by Liz Everly
Was he fishing for more details? Jeanie found herself flattered that he was so interested and considered the question with genuine thoughtfulness. "I really don't know. I think I need to completely transform my life. I was happy enough with my job, but it wasn't something I felt a real passion for, I must admit."
"You picked the right place to regroup. I've always envied your orchard. Such a paradise."
Jeanie laughed. "You wouldn't say that if you were picking apples for hours on end. The way your shoulders ache!"
Darren grinned. "I suppose it's just the romanticism of a city boy. Suburbia seems like the wilds to me," he said, gesturing at the backyard.
"And the orchards don't seem wild enough to me," Jeanie mused, feeling a strange thrill of something run up her spine as she thought of the fairy ring. "Maybe I should take off for a year in the wilds."
"I'd rather you didn't. Not just yet anyway," Darren said in a soft voice. "I'm enjoying meeting you again as an adult."
"We have changed so much." Jeanie tried not to worry that she hadn't changed at all. Saying good night made her feel little different from a teenager.
"Do you really have to go?" Darren smiled as they lingered at the door.
"I do, I was up early and am falling asleep even now. Probably due to you stuffing me with so much food. Thank you. It was a lovely dinner." Jeanie leaned in to kiss his cheek, but Darren moved in to kiss her on the lips. She let it happen, enjoying the warm contact of their lips.
Taking courage from her acquiescence, Darren wrapped his arms around her shoulders and the kiss grew more intense. His tongue probed between her lips and explored deeper. He was much more confident than when they had been awkward teenagers. No surprise, eh? But Jeanie found herself pleasantly impressed at the passion he showed.
She found herself responding, enjoying the press of their bodies together and the heat in the exchange. Yet she broke the kiss first, looking up at his face experiencing a mixture of eagerness and puzzlement. "Good night, Darren."
"Would it cause too much talk if I had you over for dinner tomorrow, too?"
"Probably."
"Seven?" He grinned, his eyes bright.
"I…let me think it over, okay?" Jeanie smiled nonetheless. "I'm not sure how much controversy I want to start in the first week."
"Call me. Or just come. I'll be here."
Jeanie drove home with those words echoing in her head. Certainly the buzz of the kiss filled her with a warm sense of arousal. It must have showed on her face when she walked in the house.
"Are you two waiting up for me?" Jeanie said, not a bit fooled by the detective novels her mother and grandmother held in their laps.
"No, no, we're just reading as we often do this time of night—ooh, is that the time?" Beatrice yawned.
"Looks like it was a good kiss," Gabriella said, rising and stretching, a finger keeping her place in the latest Val McDermid novel.
"Hush, mother! I don't want to have to think about you thinking about me having a good kiss." Jeanie made a face and they all laughed.
"But was it?" her mother persisted.
"Surprisingly good," Jeanie affirmed and then kissed the two of them good night before heading up the stairs. She thought of the kiss again as she brushed her teeth, but her dreams that night also reached back to the fairy ring and the book she had so carefully concealed.
Jeanie danced naked around the fairy ring, a blue circle of light protecting her. Around the circle the fae folk sang and frolicked. Darren appeared wearing an animal mask—badger? Or maybe it was a wolverine—and he used a knife to cut an entrance to the circle. He danced along behind her, closer and closer until he was right up against her, his erection nestling in the cleft of her cheeks as his arms wrapped around her. Jeanie leaned back against him, turning her head for a deep kiss. Another man appeared before her and pressed against her eagerly. She turned back to kiss him, unaffected by the wolf's mask he wore. "Never mind the teeth," he whispered, and as they kissed he slipped his rigid cock between her thighs and all at once she was on the ground and the music swelled as he ploughed deep within her. Jeanie arched her back with pleasure and felt many hands upon her, stroking her skin, pinching her nipples and biting the soft skin of her shoulders and neck. So many hands, so many mouths, and she cried out with pleasure as she came again and again.
"Come buy, come buy—"
Jeanie awoke with a start, the reverberations of her orgasm still echoing through her limbs. She reached between her legs to find herself very wet, a touch bringing another spasm of pleasure. Accustomed to trusting her body's responses, Jeanie nonetheless felt a bit betrayed by her body's wild pleasures in the dream.
Jeanie lay awake for a time, wondering if she should blame the book, the fairy ring or Darren for the uncanny dream. She smiled ruefully. She didn't mind an orgy dream, but the animal masks had to go. The cold air made her shiver and she slipped out of bed to lower the window. As she did so, a light drew her eyes. She squinted. It might have been a reflection—no. There was a light in the woods. Or was it lights—
—right about where the fairy ring lay.
Maybe she was still dreaming. But Jeanie didn't need to pinch herself to be sure that she was not. The chill of the night air on her skin was real enough, the goosebumps it caused were, too. In vain she tried to see more clearly. Where were her birdwatching binoculars? Jeanie glanced over her shoulder trying to remember the last time she had seen them. Then she looked back out the window.
If she got dressed and went to investigate, would she be like the stupid heroine of a horror film just before she gets killed by the monster? Or would she find a bunch of kids drinking beer and put an end to the silly idea of goblin men?
Before she could make a decision the lights winked out and there was only darkness and her own ghostly reflection on the window pane left. "I'm going back to bed," Jeanie announced to no one in particular and crawled back under the covers. She figured her troubled thoughts would keep her awake tossing and turning, but almost at once she fell asleep again and did not wake until the bright sun announced it was day. Jeanie stretched and hopped out of bed.
A sun salutation later, Jeanie stood before her altar. Grounding and centering came easy enough, but then she paused. What was it she wanted to do? Her altar was a workspace as well as a sacred one. It kept her honest as well as offering comfort and guidance. Usually when she found herself uncertain the magic of her communions with spirit renewed her resolve and showed her the path waiting to unfurl before her.
But now she paused because she didn't even know what to ask. Jeanie had asked to be open to opportunity but now she didn't know which way to turn. She looked at her goddesses: Brigit, Kali, Freya and Bast. Such fierce women! Jeanie felt a flush of embarrassment. Had she ever lived up to the models they offered?
She lit a red candle. "I ask to be worthy of your worship, great ladies. I ask to find my resolve as fiercely as your own. Where I waver, may I find certainty. Where I am wandering, may I find the path. Let me not drift, but find purpose. As you will it, so mote it be." Jeanie meditated on the flickering candle's flame as it burned and felt her spirits rise once more. She left the altar with a renewed sense of purpose.
Downstairs she found her mother and grandmother gathering baskets and buckets. "Ready to pick blackberries?" Beatrice greeted her, handing her a mug of tea.
"You betcha!"
They finished their tea and then trooped out to the rows of bushes that had been growing for decades. The plump ripeness of the heavy black treats was unparalleled in Jeanie's experience. As a child she assumed blackberries everywhere were just as flavorful and juicy. Experience had showed her wrong. Even in this region Jeanie had been surprised to find out how much better their patch was than any of the neighbors she had visited.
Though they had started early enough, the sun beat down before long with a considerable weight. Jeanie was grateful for the Red Sox cap she'd grabbed as they were heading out but looked with envy at her
mother's broad-brimmed sun hat. "I should get a new hat for the garden," she called over to her.
Beatrice stood us, a hand to her back. "If you're buying, can I also get a new and far less creaky spine?"
"Sorry, I believe they're sold out on spines. I'll let you know when they're back in stock." Jeanie wiped the sweat out of her eyes.
"Well, we're almost to the end of the row. I say we reward ourselves with berries on ice cream with chocolate sauce," Gabriella said.
"Hear hear!" Jeanie cheered.
Lunch was a noisy if not especially healthy repast, with much laughter. Jeanie felt refilled with joy and confidence. The uncanny unease from her dreams had evaporated at last, though her curiosity about the lights resurfaced.
"There's a fairy ring in the forest, near the stream in the clearing," Jeanie said, not quite sure how she expected her mother and grandmother to react. They exchanged glances and in the look Jeanie saw something pass that made her uncertainty return. "What?"
"You always come back to that," her mother said, shaking her head and picking up the dishes to take to the sink.
"Back to what?"
"The story, the girls."
"What? I don't know what you mean." Jeanie wrinkled her brow.
"Lizzie and Laura," her grandmother said softly.
The surprise on her face must have been clear. "But I thought that happened back in the old country. Didn't it?"
"Indeed," Gabriella said, her face uncharacteristically serious. "By a fairy ring near a stream in a clearing."
"Oh." Jeanie stared down at her hands. "Is there something more about the story you didn't tell me as a child?"
It was her mother's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean?"
"I—I don't know, I just wondered." Jeanie felt herself flushing a little. "I've had some strange dreams…"
"Strange?"
"Well, if you must know, sort of um, sexy." She could feel her cheeks turn pink.
"About the goblins?" Gabriella clearly looked surprised.
"Sort of. I think." Jeanie began to feel doubtful.
"Maybe it was influenced your date last night," Beatrice suggested. "And you just don't want to make the connection."
"I'm sure that's all it is," Gabriella agreed, though there was something in her face that looked troubled.
Jeanie shrugged. "I suppose."
But later, as she went up the stairs, her steps drew her back to the jumble room and the big oak wardrobe. She'd forgotten to mention the lights, Jeanie realized as she stared at the red wax seal, frowning. While good at her job, Janie had never really had a passion for the work. She did it well and took pleasure in her accomplishments, but there was no zeal.
She felt a passion stirring inside her and somehow it was connected to the secrets inside the wardrobe.
Jeanie stared at the wax. Magic 101, she thought. What would Bast do? Suddenly inspired, she trotted back to her altar and hunted out the ceremonial dagger, the athame, from the cupboard beneath it. Blood was the oldest seal there was. Jeanie stood before the wardrobe, athame uplifted, its blade reflecting the bright sunlight.
"Blood calls to blood. Let the seal be opened."
She brought down the blade and winced as it struck her palm. Just a small cut, but enough to bleed. She let a few drops form, then put her palm to the imprint on the seal. It loosed a small vibration. Jeanie could feel it through the wood.
But it was no more than a shudder.
Jeanie frowned at the wood, disappointed. Then with a sigh she walked back to her room, intending to do some research on seals and locking charms, but on inspiration dug the Rossetti poem out from under the stack of folders and flipped through it again. There had to be a clue in there, she was sure of it.
She was still reading it when her phone rang. It always startled her. Most of Jeanie's friends texted back and forth, so an actual call was a rarity. Of course it was Darren.
"Are we on for dinner tonight?"
"I feel like I owe it to every chick flick ever made to play harder to get, but all right."
"See you at seven."
Jeanie laughed and agreed.
Yet when she pulled up at his house later a sense of misgiving rose in her thoughts. Maybe it was just the fact she was seeing him two nights in a row. Tongues would be wagging for sure, Jeanie thought as she looked at the neighboring houses, imagining she saw twitching curtains everywhere.
She was being contrary. She'd had a lovely time last night, the conversation had come easily and the kiss… Well, the kiss was entirely satisfactory. So what was wrong?
"Nothing, nothing at all," she muttered.
Darren opened the door before she rang the bell. "Hello!" A quick kiss as she stepped inside, then he was running back to the kitchen. "I just have to make sure the timer's set," Darren called over his shoulder.
"What's on offer tonight," Jeanie said, sniffing curiously. "I smell cilantro!"
"I hope you like Mexican," Darren said, making a face as she followed him into the kitchen.
"Love it, provided it's not New England Mexican."
Darren crooked an eyebrow at her. "New England Mexican?"
"I know too many people around here who think horseradish is too spicy!"
"Look," Darren said with a comically serious expression, holding out a spoon. "Not only jalapeños but also serranos."
Jeanie tasted the salsa. "Mmmm, delicious and with a good bite. I approve. Not New Englandish at all."
Darren marched Jeanie out onto the patio again with a pitcher of margaritas, bidding her wait to be served. She let herself be cajoled along and sat on the lounge with her feet crossed watching the late day sun descend. It was nice enough here, but she could never reconcile herself to suburbia.
Darren came out bearing chips and salsa, a fresh garnish of cilantro making the bowl look festive. "Pour me one of those, would you?"
They toasted over the chips. "To possibilities," Darren said with a mischievous air.
The food was good and Darren modest about his skills. Though Jeanie teased, "I'm a sucker for a guy who cooks well," she could tell the compliment pleased him. It had been some time since she had had a meal with as much flavor, although the simple freshness of the food prepared by her mother and grandmother had great power.
"Ow." Some of the sauce from the enchilada got into the fresh cut on her palm and stung. Jeanie put her hand to her mouth and licked it, hoping that would ease the pain.
"What did you do to yourself?" Darren took her hand to look at the cut. "Let me get a sticky bandage for it."
"Oh, it's nothing much. It just stings a little." Jeanie shook her hand a little. "I was just doing a ritual that didn't go anywhere."
"Ritual?" Darren frowned. "You're not still into that, are you?"
"Into that?" Jeanie looked at him with surprise.
"That witch stuff." He made a face. "I thought that was just your teen angst."
Jeanie laughed. "Teen angst? This is a tradition passed down through my family for generations."
"Aw, but it isn't."
"Oh, yes it is." Jeanie looked at him with confusion. "Didn't you believe me when I told you?"
Darren shrugged and sipped his margarita. "I just thought it a phase. Girls do that. Imagination."
Jeanie felt a heat in her belly that had nothing to do with peppers. "My family tradition you dismissed as 'a phase' that 'imaginative' teen girls go through." Her words rang with sarcasm.
"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it." Darren looked at her, a mixture of hurt and surprise in his eyes.
"It was very hard for me to tell you that when I did," Jeanie said, remembering all too keenly the terror she had felt at confessing her family's true history to the boy she really liked. And he'd been sneering at her the whole time! She felt a flush of chagrin for her teen self.
"I just didn't—well, you could hardly expect me to take it seriously, could you?" It was his turn to look irritated.
"I opened my heart to you about
the most important thing in my life and you dismissed it?" She was flabbergasted. A painfully truthful child, she had always been expected to be believed. It was the worst sort of betrayal—even if it was years in the past.
"I know now, there's a name for it—Wicca. I do read the newspapers." He poured another margarita for himself and held out the pitcher, ready to refill hers.
Jeanie ignored that. "I'm not talking about Wicca. I'm talking about my family's heritage, an art that's been passed down for generations, innovated by each practitioner, adapted to her own life but with the same skills. Not something learned from a book, a living tradition."
"But you don't believe in magic, do you?" He looked up at her for she had risen to her feet, passion tensing her limbs.
"It's the only thing I believe in." Jeanie turned on her heel and left, striding through his house out the door and into her mother's car. Her heart pounded a drumming sound in her ears.
When she pulled up to the house, her pulse had calmed somewhat. She felt a bit abashed at blowing up at Darren, but there was also something in her heart that seemed to have fallen into place and despite everything she felt good. As she walked to the house her spirits lifted.
Then she heard a sound behind her. Jeanie turned around, expecting to see a deer bounding away. They often did their best to raid the kitchen garden. Scanning the twilit grounds she saw nothing. Walking again toward the door, she heard a strange susurration behind her, turned and squinted.
Nothing.
A raccoon, probably—or maybe even a possum. Again she turned toward the door and refused to turn around again until she felt a small hand brush against her leg and leapt into the air. "What?!"
And there was nothing. Nothing anyway that she could see, though once again her heart beat a staccato tune. Jeanie stared into the darkness and then turned once more and hastily trotted up onto the porch without looking back, muttering to herself a plant, a long blade of grass, nothing, a bug, a moth, nothing at all, I'm sure of it. Yet she stopped at the porch to look back one final time. There were a few lightning bugs in the air, lazily blinking along, nothing more to be seen. You're being silly, she scolded herself and stepped inside. "I'm home."