American Goth (37 page)

I had the full, cell deep knowledge that I was promised, sealed, this life, and the next, for however many would be, to these people and to the ones I’d known before, to the woman who bore the power of the Goddess and the God as she moved within me, bringing me to my knees before the one Great Truth. She brought me back to the Material, to the body that slipped urgently beneath hers, and as we came together once more, the power became mine.

There are some whose bravery increases At the sight of their own blood…

…And so I’ll scorn all injury, And hardships I will disregard.

—Shantideva
, The Way of the Boddhisattva,
Padmakara, tr.

The constant tick-tock and the flipping calendar ensured the days flew, and as mid-November approached, the West End lit up for the holidays.

Not only was it my first Christmas in London, I also didn’t want Fran to miss a thing, and I enlisted everyone’s help in finding out what all those things were, from choir performances to newly lit trees to little skating rinks that popped up in different neighborhoods.

“Christmas seems to be the ultimate Victorian art form,” Fran observed one evening as we returned from our wanderings.

“True,” I agreed, and caught her about the waist, “but I’m certain they were willfully ignorant of the true meaning behind mistletoe.”

The smile she wore seemed to match the way mine felt, and her eyes shone up at me before she glanced over my head to the sprig that hung over the door. “Well,” she said as she put her arms around my neck, “you know I’m not about to forget.”

I wasn’t about to, either.

But still, Fran grew tense as time wound down, and while I was concerned as well, I didn’t quite have the same frantic approach. Then again, she was facing a late start to her freshman year at Columbia, back in New York, and I was rather certain I’d be staying in England. We didn’t talk about it, but she knew, and
I
knew it upset her.

I didn’t tell her to relax or anything like that—that would have been dismissive of her very real concerns. Instead, I distracted her by taking her to places she hadn’t been to yet, and I teased her about her birthday and Christmas, both of which were fast coming.

The tension she carried, the will to succeed, translated into everything she did, and coalesced between her shoulder blades. “Oh yeah…that, right there…”

I refocused my fingertips on the knot beneath her skin. If I let my sight drift, I could see the neural netways, the paths and channels, the blocks and flows as they ran through her, and I worked on clearing them, soothing the muscles that had stretched and tightened during the day.

“Thank you,” she sighed, then settled her head on her hands. “I suppose it would be nice if I decided on a major before heading back,” she observed, and gave me a wry grin over her shoulder.

“Study whatever you want. You’ll go to grad school anyway,” I said as I molded her shoulder blade under my hands. I
really
liked the way that looked—my hands on her body.

Fran shifted, her legs grazing the inside of my thighs as she turned and gazed up at me with eyes a mellow caramel in the lamplight. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“What do you mean?”

She sat up on her elbows. “You got comped to Princeton—Columbia would easily give you a scholarship, academic or athletic. Come with me. My father’s paid for an apartment so we’ve already got a place, everything here’s quieted down, and you can do your research just as easily there as here, maybe even faster because you can speak to some of those people in your notes, visit those places.”

“Hmm…” I stroked the strong lines of her shoulders as I considered. “Maybe I can look into it for next fall.”

She was right, nothing, absolutely nothing earth-shattering had happened; life seemed to simply be. Her idea did have possibilities, and they seemed much more appealing when she took my hands in hers and placed them firmly on her chest. God, I loved the way her breasts felt in my hands, and as I leaned down to kiss her, her words were throaty as she spoke and she lifted her hips beneath me.

“You’ve never been on top of me like
this
before,” she said against my lips, and her fingers undid the knot that held up my pants.

In seconds we’d skinned each other of the little clothes we’d had left and I let Fran guide me on her. First I felt incredible warmth, but as my body settled on hers…Oh. My. God.

I don’t know who gasped first or which of us let out the shuddered breath. I knew and knew well exactly how and why I enjoyed Fran riding me, how amazing it felt to feel her cunt play over and swallow mine; now I knew why she enjoyed it too, because the horizontal length of her engorged clit wedged into me and with every slide of my hips, my clit licked against her pubic mound.

It was good, it was really fucking good, and as good as it felt in my body, it felt even better to watch Fran’s eyes first flutter shut, then open with surprise. I loved watching her chest heave as she fought for enough air to fuck me, loved too the tilt of her pelvis to increase the grind, the way the fingers of one hand dug into my hip while the others threaded through my hair, cupped the back of my neck, her tongue a line of fire up my chest before she pulled me in for a kiss that deepened the connect.

For the first time, or for the first time in a long time, we loved one another without the weight of the past, without the presence of power, without fear for the future. We simply were, and we followed our rhythms and desires, free to simply be us, because for once, finally, we had tomorrow. And even that didn’t matter as she fit to me, back pressed firmly to my chest as I filled her, the gratifying solidity of her a constant brush on my thighs when she craned her head around and strained to kiss me while I touched her everywhere I could reach and hold, soft, silk, hard, wet…everything…she was everything, we were everything, one pulse, one song, one blood, one living cadenced beat.

When we fell asleep curled around and still holding each other wherever we could, it was to sleep with a sense of sureness I’d never felt before.

*

I’ll never really know what it was that woke me. All I can say for certain is that I’d gone from one of the most peaceful slumbers I’d ever had to full alertness, a sudden knowing that my attention was required. My eyes were open even before the knock on the door.

“Annie, Francesca. My apologies, but it’s urgent,” Elizabeth’s voice said through the wood.

I could feel Fran snap to wakefulness perhaps a second after I did, and I gave her fingers a quick squeeze before I jumped out of bed.

“Just a moment,” I called back. I grabbed the discarded sweats from the floor and tossed a pair back to Fran, then quickly rummaged about for some T-shirts.

I wiggled into my clothes and after quickly checking over my shoulder to be certain she was dressed, I crossed the floor to the door, Fran right behind me, her fingers laced through mine.

Elizabeth wore a grim expression as she faced us from the hallway. “Francesca,” she began quietly, “your father is on the phone—pick it up in the library.”

Fran hurried down the hallway and I would have followed, but Elizabeth gently restrained me.

“I’m sorry, Annie. You were right,” she said in the same serious tone.

I shook my head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She patted my shoulder gently through the sleeve of my shirt, and for just a second, between the emotion that waved from her and that which flashed through the overbright eyes she shone on me, I thought she might cry.

“Cort always tells me that I forget, you’re not
like
the other members of the Circle, and until you know how to establish your own,” she groped for the word, “perimeter, as it were, proven yourself, there is no doubt, none whatsoever, that those you are close to and those close to them are in danger.”

My skin tingled when Fran’s agitation bled back through me and my stomach tightened when I felt the sharp fear that knifed through her.

Whatever else Elizabeth was about to say fell unheard because I bolted along the same path Fran had taken, her pain tearing through me as if it were my own heart that would break.

I caught myself on the door frame and took a breath, just in time to see Fran place the phone back in its cradle.

Even as she turned to face me with tears streaming down her cheeks I already held her in my arms and I shared her fear and anguish as she clutched at me and sobbed against my neck.

“There was an accident—Gemma—I have to get to Milan—a car will be here in about an hour. My father,” she gulped and caught her breath, “arranged it.”

“Tell me all about it,” I asked softly as I guided her to the settee with me. “Start from the beginning.”

The details were a bit sketchy, but from what I could make of it, the family had been enjoying a late-night cappuccino at an outdoor café when a driver apparently lost control of his vehicle and plowed onto the sidewalk, scattering chairs, tables, and a few people along with them. Mrs. DiTomassa had suffered a fractured wrist, but Gemma’s skull had been fractured; she was in critical condition in San Rafael Hospital.

“When did this happen?” It was a little after midnight in London.

“About an hour ago, maybe a bit more,” she answered. “It’s bad enough that Gemma’s so hurt—but my father is using this as campaign publicity,” she said indignantly as she sat up and wiped her eyes. “He has a press conference scheduled for ten in the morning.”

I remembered quite well the man who made a speech at my father’s funeral, then had a great photo op next to me and Uncle Cort as I was handed the flag that had been draped over the casket. And as I felt through the image, I could see him, read him, clearly.

He’d been at a loss, hadn’t known what to say or do for such a young person, especially one he’d almost literally watched grow, facing something that made him ache for his own children, so he did what he could—he was a politician, and hoped that he could make a difference.

“He’s scared, Frankie,” I said, “he’s scared, and he’s doing the thing he knows how to do.” I knew he had issues with his son and his daughter being gay, but he did love them in the way he could.

“Wish he’d learn something new,” Fran said bitterly.

I didn’t blame her for feeling or saying that.

“What time is your flight?” I asked quietly.

“Three thirty. It’s a little more than three hours long, and my father said it would give me time to be presentable before his little circus.”

A buzz ran through me, the beginning of something more than concern for Fran and her family. I wanted…I wanted to hold her hand when she visited her sister, I wanted to cheer her smiles, hold her like I did now when she was scared, and shield her from anything, everything, that might bring pain to her heart or tears to her eyes. I mutely held her closer and the buzz beat through me, the muted start of warning. “We have to get your things.”

She shivered against me and took a deep, shaky breath. “Yes.”

I knew one thing: there were no accidents.

Elizabeth had kindly started the job of packing Fran’s things, and on top of her suitcase, she’d placed the peacoat Fran always wore. Fran sighed when she saw it. “I can’t take that, you know,” she said.

“Of course you can,” I disagreed then smiled. I put my arms around her, kissed her forehead, kissed her cheek. “It’s always looked better on you than me anyway.”

“You think so, huh?” she asked as her hands rounded my waist.

“I know so.” I hugged her to me. “We don’t have a lot of time,” I reminded her. “You’re going to want to shower, dress, before your flight.”

“Oh man, where’s my head? Yeah,” she agreed and stopped short. I knew what she was wondering about.

“Go, I’ve got clothes you can wear, don’t worry,” I assured her as I went to the bureau to get my own things together.

She headed for the door, and hesitated before she stepped through. “Will you be here when I’m done?”

“Yes.”

*

We decided to wait in the library we’d spent so many hours in together until the arrival of the car that would take her to London’s Gatwick Airport for her flight to Milan’s Linate. If it wasn’t for the tearing sensation in my rib cage, my heart would have swollen in gratitude for the crackling fire Uncle Cort had once again taken the time to set up, and for the quick fix of sandwiches and tea that had been laid out on the desk.

“You’ll get hungry on the flight,” Elizabeth said, encouraging us both to eat something.

Fran gamely tried to take a bite, but quickly put her sandwich down, and Elizabeth took her hand in both of her own.

“Your sister,” Elizabeth said, “was willing to fight and move across the ocean to be with her brother—she’s a natural warrior. It’s okay to be worried,” she said gently, “but to give her strength, you’ll need your own. Please eat?”

“I’ll eat with you,” I volunteered and it would of course figure that Elizabeth knew what she was about, since as I swallowed food and tea I felt my own internal tensions ease just the slightest bit.

“You know,” Uncle Cort said as he walked into the study and took a seat directly across from us, “that you’re always welcome, wherever any of us are, whenever, for however long. We are family.”