by Shannon Page
“Huh.” This was all feeling surprisingly insightful, even coming from my best friend. “So what about this?” I pointed to the Tower.
“Well, that is big stuff,” she admitted with an uncomfortable smile. “Catastrophic change, sometimes scary, but often for the better. It’s about breaking through old, stultified structures and replacing them with something bold and new. With a ton of energy expended in the process, and sometimes people get hurt, but it’s always about progress. Ultimately.” She looked up at me. I could see tension in her eyes.
“Ultimately when?”
She gave a wan smile. “Such a scientist. If it were measurable, there would be tarot labs.”
“Point taken.” I studied her face. “Am I going to get hurt?”
“Possibly. I mean, you’re hurting already, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It may not be more than that. It may be something else entirely. But I really do believe that this is a good outcome. It’s huge—it’s scary—but it’s good. More than that, it’s necessary.” She patted my hand. “Trust me.”
“I do.” I looked back over the cards, the whole reading. All these little stories…all about me. “So what have we learned here?” I asked. “I mean, the part about change and fresh starts—that’s all clear. But the relationship stuff is a total jumble. I still don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Well, we weren’t so much trying to read the future as to sort out what you want right now. I think we’ve learned that you’re rather conflicted in that arena.”
I laughed. “I could have told you that. I think I did tell you that.”
“Yes. But the cards seem quite clear on the fact that you’re doing the right thing by establishing some independence, despite the pushback from your coven. Obviously you do love Raymond, and you do have a real connection with him. And your future points toward a life in the company of others—which goes with what I know of you. But I wonder if taking up with a human man in the first place was, I don’t know, some sort of avoidance on your part?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, where was it supposed to go?” she asked. “It’s an intrinsically temporary situation—yet it’s the closest you’ve ever come to being in love, by a long shot. You’ve dated a lot of warlocks, but you always kick them to the curb the moment they’re not perfect. Did you somehow let yourself open up to Raymond precisely because it was never going to turn into anything serious? It’s interesting that now, with all this opportunity to see him, you’re suddenly ‘too busy’ all the time.”
“Huh. Maybe.” I thought about it further. “What does love mean?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I mean, nothing is permanent. It’s not like any of our unions are lifelong anyway. No one wants that. That’s why we put end dates into our contracts.”
“But you can’t even have a union with him. Or children. And humans do marry for life—at least, they try to, they think they do. Have you ever told Raymond that was off the table?”
“Well, no. But he hasn’t asked…”
“Of course not. Why would he?”
I sighed. “I guess I have been kind of unfair to him.”
“It’s the way it’s done, when we dally with humans.”
“Until suddenly it’s not a dalliance.”
“Exactly.”
“So should I call him?”
Logan looked me in the eye. “Yes.”
“Why do you say that?” I glanced over the cards again.
“Because you obviously want to. Call him, tell him whatever you need to, be as honest as you can stand to be. Then see what happens. You’re not going to move forward on anything else till you get this dealt with, one way or another.”
“But I—okay.”
“And in a few weeks, we can do another reading, see if anything has shifted.” She gathered up the cards, stacked them neatly and put them in their little box. “Meanwhile, you should have plenty to think about here.”
“Yeah.” I looked at all the full shopping bags. “Like a dinner party.”
So I did call him. And he was sulking, a little, but it was obvious that he was also waiting for me to call. He softened at my apology, and we made a date, and we went out, and he spent the night afterwards. And it was lovely, as long as I focused on being with him in the moment, and not talking about anything important in my life. And I got fidgety the next morning, wishing he would go on ahead and leave already, so I could get back to my research. Which I couldn’t tell him anything about.
Just like before.
And then my research didn’t progress either, and I could not figure out why, and I felt frustrated and stymied. Just like before.
“I built a freaking golem,” I snarled to nobody in particular, or maybe Elnor. “Why can’t I make eukaryotes work?”
Elnor stretched, yawned, and glanced at the patch of sun that had abandoned her during her afternoon nap under the lab’s back windows. She got up and rectified the situation, moving closer to where Petrana stood motionless. Unused. She hadn’t spoken on her own initiative again since offering to go to the magical garden. Which was good, as that had kind of freaked me out a little.
Did she know that? Was that why she’d kept silent?
Was she observing me, learning me? Was I okay with that?
What had I made her for, really?
I could run my own errands, sweep my own floors, or conjure spells to do so. Or hire a maid, for that matter. A golem should be…monumental. For something. Something big.
I mean, the fact that I had created her at all was monumental. But now I was stuck fiddling with molecules again, going nowhere. If I wasn’t going to use her, I really ought to unmake her.
But I couldn’t.
“Come on, Petrana,” I said, flicking a quick containment spell over the lab bench. “Let’s go talk to Dad.”
“Yes, Mistress Callie,” she said.
“And not on the ley lines,” I decided. “Out in the real world. The walk will do us good.”
“Yes, Mistress Callie.”
I stood before her, looking her over carefully. Why had I made her so tall? I could magically disguise her rough, muddy skin, tangled weed-hair and expressionless face, but there weren’t many eight-foot-tall women walking around out there. Men either, for that matter. The best I could do without remaking her entirely was a mobile zone of inattention. People would see her, but their attention would deflect off before thoughts of Huh, what a bizarrely tall woman would register.
At least, I hoped so.
Ten minutes later, the spells cast, Petrana and I walked out the front door of my house. The zone of inattention worked on her shuffling gait, as well; it was hard even for me to watch her amble along.
It was a blustery, chilly February day, San Francisco’s false spring still a few weeks away. I shivered in my wool coat, but Petrana of course did not feel the weather.
Nor did she feel curiosity, or a sense of adventure, or, well, anything. She was not nervous about being detected by humans. Inside, outside—it was all the same to her.
Suddenly that made me rather sad. My biggest creation, and so… inert.
“This way,” I directed her, turning right when we got to Divisadero. She complied.
We walked past the ever-changing restaurants and cafés and the never-changing bodegas and laundromats, and then the apartment buildings, and then houses, as the street began to climb toward Pacific Heights. Crowds of people passed us. Nobody gave us a second glance.
If I had wanted to prove something about the power of my magic, I had easily done so.
But that wasn’t the problem. I knew I was powerful. So what?
The hill steepened further as we approached my parents’ fine home. I began thinking about how long it had been since I’d seen either of my folks. They had both responded separately to my dinner party invitation for next week. While the coven was officially my “family,” nobody expected a witch to cu
t her ties to her mother and father, or siblings, if she had any.
I should really see my birth parents more often. What Logan wouldn’t give to be able to even know what had happened to hers, and here I was, all but ignoring mine. I’d asked Gregorio Andromedus for help, but not my own father? Yes, he wasn’t quite as eminent a scientist as Gregorio, but he had centuries more experience than I did. He’d probably see through my problem at a glance. My dad was a marvelous warlock. A bit reserved, sure; but I knew he loved me. I’d followed him into science in the first place. And now I never thought to include him in my life?
By the time I was climbing the worn brick steps to the lovely three-story house I’d grown up in, Petrana stumping along just behind me, I felt sentimental tears forming in the corners of my eyes. It would be so good to—
My hand brushed against the repulsion spell as I reached for the doorknob. “Huh?” Stung more emotionally than physically, I drew my hand back and tried to peer into the house, but the spell blocked that too. Dad, Mom? I sent through the æther, searching for them. Are you home?
It was a minute before I had an answer, from Mom. Oh, hello, darling; no, we’re out. Did you need something?
I just wanted to talk to Dad about some science stuff. When will you be home?
Another silence. They must be pretty far away. We’re looking forward to your dinner party. Her “voice” grew a little patchy. I will tell your father you said… Then the connection faded, and she was gone.
“Well, rats,” I said. I turned to Petrana, who just stared back at me impassively. Why hadn’t I called ahead? But they were usually home. Weren’t they? When was the last time I’d been here, anyway?
Feeling worse by the minute, I stomped down the steps and up the garden path back to the street. My golem followed me.
Why did I have to be so alone in the world? Did I truly have so few connections to others? My own parents could leave town on some huge faraway trip and I wouldn’t even know about it? Yes, I had Logan in my life; she was a treasure, and I did see her often enough. But other than that? I had a boyfriend I couldn’t share anything with, a coven I was estranged from, and—well, that was about it. A familiar. A personality-less golem. Some students. Was this the best I could show for forty-five years of life?
I trudged down the sidewalk, falling deeper into angry frustration. Why did it even matter? What was I even trying to prove, with my stupid genetics research? It had seemed so big and important once upon a time—helping witchkind conceive—but now it seemed pointless. Most witches never left their covens; they didn’t want to have children. There were so few warlocks anyway. Did anyone but me think this was a problem?
I wanted to accomplish something real. Something with consequences. Something that would do good for all of witchkind—and not just witchkind, but for humans as well. Why did we have to be so—
Calendula Isadora! Leonora’s voice snapped through my brain; I about fell over from shock. What in the world are you doing?
I—what? I glanced behind me and saw at once. My spells of deflection and disguise, while not too onerous, did require at least a little bit of attention. Petrana was now perfectly visible in her actual form. In the street, a car slowed down, the humans inside staring at both of us. Crap! I flicked my hands at Petrana, refreshing her disguise. The car drove on. My heart pounded.
I believe I told you that creature was not to be taken outside! Leonora thundered.
I stopped myself short from snapping back at her, because it would come out as something like “You’re not the boss of me,” when, in fact, she was. I took a deep breath, doublechecked the spells, and sent, I am so sorry. I was bringing her to work with my father, but he wasn’t home. It won’t happen again.
See that it does not, she said, and closed the channel.
My golem and I returned home without further incident. Unless you count my growing despair. Had I really accomplished anything by moving out? I hadn’t even felt Leonora’s monitoring of me. It was no kind of independence, if my coven mother could peer at me at any time, night or day, across the city, and bawl me out like I was a three-year-old. I’d left a stifling coven house and its strictures, only to be expected to lock myself up in my own house? Never being able to make a true connection with Raymond or anyone else?
If we were so powerful, why were we the ones hiding all the time?
Didn’t we used to rule the world? What had happened to witchkind?
— CHAPTER SEVEN —
The house was transformed. Candles flickered from the sideboard, casting a soft glow over the dining room table. Crystal wine glasses sparkled, a burgundy tablecloth draped to the floor, and in the dim light, you couldn’t tell that the chairs didn’t match perfectly.
My original idea had been for a fun, informal party, introducing Jeremy to some of the younger set: Sirianna and maybe Maela from the coven, a few of the gang from Rose’s, Logan of course, maybe even one or two of the older students. Cocktails, a buffet, games afterward.
But after I’d told Logan about my frustrations, about Leonora’s still-tight leash around my neck, she’d gently suggested a strategy of appeasement. And the more I thought about it, I realized she was right. Hosting a more traditional, formal dinner party, using my first official social event as a venue to honor my elders, rather than continuing to chafe against them, made a good deal of sense. Jeremy would have plenty of time to meet folks. If I followed some of witchkind’s smaller rules and expectations for a while, I might find myself with more space to challenge the larger ones.
That was the theory, anyway.
I stood studying the table, rearranging place cards, then moving them back again. “What do you want me to do with the casserole?” Logan called from the kitchen.
“Hang on, I’ll be right there.”
I switched Leonora’s and my mother’s place cards again. I had put my father at the foot of the table, with myself (as hostess) at the head. The highest-honored lady should be at his right hand, and no one ranks higher than one’s mother. But Leonora was also my mother, legally. Further, she was far older than Mom; my birth mother was not even a hundred.
Tradition also dictated separating couples. I left Mom’s card in the center-right spot of the table, between Gregorio (at my right) and the gentleman he had offered to bring to round out the gender balance. I’d have rather had another witch—or even just kept the party at seven—but that wouldn’t be traditional. If I was going to do this, I ought to do it right.
That left Logan at my left hand, and Jeremy next to her. That, at least, was simple: they were not officially a couple, so I could seat them together, but their lunch had gone very well. I could hardly get her to stop burbling about it and focus on the dinner.
Who knew seating eight people could be so complicated! The older generation made it look effortless. Then again, they’d been raised in an age when people entertained like this all the time. Perhaps when the last of them chose to move Beyond, witchkind could finally let go of these old protocols.
Logan appeared in the doorway, face flushed, wiping her hands on an apron. “I took it out. You want to come look at it?”
“Yes, thanks.” I followed her to the kitchen. “It smells wonderful.”
“The table looks great too.”
We grinned at each other. “I think we’re actually going to pull this off,” I said.
I paused as I saw Petrana at the sink, washing pots and pans. “You’re not letting her do the china, are you?” I asked Logan.
“No, just the unbreakables. But you should let her try. It’s the only way she’ll learn.”
“Yeah, I know. Not tonight, though.”
“Of course not.” Logan watched the golem a minute. “She’s progressing well, I think. I didn’t have to explain anything to her about the dishes.”
“Yeah. No one will ever mistake her for an independent intelligence, though.”
“But that wasn’t ever the point of her.”
“True.” I
looked at the casserole on the stove. “That looks great,” I told Logan. “How’s the lamb?”
“It’s all ready to go in. You only want to cook it for twenty minutes, so wait till everyone’s arrived.”
“Right.” She’d told me all this already. I’d probably make her tell me again.
“Which is in half an hour,” Logan said. “All right if I go change now?”
“Oh! Sure. Sorry.”
“No problem,” she said with a smile.
Logan left for the second floor. I glanced down at my own outfit. Since she’d been doing most of the cooking, I was still clean. Except for a spot on my sleeve, almost invisible against the midnight blue velvet of the dress. Sauce? Oil? I had no idea. I pointed at it, sending the stain scattering into microscopic particles and dissipating into the air. I patted my hair, but it was still behaving. It liked being in a French twist.
Okay. I was ready as I was going to get.
I went back in to stare at the table again, then opened a bottle of Margaux, leaving it to breathe on the sideboard. Elderflower wine chilled in the fridge. I didn’t have any Witches’ Mead—that took days to brew, and I only wanted to try so many new things at once—but I did have various bottles of aged Bulgarian frog brandy, including my father’s favorite.
Yes. Ready.
Logan came back downstairs after a few minutes, looking spectacular in a floor-length ginger silk gown with black embroidered daisies at the hem and neckline. Her hair was held gently back in two feathered, bejeweled combs just behind her bangs; her blond tresses flowed out, mingling with the longest feathers. Logan’s familiar, Willson, followed at her heels. Elnor was right behind him, tagging along like a kitten.
“Gorgeous!” I said, as Logan spun, letting the skirt flare out.
“I never get to wear this.” She smiled. “Thanks for throwing such a fancy party. It’s going to be great.”
“I hope so.”