Chapter 14
Is Ava hungover off of two hard seltzers?
That’s the thought I have when I realize the beautiful witch looks a touch green and tired.
Then she heaves her guts up, the sick coating my pants and shoes and the steps outside of her condo, and I don’t think much at all for the next few seconds. Luckily, some instinct that knew what Ava’s clammy face meant, had me holding the gift basket I brought up and out of the way of splatter.
After getting over the initial shock, concern slams into me, and I set my armful on the walkway behind me before gently grasping a swaying Ava by her upper arms.
“You’re sick.” I point out the obvious.
She rests her forehead against the doorjamb. “The sun. It’s too bright. Gods,” she groans. “I puked. On you.”
“That you did.” And I’m trying very hard not to think about it seeping through my slacks. “Great aim. Do you mind if I come inside?”
She offers an exhausted shrug and a nod. “Bathroom is down the hall,” she mutters. “You can clean up there.”
My need to enter her home has nothing to do with hosing myself off. What I want is to discover what is wrong with Ava and figure out how I can help her fix it. I toe off my bile-covered shoes and step across the threshold, keeping my grip on Ava as I go. Inside, I gently kick the door shut and help her settle on the couch. Kraken lifts her head from a mountain of food, lets out a little meow, then goes back to stuffing herself.
The place is small and cozy, with a warm, desert color palette. There are weaved blankets and rugs, plants suspended in macrame wall hangings next to framed Broadway production posters and colorful art pieces that incorporate interesting symbols. The shapes somehow remind me of the marks Ava made on my arm when she healed me. Maybe the witch’s art is magical.
And of course, there are books.
Cracked spines sit in neat lines on shelves made for them, but there are also novels on the low coffee table, in the entertainment system, and on the wide windowsill. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kraken has napped on a few of them.
Once I’m sure Ava can sit up on her own, I release my hold, only to set my hand against her forehead. “What’s wrong? Is this a hangover? Flu? Food poisoning?”
If Damien served her a contaminated burger, I’ll kill him.
Ava’s forehead is clammy, but not hot.
She grimaces. “Stop talking so loud.” The words are gravel as she mutters them. “It’s a migraine. I get them sometimes. Calm down.”
This is normal for her?
The knowledge makes my heart ache. “What do you need?”
She sighs. “My laptop.”
I don’t see how a computer will help this, but Ava knows what she needs most in this situation. Finding the computer on her small kitchen table, I settle the device in her lap, double-check that she’s not about to keel over, then retreat to the bathroom to clean myself up. Mainly because I’m starting to smell, and I don’t want the reek to bother her when she’s obviously in pain.
While in the bathroom, I decide to simply continue to ask Ava what she needs, and whenever she says she needs me to leave, that’s when I’ll go. Luckily, all of her vomit landed knees down, so even though my pants are saturated, my boxers are untouched.
I wash off my lower legs in the tub, bundle the pants, socks, and shoes together, then stroll back into the main room and open the front door long enough to drop them on the outside step and grab my gift. The professionally decorated basket is full of cat toys and treats and a plush bed. I guessed Ava would be more receptive to a gift for Kraken rather than herself. I place the basket on the kitchen table then return to Ava’s side to figure out what my next task is.
She sits where I left her, sunglasses gone, laptop cracked open barely an inch, her entire face scrunched in discomfort.
“Something wrong?” I settle on the coffee table in front of her, not wanting to loom over her.
Ava frowns deeply. “The screen is too bright. And the words are blurry. I can’t…” Her next breath catches, and I’m horrified to realize there’s tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
“No, no. Don’t cry. What do you need?” I speak softly and ease the laptop out of her hold so it can’t hurt her anymore. “Want me to look something up for you?”
Ava slumps back on her couch, body defeated. “I need to tell work I can’t come in.”
“I can do that. You can guide me through it. But let’s get you comfortable first.” Setting her computer aside, I reach over to grab a throw pillow and fluff it before setting it against the armrest of the couch. Then I use a few gentle touches to guide Ava to lie back, fully reclining on the couch. “Would something cool on your eyes help?” I keep my voice low, the cadence soothing.
She gives a vague wave toward the kitchen. “Mask in the freezer.”
I find it right away, a squishy blue eye mask kept cool next to frozen peas. I wonder how often she has to use it. When I get back to Ava’s side, she has an arm thrown over the top half of her face, as if the dim lighting of the condo bothers her too. The sight—half her face obscured—reminds me of the mask she wears when she dances.
As much as I’ve learned about her, there are still mysteries to solve.
Why does she wear a disguise to dance?
Why does she strip but not care about the money?
Why is a healing witch struggling with a debilitating migraine?
But now is not the right time to ask.
“Here.” I gently tug on her arm, which she drops, then I lay the mask over her eyes, hoping the coolness soothes away the pained scrunch of her brow. “Now,” I say as I settle on the coffee table again and reclaim her laptop, “do you think you can talk me through the emails you want to send?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is tight and quiet, so I scoot closer in order to hear her.
Together we log into the email inbox for her library job. I blink in surprise at the massive number of messages she has but decide not to burden her with the number. Ava can work through the correspondence when her head isn’t betraying her.
“Email Rodrigo Alverez—just start typing his name into the address section, and he should pop up. Tell him that I have to take a sick day. And that I don’t have any instruction today, so he doesn’t need to worry about that. But I’m scheduled for three hours on the reference desk that’ll need to be covered.” She clutches a pillow hard against her chest. “Tell him that I should be back in tomorrow. And that I’m sorry.”
I type all that out, read it back to Ava for final approval, then send.
“Do you have to contact your boss?” I ask, curious about her job. Yesterday, Ava said she was the only full-time librarian, but she didn’t talk as though she was in charge. Not as far as I could tell, anyway.
“No,” she mutters, arm lying over top of the cool mask as if she wants to mash the thing into her skull. “I am the head. Kind of. Just until we hire a new library director.”
“Ah. New boss soon.”
Her lips twist in a grimace. “I wish. They’ve been dragging out the search for months.”
That’s bullshit. Is this why Ava’s got a migraine? The stress?“Why are they taking so long? Didn’t you say you were understaffed?”
Ava snorts. “Yeah. And we’re supposed to have a hiring committee for another librarian, too. But those are two salaries they don’t have to pay as long as the positions are empty.” She clenches and unclenches her fists.
I wonder if the reaction is to the pain in her head or the frustration with her administration.
“I’m very rich,” I murmur. “Want me to donate a bunch of money to the library? Tell them to bookmark it for library staff salaries?”
Ava’s mouth flutters into something like a smile before she tightens her lips to flatten the expression away. “No. Don’t pull any of that billionaire shit with me. I’ll puke on your pants again.”
I bite back a chuckle. “Fair. Need me to send any more emails? I like pretending to be you.”
Ava huffs a laugh that turns into a grumble of discomfort. “Do you see my calendar? Could you double check if I have any meetings today?”
I open up the calendar and read through all the colorful blocks that jam pack Ava’s day.
Only ten minutes for lunch? What the fuck is up with that?
“Looks like you have two committee meetings in the afternoon.”
“Right,” she mutters. “No need to email. I’ll read the meeting minutes tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I scroll down. “And then a six o’clock research consultation with a Professor Fellows. Isn’t your workday supposed to be done at five?” According to her calendar, she starts working at seven-thirty, which means five is still generous.
A deep frown creases Ava’s mouth and the forehead I can see above her mask. Examining her face like this is familiar, after all the nights I’ve watched her dance in that lacy mask.
“Forgot about that,” she says. “He’s going to be pissed.”
“It’s research,” I argue, then forcefully gentle my voice. “What does he have to be pissed about?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of his personality.” She sighs. “We need to email him.”
Under her direction I open up another blank message and type out a message that’s far more apologetic than I think Ava should feel the need to be. I crack my knuckles in an effort to ease my agitation. She didn’t choose to get sick. When I read the missive back to her, she asks me to change multiple phrasings, claiming there’s a subtext to academic communications.
But my guess is this guy is an asshole she’s trying not to upset.
After that’s sent, Ava asks me to put away her laptop. I set it on the kitchen table then return to her side.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Please don’t send me away.
I’m not sure I could function today knowing she’s lying here in pain with no one to help her. Kraken, apparently done with her breakfast, struts over to us and rubs her tiny head against my shin. I scratch behind her ears but keep my focus on the woman in front of me.
Ava doesn’t answer right away, but she does slip her cooling mask off her eyes to study me through squinted lids. The pain creases deep lines in her face, and I feel an anxious energy in my chest to do something.
“You’re not attracted to me right now, are you?” Her voice is soft, with a hint of something that sounds like regret.
But that can’t be right.
“I’m not trying to hit on you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Does she think I’m that much of a shit stain?
Ava sighs, letting her mask drop back into place. “Now is the perfect time for you to hit on me.”
“What?” The question bursts forth on a sharp bark that sends Kraken sprinting away. I rein in my volume when I spy Ava’s wince. “Sorry. Sorry. But…come on, Ava. I’m not the best guy in the world, but I’m also not pond scum.”
Her jaw tenses and relaxes. “I get it. I’m a mess right now, and it does nothing for you. Bravo. You’re a standup guy. Pat yourself on the back for being a decent person.” She mimes a slow clap then lets her hands fall back onto the pillow in her lap. “Meanwhile I’ll lay here in fucking agony because my magic is at a zero.”
I’m missing a key piece of information. Trepidation coils in my chest.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Ava lets out a half growl, half moan. She peels the mask off her face and holds it out for me. “Back in the freezer. Please.”
I follow her directions, trying to work out what I did wrong this time. There’s no other mask to replace the one that’s now warm, so I grab the peas, return to her side, and gently lay them over Ava’s eyes. She lets me, with a resigned sigh.
“Can you tell me what you meant?” My voice is careful, getting the sense I’m tiptoeing through a minefield.
“Forget it,” she mutters.
“I can’t.”
“Knowing won’t make you feel better. Actually, it’ll probably make you feel worse.”
Fuck. “I still want to know.”
“Fine.” Ava presses her fingers into her temples as if she can massage away the pain. “I’m a witch. A healing one, obviously.” Yeah, the fixing of my broken bone made that clear. “But I’m not only a witch. My grandfather was an incubus. Turns out mixing bloodlines can get odd results.” She drags in a slow breath, then continues her explanation. “Your magic is in you. Witches direct power that’s external. That exists naturally in the world. But I…I have to collect mine. Gather power from the natural world and store it inside me to use.” Ava taps a finger against her ribcage. “When people are attracted to me—when they lust after me—I fill up like a battery. I’m a succubus witch. A suck-witch.” Ava smirks at her little joke, and I’d find the expression adorably endearing if my mind wasn’t currently getting rocked.
As she speaks, things start clicking into place. Why Ava dances while also working full time. Why she seems more focused on the performance than the money at her feet.
She’s filling up her magical batteries. So that she can…
Oh no.
“I heal myself,” Ava says, confirming my suspicion. “Every evening, I make a preventative brew to stave off the migraines.”
Fuck me. Fuck me sideways. Fuck me to every hell dimension in existence.
“But you didn’t last night,” I rasp, self-loathing stealing my voice. “Because you used all your magic to heal me.”
Ava stays quiet, but I don’t need her to tell me I’m right.
She’s in this terrible pain because of me.
Guilt eats holes in my gut, which makes this all worse because every time I try to call up my attraction for the lovely woman, the emotion I previously drowned in spills out the ragged holes. The one time Ava wants me to pant after her, I can’t manage it.
And so, she continues to suffer.