by P. G. Forte
Why was that? How come other people didn’t have to learn like that? Or live like that. How’d she get so lucky?
She glanced again at the bags on the seat, at all their pretty ribbon curls ruffling in the breeze from the open window. Fucking Gregg—why couldn’t she have found a normal boyfriend? Someone who would like her the way she was, who’d be tender and kind. And who wouldn’t be all the time trying to teach her some bullshit lesson. It probably didn’t even matter that she was bringing him something back. It probably wouldn’t make any difference to him, at all. He’d probably still want to punish her for something. She could have saved the money, the trouble, the time...
But then he might figure out that she wasn’t always shopping, when she said she was. And then he’d learn she was using his money to pay Seth to tutor her, instead. She really didn’t think he’d be down with that shit, not just because he kept telling her that she probably wouldn’t graduate from high school, anyway; but because he really didn’t like her spending time with her friends. Or with anyone but him.
If she could just make it through these next three months she would graduate. And prove everyone wrong. After that? Well, she’d didn’t really know what she’d do then, but at least she’d have options.
Three months. Three lousy, stinking months. Three months was nothing. She knew she could do it. It was just that school stuff had never come that easy for her and living with Gregg wasn’t helping things any. That freak show he called a church might be the only home she had, at the moment, but it was a piss poor place to study. Which is why she needed someone to tutor her. To keep her on track. To give her any kind of chance at a passing grade.
And even if it made Gregg mad, it had to be Seth. Even if he didn’t love her, even if he’d broken her heart more times than she could count, he was still the only one who’d ever been willing to help her. Who didn’t just take, without giving back. So what if there was generally a price to pay for his help? That was true of everything in life, wasn’t it?
No one ever did anything without there being some kind of pay off in it. The world was made up of three types of people. The people you used, the people who used you, and the larger majority: the people who didn’t give a fuck about you either way, who couldn’t care less if you lived or died. That’s just the way things were. The way they’d always be.
* * *
In the last dusky hour separating day from night, Adam stood on the balcony outside his living room looking down at the terrace below. This was usually his favorite time of day. The time when his winery, its stone walls tinted pink with Alpen glow, appeared at its romantic best. When the earth, and all the plants that grew upon it, released their fragrance to the air. When evening’s cool dampness rolled down from the hills to mix with the dry heat of the terrace’s sun-steeped stones in a combination so exquisite that only the finest wines or the rarest of marriages could hope to compete with it for perfection.
Tonight, its beauty left him unmoved.
He sipped absently at his Moscato, barely tasting it. The wine’s sweetness did nothing to ameliorate the bitterness he was feeling, and the angry impatience welling up inside him made swallowing it almost impossible, anyway.
Would this day never end, he wondered, resisting the urge to look at his watch. Actual time didn’t matter. It was too late for some things, too early for others; it was one eternal moment caught out of time. A moment made for misery and discontent, and however long it lasted was, by definition, too damn long. Just like the day, itself.
Technically, the reception had been over for some time now. But the party it had evolved into, showed no signs of ever winding down. Just as the bride and groom showed no signs of ever leaving. However, that was not the problem.
Adam had always been fond of Siobhan. As far as he was concerned, the woman who should have been his sister-in-law by now, was welcome to party until dawn – along with her groom, all her friends and as much of her family as cared to stay and celebrate with her. If things had been different, he would be down there, too; partying right along with the rest of them. Had he been in a better mood. Had he been one of the family. But he wasn’t family, was he?
Blindsided by Nick’s attack, his emotions already enflamed by the sight of Sinead’s double dressed as a bride, Adam had foolishly cornered his love when she’d gone up to their apartment to fetch a cloak for her sister. He’d ignored the distracted frown on her face and took hold of her hand. He’d gone down on one knee in the center of his living room to present Sinead once more with his great-grandmother’s ring; to ask her, yet again, to please, please marry him.
Predictably, she’d said no.
“Adam, no—not again. We’ve been through this already. Now, please, let me go. I have to get back downstairs.”
It was enough to make a man turn to magic, Adam decided, as he turned and gazed out across the vineyards, his hand clenching on the stone balustrade. At least that had never let him down. Magic had always given him everything he wanted, whatever he asked of it—unlike a certain woman of his acquaintance, who seemed to take special delight in thwarting him.
Adam watched as the light faded from the surrounding stones. The distant hills turned blue and the world grew ever darker, almost dark enough to match his mood. As night continued to fall, he contemplated just what kind of spell would best accomplish his goal. And whether he dared try it, and risk Sinead’s wrath.
Sinead hated magic. She’d be furious if she ever learned what he’d done. But, then, she would already be that, wouldn’t she?
As much as he hated to admit it, she might actually have a point. For the first time since he’d known her, Adam was beginning to understand Sinead’s distrust of the occult. Because once you started casting spells, as he was finding out now, it was damn hard to stop.
Two spells. That’s all he’d cast so far, out of necessity and fear. And strictly for her own good. He’d invoked the first spell to protect Sinead and their unborn child when a mysterious illness had threatened both their lives. The second was cast to ease her mind, erase her fears for her baby’s life and block the bad dreams that had become a nightly occurrence.
The spells had worked almost too well. Sinead had emerged from the hospital feeling happy and healthy and cheerily optimistic about everything. She glowed with new life, with joy, with uninterrupted rest. And she was sweetly amenable to just about every suggestion he made. Except for one. Suggest marriage and she would turn truculent, intractable, almost defiant.
“Stop badgering me, Adam, I mean it. Or I’ll move out of the mansion and back into the inn... ”
Like hell she would. Adam tossed back the rest of his wine and surrendered to the inevitable disappointment that seemed to grow worse with each proposal.
He should have known better than to try again so soon. He should have waited for a better time. He’d made up his mind, when he’d first learned of her pregnancy that he would not argue with Sinead in her present condition. She was giving him the greatest gift he could ever ask for. There was no way he could hope to balance the scales between them. The very least he could do was to give her whatever she wanted. At least until the baby was born.
No matter what the subject, he had promised himself he would not argue or disagree, or debate a single point she made. He would give in to each whim, indulge every craving, humor any request, accede to all demands–
He never knew nine months could last so long.
Still, he’d stuck to his word. And what had it gotten him? Rejected. That’s what. Rejected by Sinead, sneered at by Nick, pitied by Scout—and God knew who else.
It should have been Sinead – not her twin—exchanging vows in that church today. It should have been their marriage being celebrated here tonight. He should have gone with his gut last November and risked it all on one throw. He should have sunk all his scruples at once, and cast that third spell.
* * *
“You almost ready to leave?” Ryan asked as he returned to the table wher
e Siobhan was resting between dances, and handed her a cup of tea. “It’s getting pretty late.”
Siobhan smiled at her new husband as he seated himself by her side. “I know. I just hate to see it end.”
Ryan’s eyebrows rose. “What’s ending? This is only the beginning. But we do have an early flight to catch in the morning.”
“I know,” she repeated as she cast a last longing glance around the terrace. He was right, of course. She knew she couldn’t really stave off the future or slow time, or do anything at all to preserve this moment, however much she might want to. She sighed. “I just can’t shake the feeling that we’ll never see a day like this again.”
Ryan smiled. “Well, you’re right. We won’t.”
She stared at him, dismayed. Did he feel it too? This faint touch of doom? “What do you mean?”
Ryan reached out a hand to caress her cheek, bringing back memories of earlier today, of their first kiss as husband and wife. “This might not be your first wedding day, but, honey, I guarantee it will be the last – for either of us. We’re forever, Siobhan. And we’re both going to be incredibly happy for the rest of our lives.”
“Don’t,” she gasped, placing her fingers against his lips to stop him. “Don’t tempt fate like that, Ryan, please.” She wanted so much for him to be right, as much as she’d ever wanted anything.
He took hold of her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “What are so you worried about? All the hard stuff is behind us, sweetheart. We’ve won. We’ve done it. We got it all. What could possibly go wrong now?”
Siobhan shook her head. “I don’t know.” But, given the way things usually seem to work out for us, I’m sure there’ll be something.
“Well, I do know,” he told her, in a voice that brooked no argument. “Nothing, that’s what. I love you so much. What does anything else matter?
Nothing? Siobhan looked at him; at the flush on his cheeks, the smile on his face, the love in his eyes. He was as bright as the day itself. As constant as the sun. As steady as anything she’d ever known.
At the moment, however, he was also completely fey.
It had to be that, didn’t it? For he knew as well as she did how uncertain life could be. You couldn’t really be that sure about anything, could you? Unless you were crazy.
Crazy or not, he was her husband now. Her partner. Her love. Their lives were one, inextricably joined. And if he wanted to be crazy and fated and doomed, to look at the future and laugh in its face, then so would she. They’d tempt fate together. She smiled as she leaned into him, as she wound her arms around his neck, as she tossed all her cares behind her. “You’re right,” she told him, with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Nothing can ever go wrong for us again.”
* * *
Sinead smiled to herself as she watched Siobhan and Ryan kiss. It was nice to see her sister so happy. It was nice that the day had turned out so well, that the weather had cooperated, that the food had been good. It was nice that the band had agreed to stay longer than they’d originally been scheduled for, and that the smell of cigars wasn’t making her sick, as had happened too many times earlier in her pregnancy. And, come to think of it, it was nice that the baby hadn’t spoiled all her plans by coming early, as she’d also once worried it might.
In fact, she could hardly imagine why she’d ever been worried about anything. What was there to worry about, after all? Her life had been a dream, for the last five months – everything so amazingly, stupendously, incredibly… nice. Inexplicably nice. Unbelievably nice. Unnaturally nice. It was almost as if–
Magic. There was no other explanation for the way she’d been feeling all these months; it couldn’t possibly be real. A frisson of fear sent shivers running down her spine and she glanced around the terrace, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam, but he was nowhere in sight. Which did not mean he was off casting some kind of spell, she hurried to remind herself, before her imagination could start to run wild..
He couldn’t be that stupid, that short sighted, that rash. He wouldn’t do that to her—to them. Would he?
Chapter Four
At the Universal Church of Light, Truth and Vision the Saturday evening service was in progress. Clouds of incense filled the room where the faithful had gathered, turning the air a smoky, pale blue. The only sounds to be heard were the steady drawing of a dozen or so breaths, an occasional cough, and the slow, sonorous ringing of bells.
Cara hated those friggin’ bells. She didn’t know how many times she’d thought about breaking the damn CD. Or, better yet, smashing the whole fucking stereo system. Because if it wasn’t bells it was flutes or horns or big ass drums. Or chanting. Or an entire album of weird, annoying, clacking noises.
Maybe what she should have picked up today was some new CDs. Nails on a blackboard was better music than any of the shit Gregg insisted on playing. But he’d probably complain that wasn’t a personal enough gift. At least she hadn’t made that mistake again. The gifts she got him today were plenty personal. Plenty damn personal, as far as she was concerned. About as personal as they came. She just hoped they’d do the job.
But thinking about things like that made it hard to relax – and that’s what she was supposed to be doing right now. Breathing and relaxing and trying not to think. Not that she’d ever understood the point of that. What was so wrong with thinking, anyhow?
Still, she knew better than to argue. So she kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady; stifling the impulse to yawn, to fidget, to open her eyes and peek at Gregg, to try and gauge his mood. With her luck, he’d be looking at her when she did and he’d catch her peeking and get pissed off about that, too.
She hated when he got angry. She especially hated it on nights when he had these services. They always left him so edgy and wired; like someone who’d been drinking. It was hard enough trying to deal with guys when they got like that. Add pissed off to the mix, and shit... she really hoped he liked her presents.
She’d made it back to the house – to the church, as he insisted she call it – with less than a minute to spare. Jeez, that had been close! Relieved, she’d taken her seat and flashed him a smile. He’d frowned in response, which was nothing new and she’d swear she caught a glimpse of something in his eyes – was he relieved. too?
A shock of delight rippled through her. He was relieved, wasn’t he? Which meant…he’d missed her? Could it be? She took another deep breath and tried not to smile. Had he been afraid she wouldn’t come back, that she’d leave him? The poser—all the time pretending he didn’t give two shits.
Gregg liked to act so tough, and, okay, she wasn’t so stupid that she didn’t realize that a lot of it was not an act at all. He could be real scary, when he wanted. But though he’d told her time and again that she was there on a purely temporary basis and solely for his convenience, she knew it wasn’t the truth. He liked her more than he let on. He had to, didn’t he?
Because he didn’t always treat her bad. He gave her money when she asked for it. He’d given her a place to stay after her father threw her out. He’d even offered to have her aunt kidnapped and killed, but that was just a joke. Like all his threats to kill her had been jokes. Just really lame examples of his lousy sense of humor.
As crazy as it sounded—and probably was—she even liked living here. How could she not? It was like being a queen, or something, even if it was in a really twisted kind of way. Sort of like that movie with Aaliyah. He made the weirdos call her Cara-ma, which he said meant she was the boss of everyone except him. He gave her permission to run the house—the frickin’ church, shit, she’d never remember that—however she wanted. He told the freaks they had to take her orders and do what she said. And look at today; he’d given her that remote for the gate. She was the only one he trusted. The only one who counted. The only one who could come and go as she pleased. It didn’t get much better than that.
Of course, there were some things about him that she wouldn’
t mind changing, but despite all his flaws, he made her feel important. And special. No one had ever made her feel like that before, except Seth, a little.
So, she’d put up with the other shit for a while. It wasn’t so bad, really; not that different than what she was used to. And maybe someday things would be different. Maybe he’d change or she’d change, or she’d meet somebody else.
But someday wasn’t today. Right now, hard though it sometimes was to play, this was still the best game in town.
* * *
Gregg walked around the quiet room, monitoring everybody’s progress and frowning at the smile that continued to flicker on Cara’s lips. She was asking for it with that smile. She’d sashayed in at the very last minute, and now she had the nerve to look pleased with herself? Well, he’d deal with her when the service was over. He’d fix her good. He’d teach her to mind what he told her.
Or at least he’d try. She could be surprisingly dense sometimes. Incredibly stubborn. Thick as a fucking brick.
Just look at her now. Was she making any attempt to do as she’d been told? Not a bit.
Everyone else in the room was doing their best to follow his orders; to clear their minds; to give themselves up to the nothingness; to become empty. Useful. His.
But not Cara. It would take a blowtorch to clear that girl’s mind. Or maybe an axe. Someday, he’d show her just what he did to those who displeased him.
Why wait for someday? The thought made him pause. Why, indeed.
She’d disobeyed his orders, hadn’t she? She’d come home late, or close enough to it. She’d shown no remorse. He should kill her tonight. In fact, he didn’t know why he’d waited this long. He should have killed her that very first night, there in the graveyard, just like he’d planned…