Shortbread and Shadows

by Amy Lane

  Bartholomew spent an entire half a minute wondering what it would be like to wake up tomorrow and go about his life without a Lachlan in it, before the pain of separation—exactly like the pain in his chest from Lachlan’s amulet being torn from his neck—made him stop.

  Love, together. That quickly.

  It had only taken two years.

  It had only taken a minute.

  It had only taken a kiss.

  By the time he pulled into the parking garage, his amulet was warm against his skin. He didn’t even need to look in the rearview mirror to know it was glowing faintly on its serpentine silver chain.

  The chain was impressive, he had to admit, given that he’d used Ellen’s yarn the day before. And the glowing was impressive, particularly since he’d never even tried a flame spell like Jordan.

  But the most impressive thing was that Lachlan was wearing the necklace’s twin, knowing what it meant, knowing the consequences of loving Bartholomew, knowing that their lives were intertwined, possibly forever.

  Lachlan had outdistanced him in traffic, and by the time Bartholomew pulled up to the same level they’d used the day before, he was already there with a big dolly so the two could port their boxes upstairs.

  What followed was, oddly enough, an exercise in normalcy. They set up their stalls, Lachlan bitching good-naturedly about the quality of Bartholomew’s shelves, both of them doing the sort of mindful dance that resulted in creating their own personal merchandising world.

  Bartholomew felt a little naked with barely a shelf of Jordan’s, Cully’s, and Kate’s products left. He wondered if ghost Cully would make hot pads and dish towels on Tuesdays like he always did, and the thought left him sad and anxious.

  He wanted to discover what normal looked like when he and Lachlan were together. He wanted to tell Dante and Cully about all of the wonderful, terrifying things that had happened the day before.

  He wanted to tell them that he’d gotten brave, and he had Lachlan to prove it.

  It wasn’t until he was putting the finishing touches on the booth, putting out the laminated sign that said “Fresh!” over the cookies and small loaves of sweet bread, that he saw them, and realized it was up to him to prove that everything he’d ever said about being brave and falling in love was true.

  Crows of Another Sort

  LACHLAN had been happily engrossed in his own tasks—for one thing, he was looking for a wall outlet to charge his tablet so he could take credit. Then he saw Bartholomew startle, stricken, and his heart dropped to his feet.

  God, he wasn’t sure he could take more magic animals, not here on the vendor floor where everything had seemed so normal, even with the extra-super-awesome dose of happy because of Tolly. Lachlan looked around anxiously, moving without thought to stand by Bartholomew, who was standing near the barrier between their booths.

  “Tolly?” he asked softly.

  “The fuck are they doing here?”

  Lachlan looked up toward the doors, which had just been opened, and grunted in surprise. The family resemblance was painful.

  The man dressed in slacks and a sweater vest was tall and gaunt, as opposed to slender, his thin face twisted into bitter lines, as opposed to watchful ones. His shoulders stooped, and his nose was long and Roman, so when he paused and surveyed the room, he looked very like a crow.

  The woman—dressed in a khaki skirt and pale beige cardigan—had her fine hair scraped back into a ponytail. Her eyes were large and gray, like Tolly’s, but time and anger, apparently, had honed her face sharp. They seemed to protrude, rather than regard, and what might have once been a wide, smiling mouth was pursed in disapproval.

  They spotted Bartholomew’s booth and strode over, and Lachlan reached for Bartholomew’s hand, only to be gently—but firmly—rebuffed.

  He tried to take a breath, but his chest suddenly hurt too much to breathe.

  “I don’t want them to hurt you,” Bartholomew said softly. “They can say terrible things.”

  “I don’t want them to hurt you,” Lachlan managed, bringing his other hand to his chest. “I’m here to make it better.”

  Bartholomew sighed and took his hand then, and the ache eased, leaving only a panicked memory.

  “Mom,” Bartholomew said, his lips twisted into a green smile. “Dad. What are you doing here? You hate these things.”

  “Your father found a five-dollar ticket on Groupon,” his mother said. “And we thought we’d come by because we saw the news footage last night. Was that really you running from a mob?”

  Bartholomew stared. “That made the news?” He turned to Lachlan, who squeezed his hand. “Did that really make the news?”

  Lachlan shrugged. “I have no idea, Tolly. We’ve been sort of busy, right?”

  “It was on one of those computer things,” his mother said. “Not one of the networks.”

  “What in the hell were you doing?” his father spoke up. “How did they even let you back here after causing such a disturbance?”

  “It wasn’t his fault!” Lachlan said. “It was a misunderstanding of sorts. Nobody was hurt. People just… you know, got really excited about his baked goods.”

  Bartholomew let out a gentle laugh.

  “Yeah, right,” Ismael Baker sneered. “Who are you again?”

  Lachlan opened his mouth to tell this man exactly who he was, but to his surprise, Tolly got there first.

  “Uh, Dad? This is my boyfriend, Lachlan.” Bartholomew beamed at Lachlan with so much joy that it felt like one of those sparkly magic cones of power, but better. “We’re in love,” he added, and Lachlan beamed back.

  “Definitely,” he said, smoothing his thumb over Bartholomew’s knuckles. In spite of the happy smile, Tolly’s hands were really tight. This had, Lachlan realized, been an act of bravery on Bartholomew’s part. And it wasn’t over.

  “Boyfriend? You’re still doing that?”

  Bartholomew’s happy smile got tamped back down—it didn’t shut off so much as get buried under the layers of protectiveness Tolly must have used to keep his heart strong.

  “Still?” Bartholomew asked, a corner of his mouth quirking at Lachlan before he turned back to his father. “How about just started. He’s, uh, sort of a catch. I was worried he wouldn’t like me.”

  “A catch?” Lachlan found himself the subject of narrow-eyed scrutiny. “He looks like another artsy asshole. What the hell are you doing here, Bartholomew? I thought you were still working IT!”

  “Well, yeah. Until I find a way to make a living doing this,” Bartholomew said. And then, like it had only now registered, “And he’s not an asshole! He’s super talented! Look at his table, Dad—he made all of that. You should see his house. It’s amazing. He’s really gifted—”

  “Gifted at arts and crafts,” Mr. Baker snapped. “Look, couldn’t you at least find a guy at your office—”

  “I didn’t like the guys at my office,” Bartholomew said. He brought a hand up to the amulet at his throat and began rubbing his thumb along the pentacle like it gave him comfort. “I liked this guy. And he liked me. He’s really wonderful. If you want to stay and talk, you could see what a great guy he is—”

  Bartholomew’s father ignored him and knocked his hand away from his amulet. “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s a promise necklace,” Bartholomew said, with what Lachlan thought was a little bit of inspiration. “It means we promise to be faithful and kind, and to listen and—”

  “Oh, bullshit. You’re not getting married with some sort of devil symbol, Bartholomew. Give me that!”

  Lachlan felt the jerk of Tolly’s chain in his own chest, harsh and tearing, and he let out a mewl of pain and fell to his knees, letting go of Bartholomew’s hand.

  “Dad? Let go of that—oh my God, Lachlan!”

  Lachlan couldn’t breathe. God, he couldn’t breathe. The pain of having Tolly ripped out of his heart—it was indescribable, unrecoverable. He clutched his chest and moaned. Bartholomew had be
en doing so well, too. He was standing up for himself, for them—Lachlan was supposed to protect him from this! Lachlan slumped hard, whimpering, “Tolly,” as he fell.

  “Give me my fucking amulet!” The roar was like the ocean, harsh and powerful and far away. “Let no man part what our hearts bound together,” Bartholomew shouted. “Because I said so, so mote it be!”

  The relief of pain was so abrupt, it made Lachlan giddy for a moment. The next thing he knew, Bartholomew had vaulted the table between their booths and was on his knees next to Lachlan.

  “Lachlan? Baby? You okay?”

  “You shouted really loud,” Lachlan mumbled, pulling in oxygen like he’d been deprived. “That was good.”

  “Oh, baby.” Bartholomew’s arms around his shoulders were like a balm. “God, you scared me. Are you okay now? Can you breathe?”

  “Yeah,” Lachlan croaked. “That sucked. I don’t ever want to be without you, even accidentally.”

  “Right?” Bartholomew held his amulet out for Lachlan to see, and as they watched, the chain rebound itself, links reattaching, the serpentine weaving itself together like thread. “See? Nobody can break it if we don’t want to.”

  “That was so brave,” Lachlan whispered. “Here, let me put it on for you.”

  Bartholomew nodded, his chin wobbling. “I didn’t know he’d do that. I’d never let him hurt you, you know that, right?”

  “You didn’t, Tolly. He tried, but you stepped up.”

  Bartholomew’s lower lip started to wobble too, and a couple of tears, probably born of exhaustion and stress and fear, coursed down his cheeks. “I did. I can step up for you too. Look at that.”

  Lachlan wrapped him up in his arms and practically dragged Bartholomew onto his lap. “I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

  And he hadn’t. Not even a little. Tolly would come through.

  LACHLAN was standing before the onsite nurse got there. She took his blood pressure and listened to his heart and shrugged. Bartholomew said “Gas?” guilelessly, and she took that as gospel and went on her way.

  When she was gone, Bartholomew turned to his parents—and to crowd of concerned con attendees who had gathered when he’d gone down.

  “You should go,” he said, with so much dignity it was like he didn’t know the taste of fear. “I have a business to run.”

  “What just happened—”

  Bartholomew shook his head and held out his hand. “You tried to make me doubt myself. You tried to make this relationship—which I really love—into something cheap and stupid because you didn’t like it. You tried to break my lover’s heart. Just… just go. The next time you want to see me, call. Don’t ever come to my workspace again.” His jaw grew firm and his eyes practically shot sparks. “You may not believe this, but you should. My friends and I have ways of making you regret hurting me. That extends to Lachlan.”

  “We’re not trying to hurt you,” his father said, sounding legitimately confused. “We’re trying to protect you—”

  “Well, right now, the only people I need protecting from are you. Now, move. I’ve got customers and so does Lachlan, and if I ever want to quit my day job, I need to take this seriously. Go.”

  His parents walked away, muttering, and Bartholomew took a deep breath, looking at Lachlan sideways as their crowds gathered and deepened.

  “Ready?” he asked, that one-sided smile Lachlan loved so much making an appearance.

  “My whole life.” Lachlan winked, and they started their day.

  The Remains of the Day

  THEY sold out by noon. Without any stock, they packed up their stuff and loaded their vehicles, ready to start back toward Bartholomew’s place, although he knew Lachlan probably had to go to his own house that night.

  “On another weekend I’d go check out some panels,” Bartholomew said. “That could be a lot of fun.” There were animation voice actors in attendance and different artists who could potentially have a lot to say.

  “Yeah, I like that,” Lachlan agreed, yawning. “Right now, though, I want to stop for a sandwich and go back to your place and crash for a little.”

  “That sounds good.” Bartholomew gave him a sad little smile. “I don’t have a con next weekend, do you?”

  Lachlan shook his head. “Nope. Was going to spend my weekend catching up on stock and working on the house. Want to come over?”

  Bartholomew grinned. “Of course.” Then he bit his lip. “I… I’d love to stay with you all the time, but my coven—”

  “They need you,” Lachlan agreed. “Hell, from what Jordan said, they might even need us. But, uh, I want you to think, okay?” Lachlan leaned against his truck, pulling Bartholomew against him.

  “Okay,” Bartholomew murmured. “What am I thinking about?”

  “You are thinking about what life looks like for us after your whole situation is resolved. What is it you want?”

  Bartholomew frowned. “Like, if I could—”

  Lachlan shook his head. “No ifs, Tolly. I want you to lay out your perfect future for me. And it may not match mine—that’s fine. I watch my parents choose between sports and theater all the fucking time. But you dream a future for us, and you dream big. And then tell me about it in the morning, before you go to your shitty day job, okay?”

  Bartholomew practically moaned. “Maybe I can call in to my shitty day job,” he muttered.

  Lachlan smiled and kissed his temple. “That’s fine. You and me, maybe we can spend all tomorrow in bed, or on the couch, or cooking if you want to do that. And we can dream ourselves a future. What do you think?”

  Bartholomew smiled and kissed him without hesitation.

  He thought it was an amazing idea.

  THAT night, after the coven performed another safety spell and Alex set an old-fashioned bell alarm clock for fifteen minutes before dawn before going to sleep on Jordan’s couch again, the two of them made love in Bartholomew’s narrow bed before they fell asleep.

  Bartholomew had a dream of such magnitude, such brightness, it promised to rip the darkness of the spell threatening the cul-de-sac into tatters.

  He dreamed of what looked like Lachlan’s backyard—only bigger. It was as though a good ninety-nine acres of land had been freed up, and four other houses had been built on points of the land, like points on a star.

  His friends lived in those houses, some with new lovers and some with lovers they’d had all along, and they were meeting in the center of the giant pentacle that day for a wedding.

  A glorious wedding of five couples, all of them dressed in white with a rainbow of accents, from purple bow ties to forest green kerchiefs to the sky-blue border of Kate’s dress.

  They all had amulets of silver, like Bartholomew’s and Lachlan’s now were, and they all lived and worked and loved in these houses, close enough for their coven to be happy, far enough away for each couple to live freely.

  The foothills sun slanted in autumnal glory, illuminating the faces of people he loved so much, they were better than blood.

  His parents were there—but whether they looked approving or not, he couldn’t see and didn’t care. Lachlan’s family was there, and he could hear their laughter, see Lachlan’s sister, who looked shockingly like Lachlan himself, and their smiles beamed almost as bright as the sun.

  A table of baked goods—and dinner—sat waiting for the five happy couples to have their ceremony and announce their love, their steadfast binding, for all the world to see and then to celebrate with abundance.

  When Bartholomew tumbled out of bed while the sky was still black the next morning, he hung on to that dream, to the bright of it against the dark. He would sit with Lachlan that day and lay out every detail of it and all that had to be done, from refitting Lachlan’s kitchen to how much money he’d have to make to quit his day job, to wondering which rich person would buy up all the property and pay Jordan’s dad to start making houses.

  It was a bold dream—a wonderful dream—and one with many particular
s to be decided.

  But Bartholomew laid it at his lover’s feet bravely, holding Lachlan’s hand and laughing at Lachlan’s gentle teasing, and together the two of them took the first steps to a world where they would be together forever.

  It started with being brave enough to dream.

  Bonus Story—

  So, Lachlan’s family is pretty awesome. Who wants to meet them?

  Meeting the Folks

  “YOU know, I don’t have to go tonight,” Bartholomew said, feeling stupid and transparent and not caring. “I mean, we performed the evening ritual, but, you know, you and Jordan might need some company over at Jordan’s house—”

  Alex didn’t roll his eyes. He looked at Bartholomew blandly and waited for him to peter out.

  “Don’t be a cowardly weenie,” he said.

  “I don’t have good experiences with parents, you know. My parents are awful,” Bartholomew said. Alex had met them only once, when Bartholomew had moved in. Judging from Alex’s shudder, their snide, running commentary as to the quality of the neighborhood and how broke everybody had to be to need roommates obviously left an impression.

  “This is true,” Alex said, and perversely, the validation helped. “But my parents are very sweet.”

  Bartholomew nodded and went to run his fingers through his longish hair. Alex held his hands out in the universal gesture of “Stop! Don’t do that! We’ve just spent a half hour in the bathroom making sure it looks just like that musician you think is totally hot!”

  Bartholomew’s hand dropped limply to his lap, and he rested his head on the kitchen table. “We could always stay home and bake,” he said. “Lachlan said this was sort of a family game night. They don’t need me. I could be making bread for the homeless shelter or—”