Chapter 5 Finley
Finley
I’ve never felt more obsessed with Hazel than when I go to a shelf that’s mostly hidden in shadow to get a stack of books I chose.
Her presence is heady. All consuming even.
I’m not sure if it was the wait, the doubt that she wasn’t coming or merely the anticipation of what’s to come.
The excited desire overrides even my need to breathe.
And the stolen glances she gives me. With a beautiful blush on her cheeks after being caught in the cold rain. My god. She is gorgeous and tempting in every way. It’s making me crave more from her. I want to touch her skin, not just her clothes, and it’s unbearable.
Silently, I scold myself. Pull it together.
When I turn around again, the flames on the candles waver slightly, almost like a breeze came through the room. A breeze wouldn’t shake the flames like that. I move with nervous anticipation. It feels as if everything is waiting for her pleasure.
This room has never felt quite like this before. Not even when the spirits were at their most restless. I call upon the magic here to impress her. I need to impress her tonight. For her to fall for me as I’ve fallen for her.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head to rid the thought. No woman has ever made me feel this way. This delicate balance of showing her all of me that I’ve not shown others while also needing her to accept it. I’ve never cared for the approval of others, but tonight feels different.
Hazel’s gorgeous face glows in the candlelight. She has her knees drawn up to her chest, and she’s watching me with beautiful doe eyes. It feels like a long walk back to the blanket, though it’s only a few steps.
“That’s not books in a way,” she says as I lower myself back down to the blanket. “Those are books literally.”
“These are not just books,” I scold teasingly. “These books are history.”
“Are you going to read to me, then?” She smiles, and dimples show up in her cheeks. So fucking beautiful.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
She crosses her legs instead, sitting up straighter. “What are we going to do with them?”
I answer in a single word, “Magic.”
Hazel doesn’t laugh as her eyes follow me. Perhaps she’s testing me. Wondering how serious I am. Truthfully I don’t know for certain how serious Hazel is with her craft. And how much she believes. But judging by her research and book selection. She’ll understand and enjoy all that I have planned.
If the tension in the air is accurate, she’s curious.
I gather my grimoire from one of the book stands, along with the single unlit candle in the room. I crave her touch so much it’s hard to keep my hands off her. It’s hard to put the books down and keep my focus on the spell.
Hazel folds her hands in her lap. Her gaze is even more palpable on my skin than the light touches from the spirits.
I wasn’t planning to cast the spell in front of her, but it won’t mean anything unless I do. Anyone else could’ve cast it, or it could be old magic that goes along with the building, and there’s nothing stronger in me than the need to kiss her. To show her who I am.
I don’t know why it’s happening tonight of all nights when I’ve held myself back for so long, but I couldn’t care less.
I have to go with it. Nothing else would seem right.
I’d be a coward if I didn’t. I’m lucky enough to know that turning away from this—hiding anything from her—would be creating unfinished business.
I can’t have that with Hazel.
As she watches, I light the last candle and begin the spell.
This one isn’t open-ended. It’s not asking the universe to do something for me, like shield me from harm or keep someone else from coming close.
This spell is about calling the spirits to return. Those who wish to be known. Those who are drawn to Hazel as I am. To impress her and please her. I can give her this gift when no one else can.
Books are the finest tools to call spirits back because the stories inside are made of the author’s being. Everything that made them who they were. Their souls sewn into the text of the pages. The candle flame acts as a timer. So long as it is lit, the spirit is welcome.
I finish the spell.
Hazel doesn’t say anything. Although her eyes hold so many questions.
She keeps her gaze on my hands as I set the candle aside.
“Now what?” she whispers.
“Touch one of them.” I dare her and my heart races. I’ve done this before. I was enraptured by the stories of ghosts from long ago. I could taste the tincture they took to heal. I could smell the burning of the fire they lit in the coldest nights. I could feel their presence.
“If you want to meet them,” I add.
Hazel reaches forwards, hesitating for a second, then choosing the top book on the stack. I was careful about the books I chose. Only books I’ve read, spirits I’ve felt comfortable with in the past years.
She brings it close to her body, biting her lip.
I can feel the intention of the spell circling us, and the books. The spirits aren’t always visible, but I hope they will be. Impress her. I plead with them.
Just this once, allow her to know what I do.
The hair on my nape stands up, and I brace for the magic to surround Hazel.
Nothing happens.
She lets out a breath. “Is there anything else I should do,” she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.
“Try the next one.” I offer and make myself comfortable on the blanket around her. It takes time. Afterall, it’s only an offering. The ghosts must accept.
Hazel lays the first book carefully aside as if she wants to remind it that it’s still important, even if the spell didn’t work immediately. Her thumb caresses the worn leather and as she lifts the second volume from the pile, her right hand remains on the first. As if not wanting to let go.
I recognize the hand made paper of the one she now holds.
This one was written by a soldier who fought in World War I.
It’s a diary that reads like a novel. He had a way with words, which isn’t a surprise.
A man who never found love and was far too wounded to think himself worthy of it until his dying days.
“His maternal grandmother was part of the coven you’ve been studying.” I speak the fact beneath my breath. As if afraid to give too much away.
Hazel’s brow arches. “You’ve been keeping track of what I’m studying?” Her tone is teasing. I love it.
“You visit the same shelves every time. You’re the only one who’s brave enough to sit at that table.”
“It’s just a table,” she says with a little laugh. I love the way her shoulders shake slightly when she laughs. “Why would it take bravery?”
“The ghosts make some people nervous.”
She watches me for a beat, probably to see if I’m joking. Is that a blush on her cheeks? Her lips part just slightly as if she’s wanting to say something but she doesn’t. The flickering candlelight makes it hard to see, but that blush is as evident as it is beautiful.
My face is hot, too. I’ve never spoken to anyone about the spirits here. Over the years I’ve learned some souls simply don’t believe in ghosts. So I keep it to myself. But this is something I could share with her. I’m sure of it.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. Suddenly it seems important for her to know the depths of my knowledge, too.
I know she reads about a coven long ago.
She spends hours nearly every night craving their tales and to know what’s real.
I’ve felt the spirits here and I know they’re not some trick of my mind.
I know it’s all real—the magic and the spells and the ghosts.
“This place is haunted.” Hazel states although her tone makes it sound like a question. She’s confirming it for herself. She must have sensed it, and why wouldn’t she have? She’s been looking into the supernatural truth of this town for years. I merely nod and she answers, “I knew it.”
My lips kick up into a smirk.
Hazel holds the book closer to her chest, her eyes fluttering closed.
I want to kiss her so much. I’ve never felt such a pull to another.
“Maybe you’re not in the mood,” Hazel says to the book, her voice soft. She lays it aside. “Next one?”
I almost forgot about the spell altogether. “Go ahead.”
She never gives up hope. Touching one book after the other. Holding them, reading the first page or flipping through the pages.
By the time she gets to the last one, my head is spinning with disappointment.
I needed this to work. I needed to show her what I did. I needed to impress her, so she knows I—
My thoughts cut out.
Hazel gently places the last book on top of the stack she made, and I can see her prepare to tell me ‘it’s fine’.
It’s not fine, but I’d almost believe it, coming from her.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, before she can say a word.
“I haven’t,” she says, running her fingers through her hair.
“Then it’s time for a picnic.” Quickly, I grab two bags that I stowed to the side. They’re not as aesthetically pleasing as a wicker basket would be, but wicker baskets don’t keep cold food cold and hot food hot. These thermal bags do.
Hazel scoots closer as I set out the plastic containers. It’s mostly finger foods that go with wine—cheese, apple slides, crackers, and sliced meats—but also imported chocolates and speciality spreads. A bit upscale. I also pull out melted chocolate, to dip.
“Oh my god,” Hazel breathes. “How did you get it to stay melted?”
“A spell that actually works,” I tell her with a wink. There is a spell on the container, but I don’t expect her to believe me when the spell on the books completely failed. “And,” I say, pulling out the mug warmer I keep on my desk. “A mug warmer as backup.”
Her eyes light up with her smile. “I love those things. I keep one behind the counter at the shop. It’s the only thing that keeps me going when—”
“When it’s below zero,” I finish with her.
Hazel laughs. “You get me.”
“I do.” I move closer on the blanket so our knees are touching. “There are things I’d enjoy getting to know about you though.”
“Is that right?” she asks beneath her breath. It’s impossible to miss the desire in her eyes.
I set the mug warmer and chocolate at my side and open a container of strawberries. Then I hold one up in front of her so she can see it.
Hazel watches, her eyes sparkling.
I dip the strawberry into the chocolate, then take her chin in my left hand. Her skin is warm and when she parts her lips, my cock hardens.
She closes her eyes. For a second, I don’t know if I can take it. I’m desperate for her.
But instead of laying her down on the blankets, I bring the strawberry to her lips and watch her teeth sink into the berry.
Hazel bites daintily through the flesh, leaving only a thin sliver of red and the leaves behind. Her tongue darts out to catch the juice and fuck me I want nothing more than to kiss her. To taste both her and have my own dessert.
“Oh,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand. “That’s delicious. Where did you get it?”
“A place downtown.”
On the second strawberry, when I take her chin in my hand, she puts her hand on my wrist.
Hazel waits, her eyes closed and her mouth open, for me to feed her the strawberry.
There’s a tiny drop of chocolate at the corner of her mouth.
“You have something…” I gesture vaguely at my own mouth, but she just closes her eyes and lifts her chin toward me.
I can’t resist it. I just can’t. She obviously wants me to touch her, and I want to touch her so bad I might die from it before we leave this room, so I rest my fingers on her cheek and swipe the pad of my thumb over her full bottom lip, slow, all the way to that droplet of chocolate.
Then I press my thumb to her lips.
Hazel takes my thumb into her mouth and sucks lightly at the chocolate.
I make a sound I’m not expecting in the back of my throat.
Hazel doesn’t let go quickly. She lets my thumb slip between her lips, and then we’re just staring at each other. I can’t look away.
That’s when all the candles flicker and then go out.