Luna

by Stella Fitzsimons

  Relax, Sophie, relax. Do not give him the satisfaction.

  I decided not to smack his smug face for that vulgar insinuation. Instead, I calmly took out a box of instant coffee from the pantry. My Gram bought it when she was in town junior year. It was almost certainly expired by now.

  “All I have is instant,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  Don’t smack him, don’t smack him, don’t smack him.

  I put two mugs of water into the microwave.

  “Timer set at two minutes,” I said. “It’ll feel like an eternity.”

  “Said the witch who has barely yet lived.”

  “And what have you done with all your extra years, old man, besides avoiding good manners, abusing baby witches and kicking puppies?”

  “My accomplishments are beyond your understanding,” he said.

  “Yeah, because I’m not a sociopath.”

  The microwave beeped and I got busy mixing the coffee.

  “What do you take, oh great Magistrate?” I said with the sweetest smile. “Milk? Sugar? Cyanide? Perhaps the blood of innocents?”

  He reached out. I handed him his coffee. He drank down the entire scalding mug in two quick gulps.

  “I guess it’s true what they say about those who take their coffee black.”

  “Drink,” he demanded with an impatient glare.

  “Total psychos,” I said, finishing my thought.

  He got up, spun around and drew a sword out of his coat. He touched the blade with one finger. I didn’t know much about swords, but I could tell this one was quite impressive and very old.

  In a blink he swung the sword up so I was face to face with the tip.

  “You don’t have to immediately prove my point,” I said.

  Just as quickly, he flipped the sword upside down, tip to floor, and offered me the hilt with a sort of a half bow.

  Not knowing what else to do, I took it. Better I hold it than him.

  In a blur, he shifted his weight and a second sword swooshed into his hand out of nowhere.

  Where’s he keeping these things?

  His sword was longer and heavier than the one in my hand. With not so much as a sound, he brought his blade metal-to-metal against mine.

  “En-garde, prêt, allez!”

  “No thanks,” I said and then clanked his blade away with mine. “First with the monster and now with the sword battle and what was that, French?”

  He considered my words. “How American of you… of course that was French. You’re stalling, what nonsense are you concocting now?”

  “Me? This is all on you, black coffee drinker. Don’t play dumb. You sent a big ugly demon bear to stalk me Thursday night. Luckily, I managed to throw it off my scent. I suppose it was a test. What, did you want me to use my magic on the beast? Then again, you tell me not to use my magic, so which is it? You’ll have to tell me, because I’m over these bullshit tests.”

  There was a visible shift in his expression. My words had resonated. “The beast was not my doing, but I’ll look into it. Scent phantoms hunt magic. Those excessive spells better not have been yours.”

  “Oh, in case I wasn’t clear… I’m so over your threats, too.”

  Provoking him was playing with fire, but it felt good. I no longer ruled out the possibility that he meant me no harm. He had, after all, defended me in front of the Seventh Council of Immortal Magistrates.

  The only certainty was that my life wasn’t in immediate danger, not while I was of use to the Immortal Magistrates.

  “Raise that sword,” he said. “I will teach you to defend yourself without conjuring unsealed magic.”

  “Because one lesson is all I’ll need to defeat all comers.”

  I didn’t plan on following through, but when his sword came down hard, I put mine forth instinctively and blocked the blow. I stared at my own hands, mystified. How could they handle Winter’s superior strength?

  He spun, the sword whizzing in the air as it came full circle, aiming for my throat. I stepped back quickly. If I was sure of anything, it was that he had no qualms about inflicting pain, and I wasn’t in the mood for a beat down.

  “You’re crazy,” I yelled as he took another swing at me. I dove to the side to dodge the blow, but I was too slow. He knocked the sword from my hand and pressed the hilt of his sword against my chest.

  “This is a valuable lesson. You’d do well to pay close attention.”

  “I have the bruising part down,” I said, pissed off. “I’m all up to speed.”

  He pressed harder. “Anger is your adversary, not I. It’s your biggest weakness. The energy is there, at your fingertips. Use it.”

  “Wait, I thought not using magic was the whole point.”

  “You don’t have to project your magic out into the open air where other charmed beings will sense it and the beasts will smell it. You must channel your energy straight into the sword, turning it into a contained extension of your arm. One energy, body and object.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. Nobody had ever taught me how to Inspector Gadget myself to inanimate objects. There had been no mention of such strange magic during my training years in the Deep Down or my conversations with Grandma.

  It was most definitely not a lunar thing.

  Winter released the pressure slowly, found my sword on the floor and returned it to my right hand by squeezing my fingers tightly around the grip.

  “It’s all here,” he said, tapping on my fingertips one by one. “All the power you need. Use it to forge a connective path and infuse your sword with magic.”

  I stared down at the sword. “One energy.”

  He raised his sword above my head. I visualized his sword falling strong and fast, splitting me in half. There would be no coming back from that.

  And then it happened—the sword fell. I ducked to shield myself with my blade, then kicked Winter in the groin before spinning away. My balance and instincts felt superhuman. My sword met his again, a violent collision, purple and green sparks sizzling across my blade as I screeched my lungs out.

  Every blow I delivered buzzed up my arm all the way up to my skull and down my spine, jolting me into action. I had an intimate sense of the sword as if it were my own hands. My brain, nervous system and magic streamlined and created incredible power and speed that allowed me to hold my own and defend myself against Winter even though he was stronger and faster.

  I grew confident and lunged at him one more time, summoning all that I had and sending it straight into the sword.

  Winter stepped back. Wow.

  “Not bad for a novice, huh?” I said, breathless.

  He grinned. “You’d perish quickly facing an immortal swordsman but against unsuspecting mortals? You’d kick their ass and no one would know there was magic involved.”

  Sweat tickled my eyebrows and I had not yet caught my breath.

  Winter circled me. “Magic is futile against Immortals. Bullets are futile. We disarm tech through sheer intellectual will. But a sword in the right hands can create a variable that might help mortal users of magic like yourself to survive a limited confrontation with an Immortal. Does this possibility interest you? To stand toe-to-toe with an Immortal adversary?”

  I plopped down on the sofa. Adrenaline burned through me. “Getting in sword fights with Immortals sounds like bad career move. Why would I want that to happen? I need answers. What kind of help do you need exactly?”

  Silence ensued.

  “Is that the question you want answered?” he said finally. “Because I will answer one question only.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, what help is a lunar witch to you?”

  “It’s right in your naming. You can command the Moon.”

  I shook my head. “Command? It’s more of a partnership. The Moon must be willing to oblige.”

  “You know better than that, Luna Mae.” He locked his eyes on mine. “Have you ever heard of Chaos?

  “As in the opposite of or
der?”

  “Not the word, the Immortal. He is the leader of the rebellion.”

  “Chaos is his name?”

  “His name, his plan, his everything,” Winter said. “He intends to take control of every Immortal Council and then proceed to subdue or destroy every magical faction dwelling in the Deep Down.”

  He was trusting me with details of the rebellion? This was beyond anything I had hoped to draw out of him. “It must be bleak,” I said cautiously. “To tell a witch all this and a baby witch at that.”

  Winter opened his hands, almost helpless.

  “This Chaos dude,” I pondered with a laugh, “I assume he’s ancient, shouldn’t he have been inspired by his extremely on-the-nose name before?”

  “This amuses you?” he said, furrowing his brow.

  “Sorry, no, I’m just worn out.”

  He walked to the window. “It took him hundreds of years to build allegiance with enough renegade Immortals to attempt this insurrection. Some say he has two hundred with him, others say he has as many as three hundred with the extra hundred hiding among the faithful. He’ll need more, but how many more we do not know.”

  “So, stop him now before he finds more renegades.”

  “We will need your help.”

  A disturbing thought. “You’re not going to sacrifice me or some shit?”

  “Or some shit.”

  A knock on the door.

  “Expecting anyone?” he said.

  I shook my head. Please don’t be Faion.

  “Sophie?” Lily’s voice came through the door as she tried the lock.

  “Shit, she has a key,” I whispered, springing to my feet.

  Winter nodded, giving me permission to open the door.

  Lily became transfixed with Winter the moment I opened the door.

  “Oh, my bad,” she said. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  “Old family friend,” I said and then I remembered. The swords! I scanned the living room and found nothing. They were gone, probably back inside the Immortal’s coat. Finally, he was good for something.

  “On my way out,” Winter said dryly, walking by Lily to the door.

  She pinched my arm, forming a silent wow with her lips.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” she shouted after he had closed the door.

  I rolled my eyes. “Very mature, Lil.”

  “You got your Viking already? He’s fucking hot. Order me one, too.”

  “Gross, he’s old and like an uncle and not a favorite uncle.”

  “Really? He’d be my favorite uncle,” Lilly said, batting her eyes.

  “You’re such a tart,” I said and then headed to the kitchen.

  Lily followed. “What’s his name? Is he from Oregon?”

  I shrugged. “He knows my grandma, friend of an uncle from way back. I don’t know where he lives. He just stopped by randomly.”

  “He’s not a relative and he just stopped by? He’s into you.”

  “C’mon, Lily, he’s like thirty-five.” More like thirty-five hundred.

  “So?”

  “Changing subjects, sort of. I’ve actually met someone and he’s a bit more age appropriate.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Viking hot?”

  “I’m not honoring that question. His name is Emmet Groshek. He’s a medical intern at Sharp Memorial Hospital and a fitness trainer.”

  Details always help when you’re trying to be elusive.

  Lily frowned. “Emmet Groshek? Well, I guess if he’s a doctor and fairly hot, he doesn’t need a name. When will I meet him?”

  “We haven’t even had a proper date yet,” I protested.

  “Shut up,” she said, excited. “Did sweet little Sophie have a one-night stand? Do I smell sex in here?”

  “I swear, Lil, your mind is a total cesspool.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she said, happily. “So, I’m here on Lucia’s behalf. She’d love to have you for Sunday dinner. Bring Doctor Emmet.”

  “No, not Emmet, but mind if I bring someone else?”

  “Yes, on the mystery guest. You know Lucia cooks enough for an army.”

  “Tell your mom I’ll be there,” I said.

  CHAPTER 12

  ____________________________________

  Emmet drove up in a silver Toyota Camry, dressed in a lavender polo and black cargo shorts. He knew of a quiet beach near Silver Strand, hidden from the road by a row of live oak trees.

  I never thought I would contact him, but I kept his card. For two days, I resisted the urge to text him. This morning I gave in. His response was instant.

  Ed Sheeran played quietly in the car as Emmet turned onto the ocean front drive. I slid my window down to fill my lungs with fresh sea air.

  “I needed this,” I said.

  He grinned as he turned into a parking area. I took in the sky-blue ocean expanse with hungry enthusiasm. Speaking of hunger, on the way to the ocean Emmet stopped at Monello to pick up a preorder which included grilled chicken, Fettuccine Alfredo with diced tomatoes and spinach, four-cheese calzones, freshly baked bread and Italian sodas.

  I watched happily as he spread out a beach towel and then splayed the food cartons out on it with surgical precision.

  He plopped down onto the sand. I did the same. He shot me one of his radiant smiles. My heart skipped a beat. His smiles were dangerous.

  Emmet had picked the loveliest spot. I could hear the waves crashing—ocean breezes kissed my neck and played quietly in my hair. The total chill of it all was such a comforting change from the turmoil of my last few days.

  That beach, that boy, they made me feel safe and strong.

  “We’re safe here,” Emmet said, handing me a napkin.

  Had he read my mind?

  “Safe?”

  “The other night at the bar, I felt you were frightened.”

  I shrugged. “Oh, that, I can be a stress monkey sometimes. Thanks for saving my night. That was cool. I’m good, Emmet. All good in the hood. Good and boring and safe.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I should be upfront about that.”

  “About what?”

  “My dirty secret. I’m boring. Just a prisoner of my bullet journal. One task and then another until bedtime. Spontaneity be damned.”

  Emmet grinned. “Well, I made it through med school. I haven’t exactly been living with wild abandon.”

  I liked him. “I guess that makes us boring compatible.”

  He grinned. “Works for me, although my life wasn’t always such smooth sailing. My early years were a little more ragged.”

  “Ragged how? Parents? Parties? Drugs?”

  “I touched all the bases of a troubled youth. Drugs, sure. Running away from home, unhappy parents, hanging with the wrong crowds.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” I said, incredulous. I shook my head. “I would have guessed you were the perfect boy-next-door.”

  “Sounds like you never went next door,” he said, reflectively. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  No argument there. “Well, you’ve turned it around nicely, Dr. Groshek.”

  He bit into a calzone. “Still warm.”

  I grabbed a calzone and gave it a good chomp. “Mmmm,” I moaned.

  He chuckled. “Hungry?”

  I nodded. “Almost hangry,” I said with my mouth full.

  We chewed and smiled until he handed me a water bottle.

  “Agua,” he said.

  “Gracias.” I wiped my mouth. “So, Emmet, what do you want?”

  I could see a thousand thoughts behind his eyes.

  “In a global sense? We’re not talking about… now? Like in my life as a whole?”

  I laughed. “Yes, Emmet, in the grander scheme.”

  “I knew that,” he said. “I want to do some good. Be an agent for positive change in the universe.”

  “Did you remember that from your last pageant?” I said.

  “I’m
serious,” he said. “I was still a kid and I just drew a line in the sand and decided I would not be a pure consumer, swimming in the techno wonderland until death, a slave to pleasure and escapism.”

  “Good God, Emmet,” I said, wildly impressed. “You really dig in when you answer a question.”

  “I know it sounds pretentious or whatever, but I want to add something to this world, not just use it all up as I’m using up all my precious time.”

  “I feel like I should clap,” I teased. “But really, I loved that. We can’t always hide our words and deeper thoughts for fear of judgment.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I immediately regret saying that.”

  “Don’t, you might have even scored some points, don’t worry.”

  “I’m totally worried. Those words won’t age well. I’m hearing that video game sound where you go over the cliff and lose all your points.”

  Was this guy real?

  “In a video game,” I said, “you can always start the level again.”

  “If only life were that way,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” I said, firmly. “Most of my levels I wouldn’t want to do again.”

  Emmet found a pebble and threw it hard enough to reach the water.

  “That’s my story,” he said. “Now yours.”

  “Dude, that was totally not your story. There were like zero specifics. That was barely even broad strokes.”

  He laughed. “You noticed that, huh? Okay, broad strokes then.”

  “I see you, Groshek. You’re kind of smooth. Duly noted.”

  For the first time, we just looked at each other, without hesitation. We were forging a deeper connection and, to be honest, it was exciting.

  “Sophie’s broad strokes,” he said, softly.

  I filled my lungs with ocean air. “Okay, I might as well get it out of the way. I’m leaving for Europe after the holidays.”

  Assuming I’m not dead by then.

  He squinted his eyes. “After the holidays?”

  “Yeah,” I said, reflecting his disappointment. “Graduate school.”

  “Wow,” he said, taken aback.

  “It’ll be a year. At least a year, rather.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Ethnology,” I answered, apologetically.

  His eyes glimmered as he took my hand. “Not the end of the world,” he said. “We can get a head start on your studies. Isn’t ethnology the study of relationships between people?”