The Queen and the Tower

by Shannon Page

  “Yes. I lost his mother quite unexpectedly when Jeremiah was very young. It was…a challenging time for me, to say the least.” He gave a small sigh, gazing down at his mug. “It seemed to me at the time that an intact family, not touched by grief, would be a far better environment in which to raise a child. I hope I was not mistaken in this.” Now he looked up at me. “I fear he is something of a stranger to me.”

  I thought about what Jeremy had told us. “I think he thinks very highly of his foster parents and his upbringing, and is excited to get to know you now.”

  Gregorio smiled. “You are a caring and sensitive witch, Calendula. And very patient, to listen to the maunderings of an old warlock. You are also, despite any minor and temporary disagreement with your coven, well-connected; a good person for Jeremiah to know. I hope you will continue to enjoy being generous with your time and friendship.”

  “Well, sure. But Niad is keeping him pretty busy at the moment.”

  “I am grateful for Niadine’s attention, of course. But I would be particularly glad that he should spend time in your company.” He gave me a significant look, then returned his gaze to his tea.

  What? Are you setting me up with your son? Do you just want to get me away from dating humans, or…? “How did Jeremy’s mother die?” I blurted, scrambling for any way to get away from this subject. And it was truly weird that my parents had never mentioned any of this—a partner, any children. Gregorio and my father were so close. At least, that’s what I’d always thought.

  “A mysterious illness. It came from nowhere, striking her down almost without warning, draining her essence. And her spirit…” He shook his head. “I was not myself for a time, after that. Powerful though we may be, we cannot control everything.”

  “No,” I agreed. “What about her spirit?”

  “Lost,” he said, immediately adding, “Well! Shall we see what the cabinet has to say? This should be enough time.”

  “How does the Zosimos cabinet work?” I asked, feeling almost forcibly nudged back to the business at hand. Where could her spirit be if not the Beyond? I wondered. Was it like what happened to Logan’s parents? Yet Gregorio so clearly did not want to talk about it further. “I don’t use much large equipment in my own research.”

  He looked at me with surprise. “Lucas hasn’t shown you?”

  “No. My father…well, you know how busy he is.” The excuse sounded even more feeble than usual. Forty-five years old, and I was still wishing my daddy had more time for me.

  Gregorio’s eyes softened. Sympathy? Concern? “It is rather simple, actually. It works in conjunction with the pneumative to strip away the complexities of the environment and focus the particular question.”

  Pneumative was an invention of Gregorio’s: a sort of über-potion, now widely used in almost all witchkind biological research. It acted as an inert accelerant to other potions, amplifying what they did without bringing contaminant energies of its own. “But how does it do that?”

  He smiled. “In this case, the cabinet itself screens out any magical influence from our immediate surroundings—ourselves particularly included.” His eyes glimmered as he added, “I did not send Dr. Winterheart away merely so that we could discuss personal matters.”

  “Ah.”

  “Once the distractions are cleared, the spells bound to the copper wires delve into your potion in the vials, analyzing the remains of the homunculi. That should give us a much better idea of what exactly is causing them to fail, and at what point in your experiment.” He glanced over at the machine. “Let us go have a look.”

  I followed him to the machine and waited as he again put his palms against the doors. The sounds coming from within had softened to an occasional burble, and the colored lights had nearly ceased flickering. Gregorio nodded, muttered to himself, and opened the doors. A small gust of steam entered the lab room, then dissipated.

  He brought the vials to the bench and stood looking at them, sending his magical senses to probe them once again. I did as well, but could not see any difference in their aspect from earlier.

  After a minute, he looked up at me, frowning. “That is odd. I see a notable residue of your life essence here. Which pneumative are you using?”

  “The twenty-strength, from Magitech. Why?”

  “Ah,” he said with a nod. “They use an outdated formula.”

  “I thought they were the standard supplier—that’s what everyone uses.”

  “They were, until last year. I have improved the potency of several of the key ingredients, and removed an impurity in another, but Magitech…” He gave an indulgent smile, shaking his head. “I fear they are more interested in their bottom line than in actually serving their customers. They have insisted that their formula is perfectly good. You should try Stellar Karmaceuticals. They are a little pricier, but certainly worth it. And they keep up with my tinkerings. They should have an even newer formulation within the next few weeks.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “It is irresponsible, really. I suppose a Magitech representative visited you? Bearing gifts, even?”

  I nodded, thinking about the pert young witch who visited the coven house on a quarterly basis, order sheets at the ready. Yes, now that he mentioned it, she did always seem to arrive with fresh-baked brownies, free samples of pennywort extract, or clever little mood rings (containing actual moods) for the students. She was very popular. I chuckled, chagrined. “Stellar Karmaceuticals, you say? I’ll look them up.”

  “Yes, you will want to do that.” He went to a low cabinet by the door and opened it, riffling around within. A small jar fell to the floor and rolled under a lab bench. “Ah. In the meantime, take this, to get you started.” He brought out a small, soft-sided purple pouch, bulging with liquid—like a bota bag, but without a drinking spout. “There should be more than enough here until you can place an order.”

  “Wow, thank you, Dr. Andromedus.” Magitech’s pneumative wasn’t cheap; if this stuff was even more expensive, he’d just handed me a few thousand dollars’ worth, as casually as if it were a cup of tea.

  He shrugged. “I have plenty more.”

  “Can I pay you for this?”

  “Of course not.” Then he grinned. “Consider it a small token of my appreciation, for your efforts in welcoming my son to our city.”

  I shook my head, smiling. “Well, thank you.” But really, Jeremy was perfectly charming. Not to mention easy on the eyes. Why was I being bribed into spending time with him?

  Not that Logan would object if we sought out his company.

  I wonder if she wants to co-host a dinner party at my house? I thought. Just a few close friends…some fun people…and San Francisco’s newest warlock.

  — CHAPTER SIX —

  Sure,” Logan said when I asked her about a dinner party. “But not without a dining table. Have you found one I don’t know about?”

  “You are as wise as you are helpful.”

  On Wednesday, we made our planned run through the antique stores, then hit a few kitchen shops before returning to my place with Indian takeout. “I do need to start cooking sooner or later,” I said, grabbing another piece of garlic naan from the clutter of cartons on my new-to-me kitchen table (a smaller version of the grand one which now graced my dining room).

  “That’ll be easier now that you have pots, and more than one pan.”

  I spooned a bite of bhindi masala onto the naan and glanced over at the full shopping bags lined up in front of the pantry and all over the countertops. “It’s not something I have any practice with.” My job at the coven had been—still was—teacher, with a side of research; Organza and Peony were our main cooks, with Sirianna and some of the older students assisting.

  “You’ll be great. It’s just like spells, only with bigger batches, and cheaper equipment.” Logan grinned at me. “And less poison.”

  “Poison!” I put a hand to my chest in mock-indignation. “Well I never!”

  “Of course no
t.” She watched me chew as she dug into her own meal. “Anyone who likes to eat as much as you do should be a natural at cooking.”

  When our bellies were full to bursting, I leaned back. “More tea?”

  “I couldn’t. Should we plan this dinner party?”

  “Ugh, I can’t even think about food at the moment. Let’s work on who to invite.”

  “Starting with Jeremy?”

  “I should say—he’s the guest of honor!” I peered at her. “Why, Logan, are you blushing?”

  “He invited me to lunch.”

  “And you’re just telling me this now?” I leaned forward, pushing my curry-stained plate out of the way. “So what happened? Tell me everything!”

  She laughed. “Nothing to tell yet—we’re meeting Monday.”

  “That’s fantastic!” I sighed. “Just don’t ask me for any useful advice about relationships.”

  “Oh, Callie. It’s still not going well with Raymond?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just…I guess I had some fantasy that he’d be able to read my mind and figure out when I want to see him and not see him.” I gave a small chuckle. “Or maybe I never really thought this part through.”

  “Why don’t you just tell him what you want? Can’t you agree on some kind of schedule?”

  “If I knew what I wanted, I would! We’re already seeing each other way more than we used to be able to. But no matter how much I give him, he wants more!”

  At the kitchen window, Elnor glanced up at my tone before returning to gaze out into the backyard.

  “Right.” Logan gave me a sympathetic smile. “I guess you still haven’t given him a key.”

  “I can’t.” I shrugged helplessly. “But I’m so busy. You know how spells go—they’re done when they’re done, you can’t really predict the timing. Dr. Andromedus gave me some new pneumative last week, and I’m already seeing good results with it. So I’ve been spending more time on experiments.” I sighed again. “Last night, I called Raymond when I was done for the evening. It was only ten o’clock, but he said he just wanted to crash.”

  “So…” She frowned. “You just said he keeps wanting too much time, didn’t you? He gave you some space.”

  “But I didn’t want space then,” I said, feeling whiny and ridiculous. “Now I think maybe he’s sulking or something.”

  “Sulking? That’s not normal for him.”

  “Nothing is normal these days.”

  “Nothing was ‘normal’ before, either. You stole time when you could get it.”

  “Yeah. And it worked fine—there was never enough time together, so it was all precious. But now I don’t know what to do. Part of me feels like I should call him again, tell him we need to talk; the other part doesn’t want to give in to emotional blackmail, if he is sulking. Like it’s his turn to call me, since he turned me down last night.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I know, I know—that’s petty, I shouldn’t be thinking that way.”

  “Think whatever way you need to,” she said, her voice kind. “This is your process. Do it however works for you. He can figure out his process without your help.”

  I sighed. “I just want…”

  “What do you want?” she asked, when I didn’t go on.

  “I want things to be like they used to be. I want him to walk in here, pick me up in his strong arms, rumple my hair, kiss me from head to toe, and then carry me off to the bedroom.”

  “Right now?”

  I laughed. “Maybe after you leave.”

  “So you just want a physical relationship with him?”

  I shook my head. “No. I mean, that’s fantastic, but I also love how he can make me laugh. I miss going out to hear his band, and having him tell me all about some new book he just read. But his body is the first thing that leaps to mind when you ask me what I want.” I smiled at her. “You know I’m very physically focused—not just sex, but the things the body knows, before the brain ever gets it. Anyway, physically is how our relationship started. That’s all it was ever supposed to be.”

  “Of course.” She frowned, thinking. “It’s funny you should be so intuitive at some levels and not at all at others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know how you feel about this, but… Let’s read your cards again.”

  “Oh, jeez, no. Really?” I glanced around the cluttered kitchen—shopping bags everywhere, dirty dishes piled up. “We’ve got too much to do here; no time for that.”

  Logan gave me a soft smile. “You still don’t want to tell your best friend that her life’s work is bullshit.”

  “I’ve never said it’s bullshit!” I protested, too quickly. “It’s just…not the path I took.”

  “I know, you’re a scientist. But don’t scientists try all sorts of different approaches to get at the right answer?”

  “Sure, but that’s different.”

  “Different how? Do you never go with a gut feeling in your lab?”

  “Well, maybe. Sometimes,” I admitted.

  “So let me do your cards. What can it hurt?”

  “What can it help?”

  Logan looked at me appraisingly. “I think right now you’re in a time of great transition, and you’re stuck. Remember what you told me Maela said, about a fork in the road. Tarot can help you figure out what you really want, deep down, and point you toward a way to do it.”

  “It’s not therapy, hon.”

  She laughed. “Look, you’re way more intuitive than you give yourself credit for. If you just relax, and bring your witchly intuition and bodily wisdom to the cards, you might be surprised.” She reached for her purse. “Come on, it’s been forever since we’ve done a reading. Humor me. You don’t have to do anything with it.”

  I knew she was just trying to help. And, as she said, I didn’t have to act on it. “All right.”

  She handed me the deck. “Shuffle, a bunch of times.”

  “Yeah, I know.” The stiff, oversized cards were as awkward as ever in my hands.

  “And think about your questions, but not in any focused sense. Just let your uncertainties and thoughts roam around in your mind.”

  That was easy. What should I do about Raymond? I tried not to bring any magical focus to it, but just think the words. Feel the emotions.

  “Okay, that’s good,” Logan said after a minute, taking the cards back. She began laying them out on the table before us, in her own modification of the traditional Celtic Cross pattern. The Page of Wands and the Four of Cups shared the central, Significator position; she set the Hermit just below them, as the Crossing. She then laid the King of Cups, the Three of Cups, the Fool, and the Three of Wands around the central cards, in the positions of my near and distant past, and near and distant future. The spread finished with three cards along the right: the Eight of Cups, the Four of Swords, and, at the top, the Tower. She took a small, sharp breath as she laid out that last one.

  “That’s the final outcome, right?” I asked, pointing to the Tower’s dramatic imagery of death and destruction, chaos and lightning.

  “Yeah,” she said, frowning at the cards. “An interesting reading.”

  “You always say that. What’s it mean this time?”

  She gave an absentminded chuckle. “You have to let me study it for longer than ten seconds, Callie.”

  I tried not to fidget as she gazed at them. Finally, she looked up at me. “Actually, I see a lot of relevant themes here.” She pointed to the Page of Wands. “He stands for new beginnings, being ready to grow. Finding your strength and independence. Like, oh I don’t know, moving out of a coven house into your own home.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging,” I said.

  She set her hand gently on the Four of Cups. “And this one is matters of the heart. A warning not to take love for granted.”

  It was just a guy sitting under a tree. “Oh.”

  “Right.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “The reading has a couple of threes, and it’s
heavy on Cups, the suit of relationships.”

  “What do threes mean?”

  “They have to do with unifying, and with forces bigger than yourself. They’re about transition—the kind there’s no turning back from. Inevitability. Clearly, your question is about more than just you and Raymond.” She pointed to the Fool, in the position of the recent past. “Another new beginning—the ultimate fresh start.”

  I grinned at her. “Ah, I see—the mysterious wild cards have revealed the astonishing news that I’ve moved out of the coven house, estranging my sisters, and am confused about my love life. I can see why you think this magic is so freakishly useful. Whatever would I have done without it?”

  “Oh, hush,” she said, smiling. “We’re not done. I also see the power of community, the joy of working together.” She pointed to the Three of Cups. “Which resonates for me, with what I know about you. You need others—you don’t love solitude, not like I do. I think you won’t live alone long.” She grazed her hand over the Eight of Cups, at the bottom of the final stack of three. “This one is about emotional stagnation, and recognizing when it’s time to move on. More transition.”

  I looked back at the earlier cards. “So I’m not supposed to take his love for granted, but I’m supposed to be more independent, but live in community, but…”

  “Those aren’t necessarily contradictions. You can love someone deeply, be a very strong individual, and have a powerful community all at once. In fact, that’s a pretty good combination, if it’s in balance.” She gazed up at me. “And we both know that none of these areas are integrated in your life. You love a human man, but the witchkind world will never accept him as anything more than a temporary plaything for you—no one has ever even met him. You can’t let him into the deepest parts of your life, or even let him know they exist—the things that make you who you are. You chose to join a strong coven with a powerful leader, yet I would argue that Leonora has infantilized you—not just you, but all your sisters. The only way you see to break out of this is to defy her—and I don’t think you’re wrong to do so. I just don’t think it’s the end of the story. The independence part is now; the community and connection, and perhaps even the deep, integrated love, come later. You can’t be a good partner or a good community member without being a strong, secure individual.”