Chapter 13 #3
“Is that ginger and basil?” I asked, studying the shredded additions.
“Yes,” he said, taking the spoon from me as he stirred the soup clockwise.
“You carry those around with you?”
Miles removed the pot from the fire and gestured toward the other pouches. “I have thyme, rosemary, elderberries, and a jar of witch hazel in my bag too.”
“You packed an apothecary?” I marveled.
He glanced at me. “I am a witch.”
“I know you sometimes do spells…”
“You just witnessed one.” He twirled the spoon between his fingers.
“But…” I glanced at the spoon, and back to the pot. “You did magic?”
Was this like the time he made the special cookies and drinks?
“Yes.” He grinned.
“But…” I hadn’t even noticed him doing anything! He hadn’t even been chanting. “That’s not a cauldron!”
His grin fell, gaze flickering to the others, who’d begun to snicker. “Who is going to lug around a cauldron wherever they go?” he asked, face turning pink.
“Do you have one?” I’d never noticed one in Damen’s kitchen either, and I would have remembered. Direct contact with the metal made me break out in hives.
“Yes.” Miles pursed his lips. “I have a cauldron.”
“How big is it?” Large enough to cook a roast in, maybe?
“It’s big enough.”
“Miles wishes he had a bigger cauldron,” Damen interjected.
“Oh…” That was sad. Didn’t he have money? He should have been able to get whatever he needed. But maybe it had to be a gift. I’d heard of such superstitions. I could surprise him with one for Christmas. “Do you need a bigger one?”
“My cauldron is perfectly fine!” Miles wrapped a steel mug with a cloth and pushed it into my hands. “Size doesn’t matter when it comes to kitchen witchery. It’s all about intention.”
“Oh, were we still talking about witchcraft?” Damen intoned.
Miles hissed something in French as he glared at Damen and not so gently shoved a makeshift bowl in his direction. The liquid sloshed over the edge, spilling over the leg of Damen’s jeans. “Sorry, my bad,” he continued in English, not seemingly apologetic at all. “Now eat your food.”
I sat back and crossed my legs. It wasn’t until Miles returned from giving Titus his portion and had scooped some out for himself that I spoke. “What are the ginger and basil for?” I asked.
“Flavor,” Miles answered, drinking his soup and refocusing on me. His eyebrow had risen in question, but he lowered the mug a second later. “And they have properties that could be helpful around this time, if necessary.”
“Really?” I’d studied plants—how they grew, their meanings, and how to care for them. But shamefully, my knowledge of ways to use them medicinally was lacking.
“Basil can be used as a natural stress reliever,” Miles answered, resuming his meal as he observed me over his mug. “And ginger can be used to treat muscle pain. You’ve all been walking to find me, so you’re probably tired.”
Interesting.
“I wonder if it’d be good for cramps?” I mused.
Miles’s eyes shifted from mine, and the others, too, looked uncomfortable.
Men were such babies.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured them and returned to my meal. “It won’t be another couple of weeks until I have to hide away, maybe.”
The lapse in the conversation became too profound to ignore. I glanced up and saw that the men were looking at me in a most disturbing manner.
“Y-yes?” I asked, suddenly uncertain.
“Bianca.” Julian got to his feet and, with a dramatically heavy expression, as if he’d been assigned a great burden, knelt before me. He took my food, placed it to the side, and grasped my hands. “When do you get your period?”
My throat closed. Bringing up such topics discreetly was one thing, but I never expected him to ask outright .
“It’s been over a month since we met,” Julian unashamedly continued. “There was nothing about it in your records at the hospital, and Titus couldn’t smell—”
“Stop.” I slapped my hand over his mouth, unable to meet his eyes. I looked at Titus. “You can smell these things?”
This was possibly one of the top ten worst moments of my life.
Titus shrugged. ‘It’s just a normal part of nature,’ his posture seemed to say, and once, I’d thought so too, thirty seconds in the past, long before this development.
“Wait, are you tracking my periods ?” How incredibly intrusive!
“You mentioned it before,” Julian interrupted, returning my attention to him. “You told Titus you’d lied during your physicals.”
“Why are we talking about menstruation?” I buried my face in my hands—this was all my fault. “Forget it. Keep your ginger. I’d rather suffer. I don’t care.”
“Are they that bad?” Julian asked, and I peeked at him. He seemed genuinely curious. “I always wondered.”
“This is so weird,” Miles said. “I never thought about it before, but Bianca’s a girl! We can know stuff now!”
I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not…
“It took you that long to realize?” Damen asked. “We have insider information.”
Oh my God .
“Why do you care?” I lowered my hands to my mouth. “Do guys talk about stuff like this?”
I could picture it so clearly. Five equally regal men in ancient garb—all of whom happened to look precisely like Mu—as they sat around in their luxury as they came up with idiotic theories about women.
“What else do guys talk about?” I lamented.
The boys were silent, and no one met my eyes… except Damen, who looked directly at my chest.
I squealed, crossed my arms over my boobs, and glared at him.
“Don’t you dare ask!” I warned, fighting back the growing heat in my face—it could have been from the fire, which seemed much warmer than the second before, but I doubted it.
“For the record, cramps hurt , okay? It’s the worst thing ever .
Sometimes, it’s so bad I can’t walk, and I throw up, or I get cold and dizzy, and I feel like I’m dying. It really sucks!”
“Wait.” Julian’s emotions moved to wary professionalism. “I don’t think that should happen.”
I glared at him—how was he supposed to know?
“For real this time,” Julian continued. “When do you get it?”
Why …
“Just humor me.” Our bond made it impossible for him to mask his concern, and it was that which broke through my embarrassment.
I groaned, swallowing past the lump in my throat and lowering my hands to my lap. “Whenever?”
“Whenever?” Julian frowned, cocking his head. “What is ‘whenever’?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Every couple of months?”
“Every couple of months ?” he repeated. “How could you not have told my mother?”
I shrugged again, chewing on my inner cheek. It wasn’t like it was a big deal.
Julian sighed, pinching his nose. “You need to be seen when we get back.”
“No.”
“Bianca!” He sounded exasperated, and the feeling brushed over my raw nerves. “ Why ?”
“I don’t want to,” I breathed, hoping he’d just let it go.
“That’s not an answer,” Julian pressed, his intense gaze holding mine. “Why don’t you want to go?”
“Because I said so!” I jumped to my feet and clenched my shaking fists against my sides.
Everyone else remained frozen, staring at the two of us with unreadable expressions. Julian held my attention—it was much easier to grasp his state of mind than any of the others.
He rested his weight on his ankles, loosely draping his right arm over his thigh. While his posture remained relaxed, the only outward indication of his emotions was his hand curling into a fist and the tight lines suddenly defined in his forearm.
A tumultuous wave of shadow and fury pulsed between us, threatening to drown me. And not for the first time, I wondered if, even though I could feel his emotions, I really understood Julian much at all.
“Bianca, please.” Julian’s smooth voice sharply contrasted the feelings continuing to pour from him. “That doesn’t sound normal. There could be a serious problem.”
“I don’t care.” I’d crossed my arms over my chest again. “I still won’t go.”
Julian watched me, cautious, and let out a low sigh. “Why don’t we shelve this conversation for later?”
How about we didn’t?
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, getting to his feet. “Let’s see how you feel next time, and then you can decide from there.”
I nodded. Absolutely. I already knew my answer.
My experiences were perfectly normal.
“Okay.” His voice was weary, and he moved to my side, draping his arm around my shoulders.
The prickling under my skin faded, and the constriction in my chest loosened.
“It’s done then. Why don’t you sit and eat dinner?
” he asked, guiding me into a seat on the warm dirt between him and Miles. “You’ve done a lot today.”
Hiking? That was nothing.
But as Miles pressed the mug against my hands—this time, the contents had cooled enough to touch without a barrier—I accepted, eating and watching the others over the rim as they began discussing other topics. Even so, the soothing broth couldn’t dissolve the stone that remained deep in my stomach.
Things might look normal again, but why did it feel like, instead of moving forward, I’d just taken two giant steps back?