by Ashlyn Chase
“Is that what you came to say, ladies?” Fayleen asked. “You want us to keep our true natures hidden?”
The woman stomped her foot. “That’s not your true nature! You were as human as the next person until you drank from the chalice.”
The woman next to her shouted, “And the chalice is ours.”
Hanna held up one hand to quiet the group. “Look. I’m not sure why you say that, but let’s look at this logically.”
The old crone leaned back and glared at her. “Logic has nothing to do with it.”
“I’m afraid it does,” Hanna said, emboldened now that she was fairly sure this group wasn’t supernatural. “Cabot witches came by the grail honestly. It was hidden for centuries by the druids of Great Britain. When they realized their group was dying out, they looked for a new group that was growing. They wanted a group of witches that had the same values they held dear.”
Several of the Stregheria bristled at that. “Values?” asked the crone.
“Yeah, values,” Fayleen interjected.
Oh, boy, Hanna said to herself. Try not to step in it, Fayleen.
“From what I’ve heard, your group abused the power that came with the grail. It was taken from you in the middle ages for just that reason. The druids wanted a responsible, highly principled group to—”
The old crone jammed her hands on her hips. “Responsible! And exactly why are you sifting through the garbage? You lost it, didn’t you?”
Oh, no. Before Hanna could jump in, Fayleen crossed her arms and said, “Of course not.”
The other witches glanced at each other. At last the crone said, “You’re lying.”
“Am not,” she said.
“Are too,” Andrea fired back.
I see what she’s doing. Technically, she didn’t lose it. Her housekeeper did. “Ladies...ladies,” Hanna said. “There really is no reason to point fingers. Perhaps we can have a friendly competition.”
Fayleen’s jaw dropped and she stared at her fellow coven elder. Telepathically, she asked her, “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”
Hanna smiled while the others whispered among themselves, then answered her friend in the same silent fashion. Trust me. No matter who finds it, we can take it and disappear. Besides, we could use the help.
“Fine,” the crone announced. “We’ll all look, but you can’t use your supernatural abilities to find it.”
Hanna tapped her lip and appeared to be thinking it over.
Fayleen smiled at her. Apparently they were on the same page. “We don’t need to use supernatural abilities to find it...just to take it back where it belongs.”
Yup.
“We accept your conditions,” Hanna said. “After all, recovering it is more important than our petty differences.”
As the witches were shaking hands, a dog that had been sniffing through the trash several yards away dug up something that looked like a garbage-covered dinosaur bone. He gripped his treasure between his teeth and ran into the woods to bury it.
Ten hours later:
Thirteen very pissed off witches faced off with the two supernaturals. Everyone was covered in garbage stains.
“Why did you lure us here?” the crone demanded.
“We didn’t lure you. Would we have let you witness our supernatural powers if we knew you were watching?” Fayleen asked.
The leader’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re so supernatural, why didn’t you sense us and stop using those powers?”
“Because we were concentrating on other things,” Hanna said. “We’re not omniscient.”
Fayleen stared at her. “We’re not what?”
Omniscient. It means all seeing and all knowing.
“Oh. Then say it that way. I don’t want them to think I’m dumb.”
“Why are you two staring at each other?” The crone asked. “Can you read each other’s minds?”
Andrea gasped. “Can they read ours?”
Fayleen smirked. “Maaaybe.”
Fayleen! Don’t poke the tiger!
“I don’t see any tiger. Just a bunch of powerless witches.”
These women are far from powerless. Hanna cleared her throat. “Of course we can’t read minds. Sometimes when two people have been friends for a long time, they can seem as if they’re reading each other’s minds when they share a look.”
“How long have you known each other?” Velia demanded.
“About ten years,” Fayleen announced proudly.
“Ten long years,” Hanna mumbled under her breath.
“Ha!” Andrea, the youngest, blurted. “I’ve known these women my whole life. And most of them have known each other since birth or marriage. We’re all related.”
“You can’t get much closer than that,” Velia, the leader, said.
“Okay. Okay. We can communicate telepathically with each other, but we can’t read your minds. Relax,” Hanna said.
The Italian witches scrutinized each other, then faced their two opponents. “Prove it. I’m thinking something right now. If you react before my sisters and I do, we’ll know you can read our minds.”
Hanna and Fayleen waited. Suddenly Velia lunged at them and the whole Boshetto jumped into the fray. They got a couple of good right hooks in before Hanna and Fayleen grabbed each other’s hands and transported out of there.
* * * *
Ethan heard the knock and figured it was Brigit ready to go to the play. She was a little late and they’d have to hurry to make it on time. He grabbed his jacket and opened the door, smiling, then he saw the expression on her face and became concerned.
“What’s wrong?”
She let out a deep sigh. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh.” He stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Come in.”
She schlepped into his living room and plopped down onto the sofa. “I don’t really feel like going to the play anymore. Would you mind if we skipped it?”
He shut the door and sat next to her. “Not at all.” Now what? Should I ask how she knew?
As if she’d read his mind, she said. “I know it’s early, but I got the pregnancy test that can tell in the first week.”
“I see. And is that as accurate as other tests?”
“Well, no. A blood test is best, but then you have to get a doctor’s order for it and wait for the lab to give you the results. I wanted to know right away.”
“But, it could be wrong. Right?”
She looked up at him sadly. “It could be, but it probably isn’t. I didn’t expect things to happen immediately, but...well, I had hoped anyway.”
Ethan wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. “Don’t worry. That was only the first try. I had an idea the other day. I didn’t know if you’d be up for it, but maybe it’ll help.”
“What’s that?”
He took her hand and stroked it with his thumb. “A vacation. Can you get away for a few days?”
“Um, maybe a long weekend, but I’ve taken my vacation time for the year.”
“That should be enough. My chief engineer was telling me about a place they go to every year on their anniversary. All three of their kids were born nine months after one of those trips, so they figure that’s to blame.”
Brigit looked uncomfortable.
“What?” Ethan asked.
“Blame?” she asked.
“Oh. That’s how he said it, but I imagine he was kidding. He seems like a content family man and you can tell he’s really proud of his kids.”
She stared straight ahead. “Hey, Charlotte.”
“Charlotte’s here?”
“Yes. I’m here, idiot.”
“Hey. Watch the insults. I can always sage the house, you know.”
Brigit chuckled. “She’s giving you the finger.”
“Oh. How sweet.”
“Look, I only called you an idiot, because here’s a woman who wants kids and you tell her about someone who has them having them was a mistake.”
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Ethan didn’t respond to her. Instead, he cupped the back of Brigit’s head, said, “I’m sorry,” and then pulled her into a tender kiss. She responded by slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him back.
“Well, if you two are going to make out, I’ll go upstairs. Unless you plan to carry on up there?”
Ethan tried to wave Charlotte off, but couldn’t be sure if she had gone or not. When he didn’t hear any more from her for a while, he pulled back slightly and gazed at Brigit’s face. She was slightly flushed and her lashes fluttered open.
“So, how about that vacation?” he asked. “It can be the honeymoon we’ll never have.”
She smiled for the first time since she’d arrived. “I think it sounds like a good idea.” If I calculate it to go with my ovulation time, that is.
“Good. I have a few days off owed to me, but I need to arrange coverage. Can you figure out which days I should ask for?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“You know...when you’re most fertile.”
Brigit counted on her fingers. “I think the eighteenth to the twentieth would be about right.”
“Okay. Does that land on a weekend?”
“I need a calendar. Do you have one handy?”
Ethan rose and held out his hand. “There’s one in the kitchen.”
They held hands on the way to the kitchen, as if they were a romantic couple who couldn’t bear to be separated. In some ways, he was beginning to wish that could happen for him. But he couldn’t picture it without her.
She lifted the October page and checked November. “Yeah. That should work. Even if we don’t hit the exact day, I hear sperm can live in a woman’s body for up to five days.”
Wow. Suddenly he was glad he insisted on a condom along with whatever other birth control the women he dated said they were using.
“When is Thanksgiving?” he asked.
“It’s kind of late this year. It won’t get in the way unless you go to Arizona to visit your parents...”
“No. They usually come here.”
“Do they stay for a week or more?”
“No. They never get here before Tuesday or Wednesday. We should be fine.”
She smiled at him and let the calendar fall back to October.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” he said.
“I am. I know the Goddess can take a month or so to arrange an answer for our intentions, so I’m not going to worry just yet. And Samhain is almost here. I can reinforce the spell then.”
“Good.” He enclosed her within his arms. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you good and pregnant.”
She laughed. “I don’t think there are degrees of pregnancy, Ethan.”
“Well, if there were, I’d make sure you’re the most pregnant you could possibly be.”
* * * *
“Samhain night in Portsmouth is tame compared to the Massachusetts Mardi Gras.”
Rebecca was talking to April, but Ethan and Brigit were following right behind them and they both chuckled. Their hands almost touched and Brigit was tempted to curl her fingers around his. Where did that reaction come from?
“What’s Massachusetts Mardi Gras?” April asked.
“It’s Salem, Mass on Samhain night. Actually there’s stuff taking place during most of October,” Ethan answered. “Ever been there?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s the first place I came to from Texas. I stayed a few days and decided it was too expensive. Then somebody suggested I come up here.”
Brigit’s brows rose. “To Portsmouth? This isn’t a cheap area.”
“I know that now, but I also found some leads from my ancestry search that led me here.”
“Oh? You’re researching your family tree?” Brigit asked.
“Yeah. It was originally for a school project. But I enjoyed some of the research and kept going with it.”
“What did you find?” Ethan asked. “Anything exciting?”
“There’s a house here at Strawberry Bank that was owned by my ancestors. There’s a plaque on it and everything.”
There were hundreds of homes sporting historic markers. Rebecca grinned at them and put an arm around her new friend’s shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you got here, however it happened. Otherwise I might not have met your brother.” She glanced at Brigit. “What do you think, Brigid? Are we fated to meet our other half or is it all a coincidence?”
Brigit almost choked. “You’re asking me?” She resisted looking at Ethan and wondered for the umpteenth time why picking him had seemed so necessary—so right. “How would I know?”
They arrived at the suite just in time so she didn’t have to give a definite answer. Swinging open the door, she saw that Hanna had decorated her place in orange and black. Of course all the witches were wearing black, the color of protection.
“Wow. You’re place looks great, Hanna, but what happened to your face?”
She smiled. “Yes. I was in the mood for a little traditional color. And even though Samhain is a solemn celebration, honoring our ancestors, it’s also the start of our Pagan New Year. I didn’t see why we couldn’t spice it up a bit.”
Apparently she was ignoring the question about the black and blue bruise on her cheek.
“Speaking of spice,” April said, as she held out a bakery box. “We made these impossible pumpkin pie cupcakes.”
“Impossible?”
“That’s what they’re called. They taste exactly like pumpkin pie, except there’s no crust and you can hold them in your hands like cupcakes.”
“Mmm...sounds delish,” Brigit said.
April grinned. “They are.”
“If we do say so ourselves,” Rebecca added, with a chuckle.
Ethan took the box, opened it and inhaled. “Mmm...I can’t wait until after the ritual.”
Brigit elbowed him. “Hey, let’s not rush the honoring, just to fill our tummies.”
Ethan glanced at her flat stomach and was probably thinking about what else they hoped to fill it with. Life. Suddenly he looked as if his mind was far away.
Oh, no. He’s not changing his mind, is he? Of course not, she answered herself. Ethan was not a man to go back on his word. If anyone was honorable...
Rebecca took the box of goodies from Ethan and strode to the small kitchen like she owned the place. Others who were already there were either chatting amongst themselves or adding their talismans to the altar.
Ethan took a small item out of his pocket and set it with the other tokens. When Brigit registered that it was a ring box, she began to panic. He’s not going to propose is he? A surprising hope that he would sprung up from nowhere. What the heck is wrong with me? That is not what I want. Yet a small niggling voice within asked, “Isn’t it?”
“What’s in the box, Ethan?” April asked.
Brigit was glad she didn’t have to be the one to voice that question.
He popped it open and displayed an oval shaped Amethyst with a lot of silver filigree around it on a silver band. “It was my mother’s. And she inherited it from her mother.”
Hanna leaned over and took an appreciative look. “It’s beautiful! Almost the color of Brigit’s eyes.”
He leaned back and gazed directly into her eyes as if noticing them for the first time. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
Hmmm...Maybe he’s not as into me as I thought. For some reason that made her a little sad.
“Did you bring anything, Brigit?”
“Huh? Oh, no. I meant to bring my great-grandfather’s shaving cup, but I forgot. I’ve been a little scattered lately.”
“Well, try to improve your concentration during the ritual,” Hanna said. “I don’t need to tell you that your intentions will be heard more clearly the sharper you’re able to visualize them.”
“I know. I didn’t write a spell this time. I thought it was just an honoring.”
Ethan turned to her with raised brows. She knew what he was thinking. He pulled her aside
and whispered, “No spell to reinforce your dearest wish?”
She smiled up at him. “None needed. You’ve already agreed to make that happen.”
He smirked. “And you don’t care how long it takes?”
She shrugged and shyly stared at her black ballet slippers.
He wrapped an arm around her and gave her a side-squeeze as he chuckled.
He was acting more cavalier that usual. And come to think of it, he hadn’t bugged her about knowing where she lived and how she’d provide for their child for a while. Their child. She’d caught herself thinking like that before. Each time she’d reigned it in, stubbornly insisting this baby would be hers and hers alone. She needed a buffer of some kind between Ethan and herself. Right now it would have to be the kitchen counter.
Striding off in that direction, she asked, “Can I help you with those cupcakes, April?”
#
Ethan also believed this circle was an honoring and hadn’t prepared a spell, but he had imbued the ring with his own private intention before he brought it to the altar. Yes, it was there to represent his maternal ancestors, but he’d also buried the ring in salt to eradicate any negative energy that may have lingered from his mother’s broken heart.
He hoped one day it would grace the finger of a woman who loved him as much as he loved her. Never had he thought he’d want that. He hadn’t had his heart broken in a million pieces like his mother had and risking it seemed foolish. However, no one had gotten under his skin before...like Brigit.
He was trying to play it cool. Or at least, cooler. When he looked at everything sensibly, it didn’t make sense, and that was what drove him a little crazy, at first. Now he accepted that feelings didn’t always make sense. And, as a Wiccan, he knew there were other powers at work as well.
Even scientists admitted to invisible influences like pheromones, and the world itself was witness to all kinds of matches that should have made sense and didn’t. Like Charles and Diana, as well as matches that made no sense, but seemed destined to last. Like Charles and Camilla.
He wasn’t equating himself with a prince. He’d never considered himself more than an above average ordinary man. But, it appeared as if he was as vulnerable to fate or pheromones as the next guy.
Suddenly Brigit cringed and backed away...from nothing. His protective instincts kicked in. So much for playing it cool.