Impassion (Mystic)

by B. C. Burgess

  Her grandmothers passed her to her grandfathers, but she barely noticed. Her heart was too swollen and sore over Quin. She’d only known him for four days, yet she was crushed, absolutely demolished.

  By the time her grandparents stepped back to look at her, Layla didn’t have the energy to fear their reprimand. She deserved harsh words and would let them soak in; punish her for her stupidity. Maybe that would ease her broken heart.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered, making a pitiful attempt to hide her sorrow. “I shouldn’t have left.”

  “No you shouldn’t have,” Serafin agreed, but he didn’t look angry, only relieved.

  “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you put yourself in?” Morrigan asked, pleading with bloodshot eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have left,” Layla repeated. “It was inconsiderate of me to make you worry. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

  Her grandparents stepped forward, touching her shoulders, face and hair.

  “Yes,” Daleen confirmed, “we were so worried about you. But don’t be sorry because you made us worry. Be sorry because you put yourself in danger.”

  “How much danger am I going to get into on the beach?” Layla countered.

  “More than you think,” Caitrin answered. “We’ll figure this out, Layla. Then you can come and go as you please. No one will tell you how to live your life, but for now, please put your safety first.”

  “I understand,” she conceded. “I’m sorry for my immaturity. I’ll try to control my emotions better from now on.”

  “Go get some sleep,” Serafin suggested. “This conversation is over. We won’t mention it again, and we don’t want you feeling guilty over it. Just give us some time to make sure you’re safe before leaving by yourself again. Please.”

  Layla nodded, but she would feel guilty no matter what anyone said. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” She turned and headed for her lonely house, but she only made it halfway there before Caitrin called her name.

  “Yeah,” she replied, morosely turning back.

  “Your magic’s improving quickly,” he noted. “I can barely see your aura.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, foolishly looking down. “I didn’t know… forgot I pulled it in.”

  “You hide it very well,” he observed.

  She shrugged. “Guess that’s a good thing.”

  “It can be,” he agreed. “But you’re home now, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

  “Oh.” She’d been holding in the haze so long it had become effortless, and the strengthened emotions seemed natural. “Guess I don’t.”

  But the aura stayed hidden as she turned and dejectedly shuffled home.

  Chapter 20

  Layla’s swollen eyes and tortured mind drifted open early Wednesday morning, but she wished they’d stayed closed. Waking up in her new bed without Quin’s arms around her hurt like hell.

  She curled into a ball and resumed her crying binge from the night before. She’d cried for hours, soaking her pillow and chafing her throat, and when at last she drifted to sleep, she dreamed about Quin, sweetly, and that hurt like hell, too.

  He’d spoiled her. Every morning he’d hugged her tight, kissed her head, and summoned her coffee. Now she was lying alone with no coffee. He’d become as much a part of her life as anything surrounding her; now he was gone.

  She wanted him back, damn it. Caitlyn be damned, Layla wanted Quin back. In that moment of lonely desperation, she was willing to deal with every crazy witch in the world just to feel his arms around her.

  Blah! He’d made her crazy. She had to get a grip. Quin wasn’t there, and she had to deal with that.

  She rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, but halfway across the room something out of order caught her eye. She looked at the coffee table, and found the bouquet of flowers Quin made her the day he introduced her to magic. Arranged in a blown glass vase, the multicolored roses and stargazer lily flourished—a little stick man tied to their stalks with a yellow wildflower. Next to the bouquet, emitting a wispy swirl of steam, sat an oversized mug of coffee.

  Layla sank to the floor and started bawling again. Quin still touched her, but from a distance now, and she wasn’t okay with that.

  After a long moment of blubbering, she literally slapped sense into herself and crawled to the table, getting a whiff of the flowers as she took the cup. Doctored just the way she liked it, the coffee was perfect, but she didn’t sigh her satisfaction. The best coffee in the world lost much of its appeal when Quin wasn’t there to give it to her. Still, she took one more sip before setting it down.

  In an effort to find a feeling of self-worth or success, Layla spent the day practicing magic. Everything from showering to fixing meals and cleaning up messes was mapped out in her mind before becoming a magical reality. If she needed it, she summoned it. If something needed moved, she swept her hand in that direction. If she needed to move, she floated or flew. While hovering over her deck beneath falling rain, she evoked air, water, earth and fire, and found them equally easy. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t fine one shred of excitement, not one sliver of hope, not one iota of peace.

  For two hours she sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing as she magically picked miniscule bites from a tasteless sandwich. Then she spent an hour sitting on the bathroom vanity, watching the way her body tensed when she pulled her aura in, and the way her expression shifted when her mind changed.

  After biting a nail until it bled, she began floating around the house in search of a distraction, which she discovered in the turret room.

  She carefully picked up her dad’s guitar then sat on the stool, wondering if she could play using magic. She gave it a try, and the tune to Mary Had A Little Lamb strummed itself out, but it wasn’t satisfying, so she physically strummed, randomly moving her fingers along the fret board. It didn’t sound like a song, but it was better than wounded silence, so she played the nonsensical tune over and over again. The repetitiveness was hypnotic, and she closed her eyes, breathing a little easier as the mantra filled her senses.

  “Layla?”

  She snapped her head up and sucked her aura in, her heart jolting as Quin’s voice floated from the spiral staircase. Desired yet agonizing, his approach spun her into a whirlwind of emotions.

  She twirled around and propped her feet on the windowsill, squishing the guitar between her thighs and chest. Then she nervously plucked the strings, her face mere inches from the wooden bridge.

  Quin halted on the stairs, listening to the soft plinking of an acoustic guitar. The fact that she continued to play was a promising sign, so he took one more step and turned into the room.

  “Hey,” he greeted, searching for her aura, but there wasn’t one to find. Only an occasional shimmer—a white wisp here and there.

  “Hey,” she replied, but she didn’t turn around or stop plucking. “Thanks for the coffee this morning… and for keeping my flowers alive.”

  Quin swallowed the lump that seized his throat the moment she spoke. Though her voice was scratchy and strained, it was the sweetest he’d heard and he missed it like crazy. He ran his itchy hands through his hair then rubbed his tight jaw, watching her breathe while searching for a way to make things right.

  “I know I may not be welcome,” he began. “If that’s the case, please tell me and I’ll leave, because the last thing I want is for you to leave.”

  “I won’t,” she assured. “I acted immaturely yesterday and I regret my behavior. Sorry you had to come find me.”

  “Don’t apologize, Layla.”

  “Why not? That’s what you do when you make someone angry.”

  “I’m not angry with you.”

  Her plucking stopped then picked back up. “You should be.”

  “I
t’s my fault you put yourself in that situation,” he countered, “but I’m not here to argue about who’s right or wrong.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Several reasons, but first I need to get something off my chest so I can focus on fixing things.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  He hesitated, wishing he could see her face or aura. He wasn’t used to flying blind and found it quite a challenge.

  He rubbed his neck and took a deep breath, determined to get the worrisome subject out of the way. “That man you were with last night—Finley. Is he someone you might be interested in?”

  Her plucking paused as she tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I don’t trust him.” He steeled himself, forcing the next sentence off his reluctant tongue. “If you want to be with someone else, that’s your business, but that guy’s shady.”

  “He seemed nice to me,” she replied. “Well… until you showed up. He got out of line then. What makes you so leery of him?”

  “He’s a complete stranger,” Quin explained, “and a magician doesn’t conceal their aura while spending a casual evening by a bonfire unless they have something to hide.”

  “I lighten my aura all the time,” she returned.

  “I’ve noticed,” he grimaced. Then he cleared his throat and pressed his concerns. “I realize I have no right to tell you who to hang out with, but I didn’t bring this up in an effort to mandate your life. I’m just worried. If you’re interested in Finley, have someone in the family help you learn more about him before putting yourself in a vulnerable situation with him. You don’t even have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. Just let someone know.”

  “You’re beating yourself up over pointless words, Quin. I’m not the least bit interested in Finley and will probably never see him again. Stop worrying about it.”

  “You’re not just saying that, are you? Don’t be afraid to hurt my feelings.” It would hurt, a lot.

  “I’m not just saying it to spare your feelings,” she assured, resuming her plucking.

  A portion of Quin’s tension eased as he took her word for it. “Good, because I really don’t trust him.”

  “Apparently. Is there something else you need?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  Quin pulled in a deep breath, wishing she would look at him for this part, because he’d never spoke truer words. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Layla. It’s the worst feeling in the world, but I don’t know what I could have done differently. Maybe I should have waited to kiss you… to touch your body, but I can’t regret what we’ve done. I’d do it all over again, every moment we’ve had together.”

  She plucked harder as her aura faded in and out; and he stepped closer, continuing his plea.

  “I realize you’re concerned Caitlyn might cause trouble, but I’ve known her for twenty years and can assure you she’s harmless. Yes, she was hurt by my rejection, but not enough to undergo an unhealthy personality shift. I can imagine seeing your parents go through such horrible things due to a spiteful witch has had a huge affect on you, and I’m sorry I didn’t consider that sooner. But I swear, Layla, in this situation, your fears are unnecessary, and I can easily prove it. Caitlyn remains a family friend and a good person, so if I were to invite her here to meet you and ease your mind, she would accept.” He took another step. His feet gave him no choice in the matter. “As for the lie, I have no excuse worth giving. It was wrong, and I’m sorry I committed it.”

  Still, nothing, she just plucked harder.

  “Damn it, Layla, this is killing me.”

  An odd twang pierced the air as a guitar string snapped, and Layla jolted, her aura bursting loose as her stool tilted backward. Quin swept a hand out to catch her, but she was a step ahead of him, magically stabilizing the stool as she jumped to her feet. She carefully set the guitar aside. Then she touched her face. When she pulled her hand away, bright blood stained her fingertips.

  Quin flew forward and turned her around, finding a shallow cut running across her cheekbone. He sighed then touched his lips to the bottom of the scratch, healing and kissing his way up.

  Eyes closed, she stiffened and glued her arms to her sides, posing like an impenetrable wall. Then she shuddered and burst into sobs.

  Quin quickly finished healing her wound then slid his lips to her tears. “Please don’t cry, Layla.”

  “I can’t take this, Quin. It hurts.”

  “What hurts? Let me fix it. I’ll do anything to make it better.”

  “This hurts. I can’t stand you doing this when I don’t know what’s going to happen with us.”

  Quin leaned back, cradling her face so she couldn’t turn away. “What do you want to happen with us?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why do you have to do anything? What we have is the closest thing to perfect I’ve come across.”

  “This is not perfect. This hurts.”

  “I messed up, Layla, but I know where I went wrong and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I’ll make it perfect for you. Just tell me how.”

  He waited, but she didn’t respond.

  “Layla.”

  Nothing.

  “What really has you doubting this?” he pressed. “Fear of a crazy witch, my lie, or the fact that there was another witch to begin with?”

  She finally opened her eyes, but she didn’t answer right away, and Quin could tell she was sorting through the pain, trying to find an honest answer.

  “I’m scared,” she confessed. “Everything about this scares me. You have me wrapped around your fingers. All you have to do is squeeze and I’m crushed, and I hate the way this feels. The thought of going through this again scares me.”

  His chest tightened, pushing a burning lump into his throat. She no longer trusted him. He’d lost the faith she placed in him within thirty minutes of their first meeting. “I never meant to hurt you, Layla, and I would never do it on purpose. Keeping you safe and happy is my top priority. I would do anything to prove that.”

  “Until when? The pain seems inevitable.”

  “I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes, but I’ll always fix what needs fixed and I’ll never break it a second time. I hate seeing you hurt like this. I’ll go to great lengths to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “How long?” she demanded. “How long before you’re ready to leave me like you left the others? Right now you’re caught up in the fact that I’m home after years of being a mystery, but the novelty will wear off, and I’ll be just like all the other witches who couldn’t hold you down.”

  He tilted his head, glancing between her aura and eyes. “Who did you talk to yesterday?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she countered. “Of course you’ve had relationships, apparently quite a few, but none of them were good enough to keep your interest. Maybe Caitlyn can handle your rejection, but I don’t know if I can. I know that sounds desperate and clingy, and I hate that, too. But that’s what you do to me, and it’s terrifying—to have no control over my fate and my heart. How am I supposed to relax knowing the moment you lose interest, you’ll move on while I crumble?”

  This was a problem he could fix. If she’d only give him a chance. “You’re nothing like the other women I’ve been with, Layla. The feelings I have for you can’t be compared to the passing interest I gave them. When I first saw you, every relationship I’ve had suddenly seemed trivial, like their only purpose was to prepare me for you. You’re perfect from your head to your toes, your physical beauty surpassed only by your lovely heart, and the package deal will never lose my interest.”

  “Quin,” she breathed, pout trembling.

  “Let me finish,” he insisted, touching h
is forehead to hers. “I’m wholeheartedly yours. As long as I’m the man you want, I’m here to stay. That’s one promise I’m not afraid to make, even after the colossal mess I made out of the last one. Nothing else out there calls my name louder or sweeter than you, and nothing will keep me from answering. It’s the call I’ve been waiting for. It’s my peace and my purpose, and now that I’ve heard it, I’d be lost without it.”

  She didn’t respond. She just stared at him through salty moisture as her chest stuttered.

  Quin wiped away a tear then slid his fingertips to her lips, desperate to keep them within reach. “Please, Layla. Don’t let this slip away from us. It feels as natural as breathing and I need the air.”

  Her pout was out of control, and a fresh batch of waterworks had breached her lids. “I need it, too,” she squeaked.

  “Then let me stay,” he whispered.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, quietly sobbing as she grasped his jaw and gave a nod. “Stay.”

  A whoosh of air deflated his lungs. Then he kissed her so deeply he had to employ magic to keep her on her feet. “I won’t make you regret this,” he vowed, kissing again and again, beyond thankful she was letting him.

  Her arms encircled his neck, and he swept her off her feet, blindly carrying her to the couch. Their lips stayed melded together as he sat. Then he leaned against the arm rest and took her face in both hands.

  He wouldn’t move until she was ready. He’d lie there all night and straight through the following day if she wanted. He hadn’t realized exactly how much the separation had affected him physically until the weight and pain lifted, leaving him lighter than air and thoroughly soothed.

  Desperate to reclaim the security of Quin’s embrace, Layla broke away from his kiss and curled up on his chest, nuzzling warm pecs. He wrapped her in a hug, and her lungs yanked in air as her insides flipped and untangled.