steeply into the sea, and had no road connection. There was little chance of interception. But in the unlikely event she was stopped, she also carried a diamonētērion, one of the Byzantine visas to Mt. Athos printed in Greek and dated in the Julian calendar.

  The monk received her in his private tower. His room was, of course, a simple whitewashed circle with a domed ceiling. But on the wall above a small desk, a most remarkable icon of Jesus hung. It was a priceless object, early medieval, painted on rough wood. But the background was gold leaf, and Jesus held a bright, jeweled box. He looked contemplative. Or secretive. Morgan liked that interpretation better.

  “How is my charge?” she asked. He would be twenty-four now. She hadn’t seen him since he was what, nineteen? She used to come quite frequently when he was younger, before her health had become a problem. But all that was over now.

  “Grateful for your great care of him, as are we for your patronage.” She waited, knowing her presence held a weight that would make the monk give details sooner or later.

  Brother Theodosius was dressed in a simple coarse robe with a knotted belt, no rosaries or crosses for adornment. The monasteries of Mount Athos, as well as the tiny huts and cells that dotted the landscape, were the last refuge for true ascetics in the Christian faith, as well as a treasure trove of Christian art, books, and relics. The personal possessions of Brother Theodosius consisted of nothing but two robes, a wooden bowl for food and a cup for drinking, even though he led a community of nearly sixty male souls.

  He cleared his throat. “I have kept him away from the teachings of Our Lord as you requested, though I fear for his soul as a consequence.”

  “Leave his soul to me,” she whispered.

  His brows drew together, but he continued. “I’ve busied him with learning languages, reading ancient texts from a variety of secular sources, and of course he has his physical work as well as study to purify him.”

  “Tell me of his labor.”

  “He works indoors, as you require, to preserve the fair quality of his skin. He hauls all the water for the monastery from the central well. He scrubs the stone floors and chops wood under a canopy in the courtyard. He tends to the animals in the barn.”

  “How many hours a day?”

  “From sunrise through the early afternoon, at which time, he rests and eats then proceeds to his studies.” The monk cleared his throat. “He understands your wish that he remain pure of heart, and he focuses on that. . . .”

  She could hear the “but” in the monk’s hesitation. This boy was perhaps the most important of her preparations for the day when she possessed all four Talismans of the Tarot. She must have him ready. She had no time to start over again. It had taken years to find him. She’d taken him when he was nine, just to make sure. She wasn’t prepared to wait another fifteen years for a male to mature, well, nine or ten at the least. “But?”

  “He . . . he has a curious mind. It draws him into . . . inappropriate thoughts.”

  “Is he lustful?” She snapped her question. Had the monk failed in his duty?

  “No, no, not usually. He . . . questions, that’s all.” Brother Theodosius looked down at his clasped hands and sighed. “I must confess I have been forced to take a scourge to him on several occasions, though I know that would not be your wish for him. I try not to leave scars.”

  Morgan let out a laugh that apparently shocked the monk, for he flinched. “Oh, feel free to use the scourge liberally, Brother, and any other punishments you wish. A little scarring won’t hurt. The important thing is that he keep his innocence, however you may have to impose that discipline.” She turned her shadowed face toward him. She reveled in the fact that she would look almost like a specter in the light of the candles. “You said he wasn’t usually lustful.”

  “I had to scourge him only a few days ago. He . . . he had a nocturnal emission. Not unusual for a young man of twenty-four,” the monk hastened to add. “I’m surprised we haven’t had more of that.”

  “What?” She snorted. “Do you examine his bed every morning to ensure that he has not been pleasuring himself?”

  “He came to me and confessed. Wanted to know if his ‘accident’ had made him unfit for your service.�
�

  Now that was interesting. The boy did understand what was demanded of him.

  “If . . . if you would deign to see him,” the monk continued, “that always steadies him, and it has been several years.”

  “Yes,” she said, satisfaction blooming in her belly. “I will see him.”

  The monk bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Follow me. We keep him isolated in a small hut, to prevent contamination by the faith of the monks.”

  “And I hope you have ensured that it is not only his genitals that remain pure but his mouth and his anus as well?”

  “He will be untouched when you require him.” The monk gave her a reproving look before he led the way.

  Morgan followed Brother Theodosius as he wound down stairs of the tower and across the stone corridors of the monastery. The place had a chill that shot straight to one’s bones. When he finally opened a small wooden door at the base of the outer wall they were outside. A damp wind blew in off the sea. The sun was a step pyramid created by the atmosphere, sinking into the steel blue horizon. Brother Theodosius strode through mostly bare trees displaying the first spring leaves. The mountain loomed above. It would soon be dark. A narrow track led up the hill, ending right before the steep evergreen-covered wall of mountain at a small stone hut. A monk stood outside the open door, impassive.

  “Thank you, Brother Demetrios,” the monk said, dismissing him.

  She liked the fact that they posted a guard on the boy. It was a bit of extra insurance that his life was totally controlled. When the monk had left, she and Father Theodosius ducked to enter through the small, dark doorway, open to the elements.

  At first, though the light outside wasn’t bright, she couldn’t see anything. Then the flickering light of a single candle revealed a dirt floor with a straw pallet on it, covered with a single blanket she couldn’t imagine was adequate against the cold here in winter. A rough chair and the table that held the candle were the only other furnishings. The tiny room held no decorations, no pictures. A roughly hewn wooden food bowl sat on the table and a book with vellum pages was spread open under the candle.

  The young man seated at the table sprang to his feet, startled, then dropped to his knees on the packed floor. He was nearly naked. Only a loincloth hung low on his hips. Though just twenty-four, he had a man’s bulk: brawny shoulders and biceps, his abdomen ridged, his thighs thick with muscle. The heavy work he’d been assigned was doing its job. He might be a little on the thin side, but she would take care of that when the time came. His skin was still pale, as she remembered it from her last visit. And if the light were better, she’d be able to see the color in his wide-set eyes. They were a startling blue. He was remarkably handsome. Perhaps one of the most beautiful males she’d ever seen. That had worked out well. He had a scruff of beard and his hair was shaggy, cut irregularly around his head and shoulders, but he was very clean, and smelled only faintly of male, unlike Brother Theodosius, who could have used the daily dunking in the sea she required of her charge.

  “My Patron, you honor me.” His voice was baritone, a little rough, probably from disuse.

  “Thomas, where are your manners?” the monk asked sharply. “Head to the ground.”

  The hut was tiny. When he folded himself at her feet he was able to kiss her instep. His back was marked from the scourge, some lashes new, some older. The welts slid down into his loincloth, so his buttocks had been whipped as well.

  “Your Patron is disappointed to see the lashes you’ve earned,” the monk said.

  “Can you forgive me, my Patron?” he murmured, his lips on her boot.

  The posture of the young man was very . . . stimulating. “Questioning authority will never do, Thomas.” She looked down on his bent form, the line of the loincloth revealing the crease of his buttocks. “You have an important purpose,” she said, making her voice sonorous. “I will come for you, perhaps very soon. You must be ready. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my Patron.”

  “That means you must question nothing Brother Theodosius says. You must adhere to your studies and your physical regimen. You must truly understand the denial of self in order to prepare that self for its glorious purpose.”

  “You are very wise,” the monk said. “What do you say, Thomas?”

  “Thank you, Patron, for your words of encouragement,” he whispered, his lips still inches from her boot. “I will strive to be worthy.”

  “See that you do.” She tore her eyes away from his form. “Brother, I want to increase his level of asceticism.”

  The monk’s brows creased. “You wish us to give him less food?”

  “No, no, I want him fed well. But I think he should eschew clothing entirely.” That would be enjoyable when she came to visit at the very least. “And please give him an extra share of work. But that does not mean his studies should be neglected. He should work from sunrise to sundown and study in the evenings. I would also remove the pallet, though he can keep the blanket. Devise punishments for the slightest infraction. His character and his obedience must be perfect.”

  “It will be as you wish.” The monk nodded. “Thomas, rise and remove your loincloth.”

  The boy got to his feet. His fierce blush could be detected even in the dim light. He fumbled with the knot at his hip, nervous.

  “You see, this is why he must remain naked,” she said to Brother Theodosius. “He acts as if his body is his own, that he has the right to modesty.” She put some steel in her voice. “Your body belongs to me, boy. You will remember that as you work to improve your strength, as you sleep on the hard ground, as you study, in all things open and naked to my will.”

  “Yes, my Patron.” His gaze was firmly lowered, but he couldn’t control his blush. He gathered the loincloth in one hand and dropped it to the ground.

  Very nice, she thought. He was well endowed. She’d like to see him erect, but of course, that would frighten Brother Theodosius. There was time for all that later. I am going to enjoy myself immensely before you serve your ultimate purpose. He wanted to cover his genitals with his hands, but apparently thought better of it in view of what she’d said. He clenched his fists at his sides. Oh, yes. He was just what she needed. He’d do anything she commanded when she was done with him. Anything.

  “We are so close to our goal, it is now important that he be cleansed inside as well as out. He should be treated with strong enemas as frequently as necessary.”

  “It shall be done,” Brother Theodosius intoned.

  She pulled out her cell phone, which apparently shocked the monk. He had probably never seen such trappings of the modern world. Of note, though, was that the boy wasn’t frightened or shocked. He just looked curious.

  “What is this thing?” Brother Theodosius whispered.

  She grinned. “It’s a telephone. You’ve heard of those, haven’t you?”

  “Of course,” he said, affronted. But he didn’t look like he believed it either.

  “And it takes photographs. I know you know about cameras. I saw some photographs of the monastery from early in the last century.”

  “But so small?” he asked.

  “I’ll show you.” She snapped pictures of Thomas in all his nude glory, from several angles. The flash made both of them jump, but she just pressed on, clicking away. Then she showed the device to Brother Theodosius.

  “God in heaven,” he exclaimed when he saw the pictures flip by. “It is a miracle.”

  “Now I have something to remember Thomas by.” She didn’t show the pictures to the boy. Why ruin all fun of indoctrinating him to modern life, once she brought him away from here?

  “Well,” she said, briskly. “I must be off. You will concentrate on purifying yourself, Thomas, and prepare to embrace the greater purpose for which you have prepared.” She nodded. “Brother Theodosius, see that he has no more wayward thoughts.”

  She left the boy standing naked and walked out into the twilight, the monk behind her.

  “Unti
l your next visit,” he called. “May a merciful God bring you back soon.”

  Yes. She’d be back, more often now that the Talismans had made her young and healthy again. She’d be younger still when she acquired the Cup. She chuckled to herself. Even now, the Tremaines would be realizing that the Clan was out of the country. They’d feel safe. With luck, they’d attend the opening of the exhibit of medieval art at the museum. She’d have the Cup. She’d have the Tremaines. Only two steps left in her plan.

  Once she had the Pentacle, Thomas would make her immortal.

  *****

  “You’ve been really on edge since that last vision,” Michael said. Drew let him draw her into his arms in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone to up to bed. Kemble had taken Jane home and made a beeline for the computer in his bedroom when he got back. The rest of the family had departed hastily thereafter. No one wanted to say what was on everyone’s mind about Jane. “Wanna share?” Michael prodded. “Makes it better.”

  Just what Drew didn’t want to do. “I have visions three or four times a day, lately. I thought I had them under control but they’re getting worse.” That was depressing in itself.

  “Most don’t upset you like this anymore. Maybe that’s a good sign.”

  “What good is it to see the future if you can’t do anything about it?” The anger just burst out. She was as surprised as Michael probably was.

  “You were instrumental in saving all of us up in Hollywood,” Michael reminded her. Delta Force, unflappable. “We’d all be dead today without the knowledge you got from your vision.” He drew her over to the couch on the far side of the little breakfast table for six, and sat, pulling her down. “Now cough it up, baby.”

  Drew sank onto his lap and buried her head in the soft skin at his neck where it joined his shoulder, burrowing into his open collar. She inhaled deeply. Michael: her anchor when she lost her compass, her dose of gritty reality when things got unreal. The light from the one table lamp in the corner made the setting intimate, safe-feeling. “I saw a funeral,” she said. It came out muffled against his muscle.