For Love or Magic (19 page)

Desmond met my eye. “I believe we've already tested thoroughly for day magic.”

It took me a moment to understand, and when I did, my breath caught. “Oh. You mean … when we kissed? The, uh … the second time?”

“Yes. Also…” He looked at his hands as he spoke. “I want desperately to … for you to not worry or upset yourself on my account. I find it very … extremely, um, well …
vexing,
for lack of a better word … to be unable to relieve your distress.”

“Vexing?”
I let loose with a light, mildly hysterical laugh. “So, when you get stressed out, you get, like, more British? Is that how it works? If I started pelting you with a BB gun, would your monocle just suddenly pop off?”

He met my eyes and smiled. “Had I a monocle, yes. That's exactly how it works.”

I held his gaze. Desmond's smile faded, and his eyes lowered quickly.

“Although I think for the moment, considering how much time we have between now and nightfall, we should both be thinking in terms of stress
relief
rather than…” He choked a bit on the words and his face reddened a little bit. “What I mean to say is … I'm not suggesting…”

The silence fell over us, and I let it sit there. There were maybe two feet between us, and suddenly all I could think about was closing that distance and touching him, everywhere, but it was exactly that instinct that had created this whole disaster in the first place. Until night fell and my magic wasn't active anymore, I didn't want to risk touching him again, so finishing his obvious thought and bringing up the topic of sex would not help at all.

“Badminton?” I offered finally.

“Pardon?”

“For stress relief,” I said. “You're not suggesting … badminton, right?”

“Yes,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I think …
badminton
 … would complicate an already complicated situation.”

I smiled, amazed at how safe he was making me feel, even given the day I … well,
we
 … were having. “Good, because that may be too British, even for you.”

He laughed lightly, and my heart sang at the thought that I had made him happy. I didn't know what his emotions were doing right now, but mine were in overdrive, and it was best to calm everything down for a while. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, so we've got seven hours to kill, we need stress relief, badminton's off the table…”

“I have a bottle of Glenfiddich,” he offered. “And a pack of cards.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said.

*   *   *

“Well, we've learned one thing,” I said a few hours later, gathering up the cards from the coffee table. “You are the worst spit player in probably the history of the world.”

“I consider that a positive quality. Spit is a terrible game.”

“Spit is the best game ever,” I said. “Del and I played it all the time when we had sleepovers.”

“And thank you for making my point for me,” he said dryly.

I shifted on the floor, where I sat next to a sleeping Seamus while Desmond stayed on the couch. We'd been slow with the whisky, stretching a few small glasses over a late lunch of brie, baguette, and grapes, and what seemed like endless games of cards. So far, Desmond appeared to be having no response to the wild magic, but then, the sun hadn't set yet. I glanced out the window, the way I had been every twenty minutes for the last six and a half hours. The sky was pink now, not the bright blue of earlier, but still. Night was coming, and I wasn't sure I was ready for whatever came next.

“So, you pick the game, then,” I said, shuffling the cards. “Something British and sophisticated. Perhaps a round of whist?”

Desmond sighed, and I looked up to see him giving me a plaintive look.

“Stop thinking what you're thinking,” I said. “I'm not leaving.”

“I promise to call you immediately if anything happens,” he said. “Which it won't.”

I tapped the deck on the table, twice, punctuating my determination to stay. “Fine. If you won't make a suggestion, let's do blackjack again.”

I started to deal the cards, but Desmond reached for my hand, and I pulled away on instinct.

“Eliot, stop. You're like a skittish cat. You're not going to hurt me.”

“Right.” I put the cards down. “Because I've already hurt you.”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “You didn't. If anything happens to me, which it won't, it will have been an accident. Please. Let me drive you home.”

He got up from the couch, walked over to the breakfast bar, and whipped the useless potion flask keys attached to his car fob off the counter. The car fob still worked, and he obviously meant to take me home.

I stood up, crossing my arms over my chest. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“I'm asking you to go,” he said. “If I ask you to leave, and you refuse, you do understand that's trespassing, don't you?”

I stood my ground. “So, what? You're going to call the police and have me forcibly removed? Because that's what you'll have to do.”

“Fine.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. I didn't move.

He tapped his security code in. I didn't move.

He opened his phone app and dialed.

“Oh, if Roni Kittering answers, tell her that she left her earrings at Happy Larry's. They're in the lost and found.”

“Dammit.” He shut the phone down and looked at me, eyes blazing. “You are the most bullheaded woman I have ever known.”

“We haven't even scratched the surface yet, buddy.”

“I don't want you here,” he said. “I'm asking you to leave. I don't understand why you won't respect that.”

“Why do you want me to leave? Because you don't want me to worry? Like I won't be out of my mind if I'm not with you. Why in the world would you think that would be any easier on me?”

“Nothing's going to happen to me, but if it does—”

“Then it won't matter if I'm here!”

He raised his voice, speaking over me. “
But if it does,
I don't want you here to see it! Dammit. Why are you being willfully obtuse?”

“Because you're being willfully a dumbass!” I said, walking over to him. “I'm here to help. Who's gonna get the potions down your stupid gullet if you collapse?”

Desmond motioned toward the kitchen counter, where a line of small, glass potion flasks stoppered with corks sat in a neat row. “They're right there. If something should happen, which it won't, I will be perfectly capable of administering the correct dosage, and if I'm not, then you wouldn't be able to help me, anyway.”

I must have looked as horrified as I felt at that, because his face softened and I could see guilt in his eyes.

“You're upset,” he said. “This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

“Then stop asking me to leave.”

It took a little while, but eventually, he nodded. I glanced outside; there was still a trace of pink light in the sky.

“So, you've been reading the letters,” I said suddenly, motioning toward the end stand in the living room. “I noticed the book earlier.” He looked at me blankly, so I added, “Sartre and Simone?”

“Oh. Um. Yes.” There was still tension in his voice, but it was softening a bit. “They're quite engaging. I think you got it exactly right with those two. A crazy lid for every nutty pot, was that what you said?”

I smiled. “Something like that, yeah. I think if anyone else in the world called her ‘my dear little girl' she would have castrated the guy. But when he said it…”

I trailed off, and we stared at each other for a long while, a new tension building between us.

“My dear little girl,” he said quietly, and I swear to god, it almost killed me trying to hide how it made my insides go to jelly.

“So, um … how are you feeling? Emotionally, I mean?” I motioned to the window. It was almost full dark. “Should we start?”

“Start … what?”

“I don't know. Emotions. Stirring things up. Talking about that dog that died, or…”

I hadn't realized that we'd been closing the space between us, but now, we were close enough that I could feel his breath swirling in the air between us. It smelled of whisky, and it was intoxicating.

“Or?” he said.

“Or…” I swallowed. “Or we could play … badminton.” I let out an involuntary giggle, feeling stupid and reckless and drunk on something more powerful than the hooch. “Unless, I mean … I'm assuming you feel emotion when you play … badminton. Some people don't, and that's okay.”

“I think…” He cleared his throat. “We're trying to test a hypothesis. Perhaps it's time to be direct with each other.”

“Should we have another glass of whisky first?”

“Yes, excellent idea.” He poured the whisky while I sat down. He handed me my glass and settled across from me on the couch, his body turned toward mine. I knew my face was flushed, and I drank a big gulp so I could blame it on the Glenfiddich.

“Just being around you is enough to spark an emotional reaction within me,” he said, his words coming careful and even. “I don't need to touch you or have sex with you for you to … affect me.”

I nodded and laughed, unable to bear the tension anymore. “I actually tend to spark reactions in a lot of people. Every time Happy Larry sees me, steam comes right off the top of his head.”

“What I'm feeling isn't anger.” His voice was calm and even. He took a sip of his whisky, keeping eye contact with me as he drank, making me feel dizzy.

“What…” My voice cracked, so I swallowed and took another run at it. “What are you feeling?”

He took a breath, seeming to think about it for a moment. “There's an odd … I don't know how to describe it. A lightness of being, I guess.”

I wanted to make a joke out of the way he was speaking, anything to take down the electricity between us, but I was too caught up. I could barely speak, let alone joke. “You mean … I make you happy?”

He let out a light laugh and lowered his eyes. “Yes. But more than that. You make me forget, however temporarily, that I've ever been unhappy.”

“Oh.” I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I took another drink.

“When you speak, I'm fascinated.” He kept his head low, staring into his glass, which he swirled absently in his hand. “Your intelligence, and your willful attempts to veil it … I find myself ensorcelled. I don't hear anything else, just your voice, even when there's all manner of commotion around us. Everything else just fades away. Watching you move toward me makes me light-headed, and when you walk away, I can't pull my eyes from you until you disappear from view, and even then, I stare like a fool at the space you vacated. When you smile at me, I want so badly to be the man you see in me. And when I make you laugh—” He raised his head, his expression embarrassed, but then he saw me swiping at my face and his eyes widened. “Oh, bollocks.”

I waved my hands in front of my face as he shifted toward me on the couch.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” I said, taking the handkerchief he held out to me and dabbing at my eyes. “It's just … no one has ever said anything like that to me.” I lowered my eyes, too embarrassed to look directly at him. “I mean, even Judd. When he proposed, all he said was, ‘I'd rather have you on my side than the other guy's.' No one says stuff like this.” I hit him playfully on the shoulder and sniffled. “I mean, who says stuff like this?”

“Someone should say this to you every day,” he said, so softly that I almost didn't hear him. I looked up, and his face was just inches from mine. I reached out and put my index finger on his lips, and he gently kissed it. I glanced outside.

The sky was black.

“Are you feeling … a lot of emotion right now?” I asked.

He swallowed, and nodded. I reached down and took his hand in mine.

“No evident light phenomena,” I said.

He smiled and shook his head. “No. No, there is not.”

“H-how are feeling? Are you feeling light-headed?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice quiet and intent. “But I don't think it's magic.”

We sat there, frozen in that space, for what felt like a really long time, then I got up and took his hand in mine. Silently, I led him past Seamus's sleeping body and up the steps to his loft bedroom. I turned to him and started to unbutton his shirt. At first he tensed up, but I pressed my lips to his chest and he sighed and I knew he wasn't going to resist. Whatever powers we may have had, none of them were more powerful than this.

We moved slowly, together, as though time wasn't a consideration. It wasn't that we took off each other's clothes; it was as though they just fell away. He lowered me onto the bed and kissed my belly, and I pulled him back up to kiss my lips, hungry for his mouth in a way that almost made me dizzy. I had been ready for him for what felt like hours, and now that we weren't holding back any more, every moment without him was an eternity. We fished through his bedside drawer together, giggling, and when I took him in my hand and sheathed him, his sharp intake of breath at my touch intoxicated me. I moved over him, tasting his mouth as I slid myself down over him, and held myself motionless, looking into his eyes as we melded together. He sifted his fingers into my hair and pulled me down to him and it felt like falling into safety, into comfort, even as the waves we rode slammed us together, the power of each crash increasing until I reached down and touched myself between us, unable to wait any longer. I cried out, bucking against him, and he held me tight to him until the spasms subsided. A few quiet moments, and slowly he moved within me, and I kept his pace until he shouted out, then went still and fell down beside me. I curled myself up next to him, my head resting over his pounding heart, and closed my eyes.