by Deanna Chase
He could count the stars, he thought.
Perhaps he’d fall asleep out here like he had a few nights earlier. He might even have good dreams, ones where his father wasn’t screaming in some foreign trench or his mother wasn’t begging for painkillers as she took her final breath.
But if the policia found him loitering…
Ah, hell. He wasn’t sure the policia even existed.
He reached into his shirt pocket, producing a half-smoked joint. After looking around to make sure that he was alone, he lit it, inhaling deeply. He held the smoke in for the count of three, then released it, coughing softly into the crook of his arm. His shoulders immediately relaxed. He took another hit. The stars began to coalesce into form, like a dot-to-dot puzzle.
He could make out a horse, a bear, a beautiful woman…
The sound of footsteps caught his attention.
Armand quickly tossed the joint into the pool. Lying as still as the statues who watched over him, he listened for the heavy boots of the local police.
Instead, he heard female voices.
Two women emerged from one of the narrow alleys, carrying covered baskets. The lightness in their steps told Armand they held no fear of the dark. He immediately recognized the slim figure as Sasha, and the sizable woman next to her as her friend. The two women proceeded across the square, giggling like teenaged girls.
What are they doing out so late?
They entered another alley and Armand jumped to his feet.
He followed, slinking into the shadows. He had wanted to avoid Sasha before, but now, he was compelled to trail her.
“Ya were lucky! Lucky!” Dora spoke, her voice both stern and lilted.
“Now, Dora. There is no such thing as luck. You must not say that. There is a reason for everything.”
“Humph.”
After a brief silence, Sasha added kindly, “I suppose it was a little lucky that we were there.”
Dora’s broad shoulders softened. “I think there’s more luck ta things than we realize. If it was all pre-ordained they wouldn’t need us.”
“Maybe.” Sasha coiled a strand of her long hair around her fingers. “I just hate to think…”
Armand stumbled on a rock and sent it skittering in their direction. He froze in place, hoping the darkness concealed him.
Sasha’s head jerked in his direction, and she cocked an ear. They were half a block ahead of him. Armand flattened himself against the wall and waited, sure he had been discovered.
“Probably a rat.” Dora stiffened her back. “The town is full o’ them. If ya ask me, they need more cats here. If another plague comes it won’t be the hand o’ God that did it. Will be the lack o’ cats.”
Sasha laughed and the two resumed their walk.
“I should ha’ seen it comin’,” Dora said, as they left the alley and entered a quaint street lined by three-story apartment buildings.
By the look of the buildings, the neighborhood was centuries old. Some were so rundown, a squatter might think twice before staying the night. But others had been lovingly cared for, with bright paint and balconies overflowing with flower boxes. It was one of these that Sasha and Dora approached.
Armand crept from the alley and hid in the shadows of one of the ramshackle buildings, close enough to listen, yet far enough to avoid detection. He hoped.
“My dogs are barkin’.” Dora climbed a small staircase that led to a yellow door beneath a balcony. She lifted a large brass knocker and slammed it into the door twice. “I could sleep fer a kazillion years, if there were such a number.”
Sasha put her finger to her chin. “I suppose there is. If there are infinite numbers there must be an infinite number of names for them.”
Dora smiled, her teeth glowing in the dark.
A porch light flickered on and the door swung open. A rickety old woman appeared, holding a squat red candle that illuminated her lined face.
Sasha handed Dora a basket. “Take this inside. There’s something I need to do.”
Dora nodded disapprovingly.
Sasha whispered something to her and then kissed her on the cheek. Dora and the old woman disappeared inside, closing the door behind them.
Armand pressed himself further into the wall, resisting his urge to call out as he felt something scurry across his foot. He kept his eyes on Sasha as she walked down the row of apartments, her thin dress fluttering around her like a sheet on a clothesline.
When she was far enough ahead, he crouched low and continued to follow, jumping from one concealment to the next.
The cobblestone road she followed was old, built by Romans millennia ago. It was half-covered in earth now, but some of the stones still gleamed in the moonlight, worn smooth by time.
Without warning, Sasha stopped her curious march, closing her eyes and holding her arms straight out to the side. The wind swirled around her and only her, whipping the leaves and dirt at her feet into a small cyclone. She hummed––one long reverberating syllable that carried itself into the night.
With a satisfied smile she opened her eyes and stared into the direction where Armand hid.
Armand’s fingers fumbled through his pockets, searching for a cigarette and his lighter. Embarrassed and angry at himself, he decided to retreat.
As he took a step backwards, Sasha raised the hem of her skirt, revealing thighs that gleamed as white as mountain snow. Except for silver anklets, her feet were bare.
“There may be no such thing as luck,” she called out. “But I leave nothing to chance.”
Holding her skirt, she raised herself to tiptoes.
With a ballerina’s grace she spun in slow circles, the heels of her feet never touching the ground. After several revolutions, she quickened her pace. Her feet made delicate patterns on the earth as the bands around her ankles jangled and clanked and gleamed. Her hair swirled around her, each long curl catching rays of starlight that fell from the sky.
“Blessed be!” she called into the night.
Armand checked his surroundings. They appeared to be alone.
“I praise the stars! I praise the moon! I praise the night!” The sleeve of her dress slipped from her shoulder, revealing her slim neck.
Was she a gypsy? Armand had never seen one, but he’d heard they roamed this part of the world. He swallowed, feeling the heat rise inside him.
Sasha continued her mystical dance, twisting and swaying and leaping, calling out her praises, with only the moon and the stars and himself as audience. Her white aura spread like wildfire around her, lighting up a circle as wide as the cherub fountain.
Armand stood motionless, mesmerized by her power, so much stronger than his, yet effortless. After watching for several more minutes, he stepped from the shadows.
She stopped her dance as suddenly as she’d begun. Sweat glistened on her flushed face.
“It’s about time you showed yourself, Mr. Scorpio. You shouldn’t hide in shadows like a common thief. It’s unbecoming of someone of your abilities.”
Armand’s heart raced. The thought that she knew he was watching her aroused him.
“My lady,” he said, leaving his hiding place and bowing before her.
She lifted her brows, amused. “Don’t play chivalrous with me, Sir.” She pointed a finger. “Chivalrous men don’t watch women in the dark. You’ve been following me.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“I could feel you. I sensed your presence in the square.”
“Why didn't you say something?”
“I didn't want to alarm Dora. She doesn't like you.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“She thinks you are trouble.” She put a finger to her chin. “Perhaps I should listen to her.”
Armand drew closer, feeling the heat between their two bodies. He touched the side of her face. “I think you like trouble.”
Sasha pulled back, giving him a once-over. “You have the confidence, but do you have the talent to back it up?”
“I’ve never had any complaints.”
Her aura flowed around her, strong and vibrant and sexy. But she wasn’t the only one with abilities.
He concentrated, extending his energy outwards in a red wave that met her white light. The two fields merged, zipping about them in an unending circuit. He suppressed his smile, waiting for her to be overcome.
“Not bad.” She poked at his energy shield with the tip of her finger. Her white light magnified while his red light wavered and then deflated like an old balloon. “Though not very sturdy. Is that all you’ve got?”
Armand stood with his mouth open, speechless.
“Ah, don’t look so hurt,” she said, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. “You aren’t the first man I’ve withered.”
“I have a feeling I won’t be the last, either.”
She laughed gaily, then glanced over his shoulder at the apartment Dora had entered.
Armand looked, too.
Dora’s wide silhouette filled the second story window. Knowing she’d been caught, she clamped the curtains shut and disappeared from view.
“She always worries about me,” Sasha sighed. “You’d think she was the older one.”
“You mean she’s not?”
Sasha gave him a crooked smile. “Warlock, why are you here?”
He scratched his head, confused by the question. “You mean in this town?”
“If that’s where you wish to start.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling for his father’s watch. “My father was born here. I thought I could find him.”
“And have you?”
He shook his head. “No, but, to be honest, I haven’t really tried. Not like I should. Something keeps me here, though. I’m not sure why.”
Sasha lowered her eyes thoughtfully. “You’ve been called. Although I’m not sure why, either. That is blocked from me.”
“Called?”
“It’s rare, actually.” She twisted her lips into a half-smile. “There’s no rhyme nor reason for doing anything when you’ve been called. You feel compelled and you have to go.”
He was about to argue that no one had called him and that he was a free man, able to make his own choices. But if that were true, he’d have left the village weeks ago. Or maybe not even come here in the first place.
“Maybe I was called to find you,” he suggested, all flirtation removed from his voice.
Sasha’s face darkened. She let out a heavy sigh. “I accept that as a possibility, though it’s odd we didn’t meet in the States, instead.”
Simultaneously, they lifted their heads to the moon. When Sasha spoke again her voice was softer than before.
“I was called too. A long time ago. I fought it at first, but eventually I gave in. There are invisible forces at work in this world and sometimes I feel like a pawn in one of their games.”
Their?
She turned her eyes on him. “You’re not used to encountering others with gifts, are you? You thought you were the only one.”
Armand let his shoulders drop. “I’ve never considered what I have a gift.”
“You certainly never use it like one.”
Sasha took Armand’s arm and guided him back towards the village square. A rat scurried across their path and Armand resisted the urge to jump back.
Sasha neither screamed nor jumped; instead, she scooped up the creature and whispered to it, releasing it back into the night.
“Aren’t you afraid of disease?” he asked, fighting off his revulsion.
She blew on her hands and they shone an incandescent blue. “Not anymore.” She rubbed them together and wiped them on her skirt. The light was gone.
When they reached the fountain, Armand purposely avoided the cherub’s eyes as he seated himself on the ledge.
“What were you and your friend doing out so late?” he asked as she arranged her dress around her before seating herself primly onto the ledge as well.
“Dora and I had…” Sasha paused, catching herself and clearing her throat. “…work to attend to.”
“Work? What work do you do so late at night?” He was immediately embarrassed by his words as he considered the possibilities. “Oh, uh…”
“Ha! Is that what you think of us? I shall have to tell Dora! That will give her the best laugh ever.”
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled mysteriously, arching her back slightly so that the tips of her hair caught the water behind her. “It is not what you think, though I do my best work at night.”
Her words filled him with desire and the images of her moonlight dance played out in his mind. He kept his expression reserved, careful not to reveal the effect she was having on him.
“What do you do?” he asked, his voice measured.
Her eyes lit up and she grinned at him over her shoulder. “Good things.”
She wasn’t going to give him any more, so he tried to read her thoughts again.
The smile on her face vanished. She pulled her knees into her chest. “I told you, I’m blocked. If you do that again, I might have to punish you.”
“I might like that.”
Sasha clucked her tongue, though Armand was sure her aura shimmered for just a moment.
“If you won’t tell me what you and Dora were doing,” he said. “At least tell me why you came back outside alone.”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?”
“Take it as you wish.” She piled her hair on top of her head, and bound it with a pin Armand was sure she wasn’t holding before. A lone tendril spiraled down her back. “Since the day we first talked, I’ve felt that we are bound. Don’t you feel it, too?”
“I do.” Armand inched his way closer, brushing her shoulder with his. He was wildly aroused by her words; his thoughts were turning erotic. Images of the two of them in his bed permeated his imagination.
Sasha pulled back, her aura dimming to a chalky gray. “You warlocks! Always on to your next conquest. Do you think I’d let you take from me, like you do your other women?”
“I can’t help my thoughts.”
“Everyone can help their thoughts.”
“Stop speaking to me like a child. And for hell’s sake, stop calling me a warlock. You’ve been watching too much TV.”
Sasha’s eyes gleamed like a cat toying with a mouse. “You don’t like the word warlock? There are other terms, of course. Charlatan. Magician.” She licked her lips. “Diablo.”
Armand stood. Anger raged inside of him. “I knew it! Isabella sent you!”
She didn’t cower, didn’t even flinch.
She dipped a finger into the water and stirred in lazy circles, as if insulting a man twice her size was no more worrisome than forgetting to turn the lights off before leaving the house.
Finally, she spoke. “I have no idea who Isabella is. Now, whatever show you’re about to put on, do it quickly, and then we’ll get back to business.”
Armand held his stance, unsure of what to do. Her aura showed none of the darker colors that indicated deceit. After a long pause, he returned to his seat on the fountain wall.
“You’re a mind trip, lady,” he said, wishing he still had his joint. His buzz had long since worn off, and he wasn’t sure that sobriety was the best condition for him at the moment.
“What can you do?” Sasha asked.
Rubbing his temples, he asked, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She wriggled her fingers and the blue, glowing light appeared on her hands. She wiped them together and the light was gone. “What…Can…You…Do?”
“I can read people’s thoughts, at least the ones that are most present in their minds. I can scramble them up, too. Works great when it’s time to pay the tab.”
He scratched his head, giving it further consideration. He’d never been asked this question directly, and wasn’t sure how to categorize his abilities.
“I can make suggestions, and
sometimes the person will do it. Depends on their age and willpower, though. I can see a person’s life path, too,” he added, remembering Isabella. “But it isn’t always clear.”
Sasha nodded. “Life paths rarely are.”
Chewing on his bottom lip, he thought about his unsuccessful trek to Spain. He had been certain that in taking the trip, he was going to finally have some answers about who he was.
“I’ve tried to see my own path,” he shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to work.”
“If we knew for certain how our lives would turn out, there wouldn’t be much point in living them.” Sasha leaned forward and Armand caught the scent of lavender and roses. “Is there anything else you can do?”
He hesitated. “I can predict what will happen in the near future, but it takes a lot of my energy and I have to really tune into the person or location.”
“Oh! You’re a prophet?”
“I’m no prophet. I can only see what will happen in the next few seconds.” He directed his gaze on the upstairs window of one the shops. “See that light in the window over there? It’s about to go off.”
Three seconds later the light went out. Though Armand’s head pounded with the effort, he smiled at the outcome.
“Oh,” said Sasha, the disappointment clear in her voice. “I had hoped you were a prophet.”
They sat in silence, watching the slow hands of the clock inch forward. Sasha leaned back, staring into the sky.
“We are well into the witching hour,” she said, twining a snake-curl around her fingers. “The hours between midnight and 3 AM are when spirits can commune with the living and the magical creatures of the world are at their most powerful. Demons, Angels, Warlocks…” She gave him a wry smile. “Witches.”
He returned her smile, feeling the connection that comes from camaraderie. “So you confess to being a witch. You do realize this is not a good place to practice your craft?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, shivering. “In a past life, I was killed in this very country. I remember it well.”
“If my mother heard you talk of past lives she’d say that you were going to hell.”
“If your mother saw the things you did in this life, she’d say you were going to hell, too.”