by Sonya Clark
Blake grew agitated again. “What do you mean, can’t?”
“Part of what created him was me. My magic, my essence. I can’t just destroy a part of myself.”
He looked incredulous. “If you had cancer, would you leave it?”
“Stack is not cancer. Or evil or anything else you seem to think he is.”
“You’re in denial. He’ll hurt you or someone else, mark my words.”
“I’m not you and Stack isn’t Delia. Stop projecting your guilt onto me.”
His face cracked into facets of pain and anger. So much for keeping my temper in check. I wished I could have slowed my mouth down and found a better way to say it, but I had meant it. Blake was equating my situation with what he went through and after months of working with Stack there was no evidence he was evil.
When Blake spoke again his voice was shattered. I’d never heard him like that. “I went to see Seth a while back.”
Seth was the only other survivor of Blake’s walk on the demon-summoning side. “How is he?”
“In a mental institution. Where he’s expected to stay the rest of his life. He’s tried to kill himself several times. Rants about demons and black magic. I thought he just couldn’t keep a lid on what he’d seen, the things he’d been through, but it’s more.” He rubbed his face, pushing strands of heavy black hair from his forehead. There was some gray there now.
“What else?” I wanted to know but I didn’t at the same time.
“I think it pushed him over the edge, into true insanity. He hears voices. Hallucinates. He’s had a complete psychotic break.”
I reached for him. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
He pulled away. “I did that to him. I killed Gabe and Levi and Titus. My Brimstone Club.” An ugly laugh erupted from him, making me wince. “They were my friends. They looked up to me. And I used them and got three of them killed and one of them is in an asylum. And Delia. Oh god, Delia.”
Blake rarely spoke of his old Brimstone Club members and the events that led to us meeting. He never spoke of Delia, the terminally ill girl who chose to be possessed by a demon in an effort to hold onto life. I was too much of a coward to ever ask how deep his feelings for her ran. He leaned his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. I wanted to offer him comfort but I was afraid he’d draw away again.
After a moment he raised his head. His eyes swam with tears. “I see their faces every day. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I’ll have this stain on my soul. I don’t want that for you, Roxie.”
“I understand. I do. But you have to trust me. Stack is not what you think.”
“Even if he’s not, this is still wrong. You need to banish him. He shouldn’t exist.”
I sighed. This was going nowhere. “Like I said, I don’t think I can. I think if I tried it might hurt me. Hurt the part of me where the magic comes from.”
“You can live without the magic.”
That’s when I knew just how deeply Blake had been affected by his guilt. Not that he’d given up magic. No, he’d just turned his back on Chaos and returned to an orderly ceremonial practice. It made the edges of his personality blunt, his energy cold and dark, darker even than when we’d first met and I’d thought of him as Blake the Dangerous Sorcerer. He was still a danger but maybe it was more to himself than anyone else. I didn’t think he would hurt himself but he was letting the guilt change him. Letting it eat him alive until he was barely recognizable.
“If you feel so bad about what happened, why don’t you give up magic?” I guess I just couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to hurt him but maybe he needed the prodding of uncomfortable questions.
No answer was forthcoming. He stood, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “Graham asked me to come to North Carolina to run a seminar.”
I sat back, stunned. “For how long?”
“A month.”
A heavy silence descended. “Did you give him an answer?”
“Not yet but I think I need to go. I think we need time to figure some things out.”
Intellectually I knew this was as much about his own issues as mine with Stack, maybe more, but it still stung. Bad. “If it’s what you want then you should go.”
He pushed away from the counter and retrieved his coat from the couch. I couldn’t believe he intended to leave now, like this, but seeing him pull his car keys from his pocket made it clear he was doing exactly that. I met him at the door, too shocked to speak.
Barely meeting my gaze, he brushed his lips across mine. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Then he was gone.
Chapter 5
“Did we break up?” I lay on the floor, arms thrown to the side, and stared up at the ceiling fan.
Liquid sloshed as Daniel refilled his drink. “I don’t know. Don’t think so but he don’t make no sense to me.” He rose from the couch to make his way to the kitchen. When I called and told him I needed him and why, he arrived shortly after sunset with margarita makings, pizza for me, and blood for him. I had a special place in the fridge for him to keep blood bags, semi-quarantined from anything I would eat or drink. I didn’t mind Daniel being a vampire but the blood still squicked me out sometimes.
He returned with a fresh shot of blood in his tequila. “I mean, I get where he’s coming from on this Stack business. There was no need for you to keep him a secret. If your instincts tell you he’s kosher, that’s all I need.”
I raised my head and gave him a look. He’d given me grief about Blake from day one. He pursed his lips as he dropped back onto the couch. “I may not like it but I’m not going to get stupid about it.” He took a drink. The blood darkened the amber liquid to tiger’s eye. “Did he give you an ultimatum?”
“No.” I rolled to my side and rested my head on my arm. “Didn’t sound too hopeful, though.”
“He ever talk about all that other stuff much? I think that’s his main problem.”
“Hardly ever. I could tell he was different but I guess I just thought, I don’t know. Maybe he was maturing or something. He’s taking this teaching stuff pretty seriously.”
“Like he’s got a newfound responsibility? Shelby says he’s pretty strict. He’s a good teacher but working with him is a lot more structured than she thought it would be.”
I sat up. “I am a shitty girlfriend. He’s been going through all this guilt and hell, probably PTSD, and I had no idea.”
“In all fairness, he never said anything.”
“I’m still a shitty girlfriend.”
“Well, yeah. What are you gonna do about it?”
I reached for my margarita, shaking the melting ice. “Right now, nothing. He’s right, we both need some time to figure things out.”
“You’re not banishing Stack.” It wasn’t a question and there was no reproach in his voice.
“Nope.” I held up my glass and looked pitiful. “Make me another?”
Leaving his own drink on the end table, Daniel made me a fresh margarita. “Why do you think he kept it from you? Whatever problems he’s having with his past?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was doing the same thing I was, trying to figure stuff out before talking about it.”
“That doesn’t always work. Sometimes you need to talk shit out.”
“I guess we should have come to Doctor Daniel for relationship counseling.” I took the drink offered and sipped. “Thank you.”
He waved at the stereo as he returned to his seat. “What the hell is this? Why the hell is this? It’s not your usual.” He sounded like an old codger about to tell me to get off his lawn.
“Hip hop keeps Stack away. He doesn’t like it so when I don’t want to be bothered with him I play some hip hop.”
“Where does he go when he’s not hanging around you?”
“I asked him once. Storm hunting mostly, but he likes to people watch, too. Sometimes he’s just sort of dormant.�
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“That is seriously weird.”
Finally I said what I’d been thinking for hours. “Blake’s going to break up with me if I don’t banish Stack.”
Daniel leaned forward. “Honey, you don’t know that.”
“He equates Stack with Delia. I couldn’t make him understand they’re not the same at all.”
“He’s not stupid. Stubborn maybe. Going through some shit of his own right now, but not stupid. He’ll come around.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
He moved from the couch to the floor, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I did. He said, “Then he doesn’t. I know you love him but that doesn’t mean he gets to define you. If your time together is over, you’ll mourn it and honor it and move on.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I told him once I didn’t believe in destiny and all that kind of stuff. That we make our own choices. I still believe that.”
“Speaking as a vampire who chose not to be a monster, I’d have to agree with you there.”
“But what do you think that means for love? People talk about how they were meant for each other, meant to be, born for each other. If I believe in making my own choice, does that mean there’s no one meant for me? It’s all just random chance and it doesn’t matter who I’m with or if I’m alone?” Oh god, that had to be the tequila talking.
“I think we’re meant to make ourselves happy. If it means staying with one person, fine. If it means different people are right for you, for lack of a better term, at one point in your life and then not, well, that’s fine too. Doesn’t mean you didn’t love him enough or he didn’t love you enough. It just means it’s over.”
I straightened so I could adjust my glasses and kill half my drink. What Daniel said made a lot of sense. It didn’t fit with old-fashioned ideas of romance and love, but it felt real to me. Resignation settled into my bones and my heart. We had a lot of work to do when Blake got back from Asheville. I was willing to do my best if he was, and we’d take it from there. That’s all we could do, either give it our best or decide it wasn’t worth the effort and say goodbye. I thought we were worth the effort. I had no idea if Blake did.
Chapter 6
Madame Roxella’s Hoodoo Supplies was growing slowly but steadily since I hung out my shingle on the internet. Mardi Gras had given me an uptick in orders. Now it was back to several things a week, mostly candles and mojo bags. The little red spell bags had been a specialty of mine for years. I made them for all sorts of purposes now. Love, gambling, general success and good luck. The ones for luck and love were the most popular.
Every once in a while I got an email asking for more personalized help. Somebody would want help that was tailored just for their needs, the kind of thing my teacher Rozella Kent used to set up altars for in her house to do sustained workings. A client might hire her for a spell to make a court case go their way. She’d set up everything needed and burn candles for however long she thought necessary, or however long the client was willing to pay. Such a traditional practice was something I’d always avoided but lately I’d been doing some things like that for locals. It wasn’t something I offered through my online store yet.
I spent the morning pouring wax into candle molds, four and six inch altar candles in a rainbow of colors. I could have ordered the things wholesale but I’d always enjoyed making my own. Each batch of color meant for a different purpose, it was satisfying work to weave intention into the wax, simple spells meant to connect with the need of the person who burned them. I had to call everything a curio item, of course, but they worked. Well, as much as a buyer believed they would. Half of magic was intention, half was energy, and half was believing in the efficacy of the working. Rozella had taught me that. I remembered being contrary and pointing out that was three halves. She’d rightly told me to hush and get back to work.
My workroom was set up in the large master bedroom of the trailer. I needed more room for my business than a place to sleep, so my bed was on the other end in the smaller space. Leaving the candles to cure, I cleaned up the big wooden work-table that had been a gift from Daniel when I started the business. Afterward I turned to the three small altars set up along the wall on the right side. One client had hired me to create a success spell as he started work on a new album. Another was a spell to help a client find a better job. The third was a love spell, something I was reluctant to work but the woman didn’t want to influence a particular man, she just wanted to bring love into her life. I used candles, herbs, and other items that corresponded with each intention and spent time at each altar every day for the duration of the working.
Sometimes Stack showed up to act his role of supernatural assistant, sometimes he didn’t. Today there was no sign of him. I didn’t worry about it, just got down to business. For each case I’d written a personalized spell. I spent about fifteen minutes on each rite, the air in the room humming with magic. Once I finished with the last one I swept the room, both literally and metaphysically, to ground any stray energy and leave the room fresh for the next time.
Next on my list of chores was some exciting laundry magic I called “making my own detergent.” I brought a bar of homemade soap grated into tiny crumbles, a couple of other ingredients, and a five-gallon bucket into the kitchen. The crumbled soap went into a saucepan full of water on the stove to melt. That took a while so I cleaned the counters while I waited. I was halfway through wiping down the space for the coffee pot and accoutrements when someone knocked on the door.
It was daylight so it wasn’t Daniel. I tensed, thinking it might be Blake. I lowered the temperature on the stove eye and went to the door with reluctance. Pausing with my hand on the knob, I squinted behind my glasses and took a peek into the auric field. A blend of yellows and oranges with a strong base of earthy green stood on the other side of the door. I knew that blend of colors and the man whose strong, generous heart created them.
I flung the door open. “Ray Travis! What are you doing here?” I beamed at him.
The big beefy deputy sheriff from my hometown filled the doorway with his outsized charm and still-boyish good looks. Light blue eyes crinkled along with the wide smile he gave me. “Hi, Roxie. May I come in?”
“Of course you can!” I ushered him inside. He hugged me, tighter than he should have considering how long it had been since we’d dated, but I didn’t care. He felt solid and secure and warm as a blanket in front of a fire on a winter’s night. I returned the hug, feeling on safe ground for the first time in I couldn’t remember when. The sensation shocked me. I pushed it away as I stepped out of his arms. “What brings you to Nashville?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been to Bass Pro Shop. I could use a new tackle box.” He removed a brown leather bomber jacket, revealing a dark green long-sleeve button-down shirt over a pair of jeans. The shirt was a hair too tight across his biceps, the jeans snug on his trim waist. Dark wavy hair fell across his forehead, threaded with a bit of gray. Being a cop was so ingrained in his personality that even in civilian clothes he seemed to be in uniform. I was sure he had his badge and personal handgun on him or in his car.
“Like you couldn’t get a tackle box at Lairds? Come on, Ray.” I took his jacket and waved for him to sit. “What gives?”
“Can’t I come see an old friend?”
Ray and I had dated before I left Blythe and moved to Nashville years ago. Last year a case took me home with great reluctance, for as short a time as physically possible. The trip involved visiting a cemetery so luckily the only person I ran into was the deputy sent to investigate a call about a suspicious vehicle at the church. Seeing my old boyfriend had been weird, especially having Blake there with me, but it had been good, too.
“Want some coffee?” I started making some without waiting for an answer. Ray never turned down a cup of coffee.
“Please, ma’am.” Instead of sitting on the couch he joined me in the kitchen. Tall and well-built, he took up a lot of room in the small space. Yea
rs ago I’d found him a calming presence. As the tension in my shoulders eased I realized that still held. He pointed at the pot on the stove. “What’s that, some special brew?”
Some things had changed. Whereas once his voice would have held a teasing note, now there was curiosity. I said, “Yeah, it’s called laundry detergent.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Gone hippie, huh?”
“Nah, it’s just cheaper and I know what goes in it.” I winked. “Witches are big do-it-yourselfers.”
“I remember.” He leaned against the opposite counter, one big hand resting on the side of the sink. “How’s your business doing? The website looks good.”
I’d mentioned it to him in a Christmas card, never expecting him to actually look at it. “Not bad. Mardi Gras was good. It takes a while, you know.”
Ray took a folded slip of paper from his shirt pocket and held it out. “Think you could make me a candle or two? The place always smelled good when I burned those homemade candles of yours.”
I took the paper, glancing at the list. Two vanilla bean candles - what I used to make for him because he liked the scent so much. The white sage house blessing kit was a surprise. “I have some of this in stock now but I’d have to mail you the candles.”
He gave me the smile that used to melt all my good sense. “Or you could take a trip out to Blythe and bring them to me.”
“You know I don’t go home.” I stirred the detergent then retrieved a pitcher to transfer water to the bucket.
“You did last year. Why not visit again? Stay a little longer this time.”
I focused on mixing everything into the bucket, wanting to get it done and have a cup of coffee myself. After working non-stop all morning, much of it magical work, I was tired and in need of a break. “What would I do there? Catch up with all the people who thought it was so clever that witch rhymes with bitch?”
He didn’t answer. Really, what could he say? He did offer to help, so I let him dump water in the bucket while I poured and stirred ingredients. Then he carried the heavy container to the laundry room for me while I made our coffee. We sat at the tiny breakfast nook to drink and talk.