Love and Other Calamities

by Virginia Nelson

  “What question is that, Ma?” Bobsy asked.

  “Are you okay?”

  Bobsy’s fingers snapped the head off a dandelion, sending the yellow bud flying. “I’m not sure yet,” she finally responded honestly.

  “Well, work on that. You being okay is important to me,” her mother said gently. “Now, my soaps are coming on, but I love you, little girl.”

  “Love you, too, Mama,” Bobsy replied before reaching in her bra to get the phone to end the call.

  For long seconds, she held the phone, then she did the thing she told herself she wouldn’t do.

  She googled her name. According to her mother, they’d archived her old social media accounts so she wouldn’t be confused as she had no memory of fighting the witch hunters nor of the day with the coin…

  Nor of falling in love with Ambrose, marrying him, and living happily for years before those memories were stolen from her.

  She found the account with no problems and then clicked to the photos to see him again.

  So many pictures, she thought when she began scrolling through them. They’d apparently had years together, happy ones, and the pictures reflected that shared time.

  Too bad she didn’t remember most of them.

  From what she could piece together, she’d fought a band of witch hunters from up north years ago. Fought them and won, defeating their leader—a woman named Merga—and saving the world from the grand spell they were hoping to cast.

  They’d tried to wipe out all the magic on Earth in one fail swoop, but she’d stopped them, a process that killed Merga on the spot.

  Merga had been doing a blood rite meant to cleanse the world of all magic—apparently the group didn’t realize that doing so would effectively rip the space time continuum and destroy the world in the process—so when Bobsy stopped her by casting a bubble over her…

  The spell imploded, killing Merga instantly.

  Bobsy had been wracked with guilt at the time, something that took a ton of counseling and reminders that it was for the greater good of all living things and thereby not her fault, but she’d survived and gone on with her life.

  She met Ambrose at a skating rink, of all places—she’d been there for a friend’s kid’s birthday party. He was working part time bussing tables—and they’d hit it off over flat, room temperature sodas. Instantly, they’d connected and scheduled a second date…

  Which led to a third and eventually a super romantic proposal on the beach.

  They’d been talking about having a kid, window shopping at the mall and doing a fantasy remodel of what would become their child’s nursery, when she’d gotten hungry.

  They went to the food court, and he told her to have a seat while he went for drinks…

  Bing, bang, boom… she’d seen the coin and reached for it. He arrived, went to get the coin for her, and they’d both collapsed on the floor.

  She didn’t remember the collapsing part, but her mother filled her in on what the witches who’d come to help saw when they arrived. Nearby mall visitors had called for an ambulance, but before it arrived, her darling familiar had reached out to the witches to help her.

  They managed to get Bobsy out of the mall, to take her home and heal her, but Ambrose was taken by ambulance…

  And never seen again, not according to her mother. He’d just popped off the map, and not one single spell they’d cast searching for him could find where he’d gone.

  Apparently, the spell contained on the coin would’ve struck her dead, had she managed to touch it first. Ambrose had saved her by sharing the brunt of it, but only barely. It had taken a ton of magic to bring her back to any semblance of healthy, so the witches assumed he’d died of his injuries when they couldn’t obtain his location.

  To protect Bobsy from the grief of losing her partner, they just… erased him. After all, Bobsy didn’t remember him, because they’d asked while rehabbing her from her injuries.

  Bobsy remembered that time—she’d been so sick, but she didn’t know what from. Her mind was fogged by the fever that would spike very high, then drop so low that she was left shivering.

  They’d cleaned her house of all things that might upset her—of everything Ambrose—and then agreed as a group to shield her from the painful memories of losing him.

  For her own good.

  A tiny surge of anger flared up in her at their duplicity, but it was quickly quenched by the knowledge they’d done it because they cared about her.

  While she’d been thinking, Bobsy paced until she realized she wasn’t pacing at all. She’d walked to the park with the pond. There, on the bench, she spotted the grumpy old man.

  A smile curved her lips, and she was happy for the distraction, so she kept walking until she could join him on his bench overlooking the pond. He didn’t look up, face buried in a newspaper.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, getting his attention.

  He rustled the newspaper, appearing annoyed at the distraction, until he looked at her. “Oh, it’s you,” he finally grumped.

  “Nice weather we’re having,” she said with a smirk. She hoped he’d be just as crotchety as the last time they’d spoken, back when Ambrose pushed her into the duck pond.

  “If you say so,” he replied. “Did you lie to that young man who came to flirt with you that day? I’ve been wondering.”

  Bobsy shook her head. “Nope, sorry. I’ve been completely honest with him for longer than I even remember being.”

  The old man squinted at her, making the wrinkles in his face fold up like a fan. “That doesn’t make a lick of sense, girl.”

  “It really doesn’t,” said Ambrose, and Bobsy turned to face him.

  “It’s you again,” she said, heart racing. Her thumb traced over the back of the ring she wore—it was her wedding ring, dammit, and even if neither of them remembered him giving it to her, she had a right to wear it.

  “Oh, I’m not sticking around to hear the two of you flirt. Have a nice day, young lady.” The old man stood from his bench and began to walk away.

  “Hey, mister,” Bobsy called.

  “Yeah?” he replied in his grumpy way.

  “I hope to see you around here soon. It is nice to make a new friend, isn’t it?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile he resisted. “I come on most weekdays around this time. Used to sit here with my wife, so I like to read the paper to her, now that she’s gone.”

  Bobsy nodded. She understood loss. “I’ll keep you company sometime soon.”

  “I’d like that,” he said, and then he continued walking toward the parking lot at the front of the park.

  As before, Ambrose took the seat the old man vacated.

  Bobsy’s heart raced, her palms sweated, and she suffered a moment of blind panic. If the witches didn’t tell her about what happened between her and Ambrose for fear of damaging her mind after she recovered from the powerful spell, then she needed to be really careful what she said.

  The last thing she wanted after finding her husband—who she’d apparently loved and loved deeply, and who’d once loved her back just as deeply—was to hurt him.

  But maybe he was starting to remember, too?

  Still, she needed to be careful how she went about things… even if she was dying to ask him where he’d gone that the witches couldn’t find them, not with all their combined spells and power.

  She needed to just be happy that he’d survived and save her questions for when he, too, remembered her.

  So all she said aloud was, “Nice weather we’re having.”

  Ambrose grunted, but he didn’t look up at her. She stared at his profile, remembering his face and memorizing the changes since she’d first fallen in love with him so very long ago.

  That little scar on his cheek—she didn’t remember that. She wondered how he’d gotten it, what had happened to him in the intervening years since they’d been apart.

  No questions, she
reminded herself. Let him tell you how much he remembers and hope for the best.

  “I guess,” he replied. “Nice enough, if you like too much sunshine.”

  It was so close to something the grumpy old man might say that she burst into unrestrained and slightly hysterical sounding laughter.

  Ambrose finally met her gaze, frowning at her. “I’m not sure why that’s hilarious.”

  “Fair enough,” she replied equitably enough. “So, about the train—”

  “Did you cast some kind of spell on me?” he asked, leaning toward her a little. “Tell me, quick. You can admit it. I won’t hurt you for telling me what it is, I swear it.”

  Bobsy laughed again, wiping tears from her eyes. She wasn’t sure if the tears were from laughing so hard or from her sadness because he still didn’t remember her. “I cast no spells on you, Ambrose. Not now, not ever.”

  “So you won’t even admit it?” Ambrose asked, jerking to his feet in what looked like fury. His eyes scanned the park. “There’s no one around to hear you. Just admit you cast some kind of seduction spell on me and be done with it.”

  She stood slowly, coming toe to toe with him. “I cast no spells on you, and wouldn’t cast a seduction spell on anyone, not even you.”

  His breath caught, and for half a second, she thought he remembered her.

  He might kiss me, she thought, closing her eyes and tilting her face up to accept the kiss, should he decide to give her one.

  Because her eyes were closed, she didn’t even see the blade that he slipped between her ribs…

  But she felt it.

  Chapter 10

  Ambrose

  Her eyes popped open, the pupils small because of the sunshine, but they blew wide as she stared at him. The blade in his hand burned with cold fire, but then he felt something warm sliding across his fingers.

  Something warm, something wet, something awful.

  He couldn’t quite bring himself to accept that her blood coursed over his hand, not even while he twisted the blade to be sure it sank home.

  She didn’t make a sound, simply reached out both hands toward him. Some distant part of his mind—distant because most of his mind was filled with a horrified scream at what he’d done—registered her hands coming toward him as danger.

  She wasn’t dead, which meant she could still cast a spell on him to kill him on the spot.

  But he didn’t move, didn’t save himself from whatever she intended to do. Something kept him rooted to the spot, staring into her lovely eyes as they lost focus for a second then seemed to burn into his soul.

  Her hands caught his arms and held, as if she just braced herself against the pain of her wound.

  “You weren’t expecting that,” he said, his tone snide despite the warmth of her lifeblood coursing across his fingers.

  “Nope,” she agreed, but she didn’t fall nor did she cast a spell at him.

  For long seconds, they remained like that—him holding his blade in her chest, her holding onto him for support.

  He felt the pulse of energy from her palms and thought—aha! There’s the spell.

  But when he glanced at her hands, he just saw pale fingers glowing a strange gold, like when their hands had touched. It wasn’t doing anything to him, not really.

  Well, he did feel warmth and a strange sense of safety…

  Like coming home.

  But maybe that was the spell, one meant to make him hesitate or decide not to kill her?

  Her hand… what was that on the ring finger? She hadn’t been wearing jewelry, not that he’d noticed, and he’d spent a long time watching her as he hunted her like prey.

  He caught her hand in his own as she crumpled, intent on the ring. Why did it look so familiar? He traced his thumb across the filigree, searching his mind for where he’d seen that band before.

  Was it how she protected herself from his other attempts to banish her from the world of the living?

  Had he seen it in a book or—?

  Memories flashed through his mind. He remembered putting this ring on her finger. Holding this hand in his as he swore to love and protect her for the rest of their lives.

  “Bobsy?” he asked, faltering. Why could he remember a wedding that never happened clearer than he could remember his own childhood?

  But, suddenly, he could remember his childhood. He could remember playing in the sandbox and pushing the merry-go-round. He could remember growing up—his mom and dad were the best, actually—and graduating high school.

  He could remember his first marriage—total mess, a giant mistake where he’d married the first girl he’d dated in school thinking that common past equaled common future—and how he’d lost everything he’d worked for in the divorce.

  Afterward, he’d gotten the only job he could find at the time—bussing tables at a local skating rink where the shrieks of children, the overpowering smells of foot sweat and popcorn, and the flashing lights left him with headaches each and every night over the time he’d worked there.

  It had been a nightmare, but without that job, he wouldn’t have met Bobsy.

  They wouldn’t have built a life together, one crafted from friendship and trust and a whole lot of conversations, that left him contented and satisfied.

  He remembered joking that job saved his life in a lot of ways… because with her in it, his life was so much fuller and brighter.

  Her hand went limp in his, and his glance traced down her arm to her body, which now lay crumpled awkwardly at his feet. He knelt, scooping her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he told her, trying not to look at the knife protruding from her chest.

  The knife he’d put there.

  “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Peter will come and then—”

  But Peter wouldn’t come. He knew that. They’d cast a warding around the park—witch hunters along the circumference, when they’d spotted her heading this way, all chanting to ensure no one would come to help her.

  Ambrose spun, confused and frustrated. Why would he remember all that too late to save her?

  Why would he put a knife in the one person that made this world special to him?

  And he remembered that, too. Remembered the coin in the fountain—the one his lady wanted, so he figured he’d just grab it for her. Remembered the pain as it zinged up his arm and went his mind go black.

  He remembered the witch hunters locking him in the basement, feeding him little more than scraps, as they basically brainwashed him into believing he’d led a life different from his real one.

  Until they rewrote who he was, then sent him out to kill his bride.

  Bobsy’s eyes fluttered open and she peered up at him. Her face was crumpled with pain, but she managed a wobbly smile. “Sorry, think I blacked out there.” She coughed, then her face went red, and the blood coursed a bit faster from the spot where the blade still stuck out of her. “Note to self: don’t cough. Makes it worse.”

  “Bobsy,” he said, kneeling with her still in his arms. “I’ll get help. I’ll fix this, somehow!”

  Her hand curved around his face. “I think you remember me,” she managed, but her breath was coming in little gasps that made his chest constrict with terror.

  “I don’t know how I forgot,” he answered honestly, covering her hand with his own. The blood on his hand covered hers, and he almost gagged at the thought of what he’d done to her.

  “I forgot, too,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The last was said in a little voice, one going more faint with each word she uttered.

  “Don’t leave me,” he begged, holding her closer against his chest. “Not when I’ve just found you again.”

  “Not sure I have a choice,” she answered. Her gaze tracked down to the knife, but she looked away from it quickly. “If you wanted to impale me, I’m pretty sure both of us could’ve come up with more fun ways for you to do it.”

  Ambrose pressed his forehead against hers. “Don’t leave me,” he repeated, as no
other thought or phrase seemed important enough to say in that moment.

  “Shh,” she said, trying to comfort him, or so it seemed.

  “Use your magic,” he begged. “Do something. Undo what I did!”

  “I’m pretty sure my magic doesn’t work that way,” she replied. “I’m not a healer any more than I can tell the future. I’m just a witch, and my task is to save the world… not myself.”

  “Dammit!” he muttered, trying to find a better way to hold her, one that wouldn’t hurt her. “There’s got to be a way to fix this.”

  “You come up with one,” she replied. “I think I’m just going to rest for a minute.”

  “No!” he shouted at her when her eyes began to flutter closed. “Don’t go to sleep. You might not wake up, if you do.”

  Her lips curled in a smile. “Not sure I have a choice there, handsome. I haven’t said it in a long time, but I love you, Ambrose.”

  “I love you, too, little witch,” he said to her, the old term of endearment sliding out of his mouth automatically. “So don’t leave me. Fight.”

  “No bad guys here,” she replied simply. “That’s not how my magic works. I’m good at taking on bad guys, and I don’t see any. I only see you.”

  He took her lips, the kiss rough and unskilled, but he put his whole heart into it. “Then fight for me,” he whispered. “Fight for us. Stay with me, Bobsy, because I need you.”

  Her eyes opened again, and she met his gaze. For a second, the bond between them blew wide, and he remembered their connection in a way he hadn’t before. She was part of his soul, the part that mattered most. The gold glow that happened when they touched spread, flowing over them until she shined so bright, he could hardly look at her.

  But he did. For her, he would stare right into the sun, burnt retinas be damned.

  She held his gaze, and for a second, he thought it would be enough. Maybe whatever was between them could heal her…

  But then the gold glow dimmed. “My magic doesn’t work like that, sorry.”

  “Dammit!” he repeated, and again scanned the park. “Help!” he called out, as if someone would materialize to make things better.