Chapter Forty-Two • Guilt • Lillith
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“Doing alright?” Damien asks me. “You seem tense.”
I am tense. And anxious. It’s the day of the triple crescent moon, and everything has been prepared without a hitch. Which has me on edge, because I feel like something catastrophic is going to happen when I actually lie down in the center of that spell circle.
“I’m fine,” I lie. Because Damien still has no idea what we’re getting up to tonight, and it’s kind of impossible to hide my edginess from him.
“Little bird,” he says, on the other side of the line, his voice dipping into that dominant rumble that makes me want to be a good and obedient little girlfriend. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I nibble on my lower lip, trying to think of something that is bothering me aside from the fact that my intuition is screaming at me that something terrible is on the horizon. Something that he’d actually buy.
“I’m just feeling kind of impatient. I thought these couple of weeks would go quickly, but the longer you’re gone, the more I miss you. The more I miss you, the more irritable I get.”
I hear him shift the phone, maybe to his other ear.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding guilty enough that it makes me feel like a piece of shit for fabricating it.
“I know that... well... you know this part of dating a musician is hard for everyone, I think. And if we can figure things out soon, I promise I’ll take you with me everywhere, if that’s what you want. ”
“I know,” I say.
“You don’t sound satisfied with that,” he says.
“I... I just feel on edge when I’m away from you,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
“Did you guys finally get everything worked out with the production company?” I ask, trying to change the subject. I don’t want to lie to him any more than I have to.
He heaves out a sigh that peaks the receiver on his phone.
“Yeah, it took me being kind of a dick, but it looks like it’s worked out.
That’s the only thing about playing these larger venues; you don’t know who you’re going to be working with at each one.
One production company can be great and another one can be ass. ”
I let out a little chuckle.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re starting to sound like a picky little professional. Are you going to start requiring a bowl of only brown M&Ms to make sure they’re reading your contract?”
“I thought it was with all the brown ones removed. The VanHalen thing, right?”
“Well someone has to eat all of those brown M&Ms,” I say.
“From 1980? You want me to eat forty-five-year-old M&M’s?”
“Eugh, don’t say that. The eighties were twenty years ago.”
He laughs and it makes everything feel okay for a second. Like doom isn’t hovering in the corner of my bedroom. It feels good to talk to him like everything is still normal, and my life hasn’t exploded in ways I didn’t expect or want.
“Any movement on the whole blood parasite thing?” he asks, tentative, like he’s also hesitant to shatter the normalcy.
“I think we’re putting something together. We might have a plan in a few days,” I say.
“How’re the bruises looking?”
“Mostly healed.” I say. Which is true, aside from the plum-colored collar that seems to get darker with every passing hour.
“Good,” he says, sounding relieved. “Hey, uh... It looks like one of our dates might get cancelled because of weather. I thought I might spring for a ticket and come home for a day. What do you think?”
My chest warms to know that he thinks of my place as ‘home’. More and more, even I only consider it home when he’s here. “You won’t get too tired?”
“Nah,” he says. “It will be nice to sleep in a familiar bed with my girl in my arms. Rejuvenating, even.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “Come home for a little pick me up.”
He heaves out a sigh, and I realize he may have thought I was going to say no.
There’s a sound of a voice in the background, Oren, I think.
Then Damien says, “Yeah. Alright,” before talking to me again.
“I have to go, baby. We gotta do some sound check and make sure all the multimedia is working right.”
“Alright,” I say. “I’m going to be working with Bash and Wren tonight, so I might not answer if you call me after about five.”
“We’re probably going to be swamped until well after midnight your time,” he says. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
I nod, despite him not being able to see it. “I love you. Kick ass tonight.”
“I always do,” he says. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
“It is Aemon! I am in the apartment! I am making myself known so I don’t startle you again!” Aemon calls from the living room, making me snort a laugh.
“So courteous!” I call back.
A few moments later, he appears in the doorway of my bedroom, leaning on the frame with his ankles crossed. “How are we feeling?”
“Like vomiting. You?”
“I can always rely on you for dramatics,” he says. “Moping in bed?”
“I just wrapped up a call with Damien,” I say in answer. Though I also don’t make a move to prove him wrong.
“Uh-huh,” he says, examining his fingernails. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that we have a make-or-break ritual to do in about four hours?”
I frown at him and sit up, leaning against my headboard and pulling one of my plushies into my arms, squeezing it and soothing myself with the cool density of its stuffing.
“Do you have any twinges? I just can’t help but feel like something awful is going to happen tonight.
I feel like everything came together too easy, and the ritual can’t possibly go as smoothly. ”
“I don’t have any twinges. And Bastion and Wren both seem very optimistic. So, I think this may just be your nerves,” he says.
“Maybe,” I say, squeezing my plush tighter. “I wish we could just start it already. I’m ready to know for sure.”
“Why don’t we go down to The Buried City? I don’t think sitting around the house is going to make you feel any better.”
“Alright,” I say. “Let me get my life together, here.”
After killing an hour or so with getting ready and packing what few things I’ve consecrated and prepared for the ritual, Aemon and I make the walk to The Buried City together.
He keeps chit-chatting with me about the inane.
Or teasing me about my relationship. I can tell he’s trying to keep my mind from anything related to magic, and even though it’s only kind of working, I do really appreciate him for it.
In the past week or so, Aemon’s smarmy presence has become something of a comfort.
A strange thing to realize after spending my whole life hating him.
And the more I talk to him, the more I can see some of the similarities and differences between him and Satoshi.
The more I can see how he kind of meshes with Wren’s personality.
Before long, we wind up at The Cat’s Cradle. I take a scarf out of my bag and tie it around my neck, trying my best not to look too conspicuous. I don’t want Daisy to ask me about the Subjugation spell, and knowing her history, I’m almost certain she’ll be able to call it out immediately.
When we walk in, Wren and Bastion are already sitting at one of the tables, talking animatedly about something. I can tell they’re disagreeing, because Bastion looks bored, and Wren keeps gesturing wildly with her hands.
“I’m telling you. Look it up. Right now.”
“We’re not in a library, Wren,” Bastion says.
“Well, then, go to one and look it up,” Wren says. “Or get a fucking smartphone, you old man.”
“I’m not doing that when I know you’re wrong,” he says. “When you’re making bold claims, it’s your burden of proof to satisfy, not mine. Also, I would only call you or Lillith, and I’d rather just speak to you in person.”
“What are we arguing about?” I ask, approaching the booth. Bastion scooches over to make room for me, and I slide in next to him.
“Bash thinks that Amethyst can be used as an amplifier,” she says. “But it’s a calming stone.”
“Inherently, yes, it’s a calming stone. But its crystalline structure vibrates at a hertz level that can be altered to make it do what a quartz does.”
“Only if you make it a quartz, though, right?” I offer.
“EXACTLY. THEN IT’S NOT AMETHYST ANYMORE.”
“Why are you yelling?” Aemon asks. On paper, it would look like an irritable retort, but instead, he sounds absolutely charmed by her passion.
“Because I’m right. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”
Bastion rolls his eyes and takes a sip from a teacup. “Fine, you win. Can we talk about something that isn’t boring, now?”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Paint drying? Grass growing?”
“Now that’s just mean,” Wren says. “You’re the one who insisted on fighting me.”
“Sometimes I do it because I know it gives you a sick thrill,” Bash says, smiling into his cup.
“You’re a bitch,” Wren says.
“A very pretty bitch,” he says.
“And so modest,” I say.
“Humility is for the humble,” he says.
We all laugh a little at that, and quiet falls between us at the table. Daisy interrupts to offer us more refreshments, and I order a lemonade. Bash orders another pot of tea, and Aemon asks for a bourbon for himself and hot chocolate for Wren.
A little deepening of Wren’s complexion reveals how tickled she is that Aemon ordered for her.
He smiles at her, subtly, before draping his arm on the booth behind her.
And, I can’t lie... It’s kind of nice. Just to hang out with them, like old times.
Eating and drinking and teasing each other.
It’s nice not to think about the waning magic in The Buried City, or the Ritual, or my curse.
It feels like back a few months ago, before everything blew up. Only, we have a new addition.
Aemon has somehow sneaked into the role of ‘friend’. I was so skeptical of him before. But the longer he hangs around, the more I like him. He’s calm, sarcastic, smart. He kind of reminds me of Bash in a lot of ways, but more grounded. He’s an easy baseline to rely on.
And now that he’s not trying to get me to marry him, I feel a lot more comfortable around him.
We play cards. Bastion consistently wipes the floor with us.
We talk about my sex life (embarrassing), and Wren’s greedy dating practices (funny), and Aemon regales us with tales from his very long, very eventful life.
Soon enough, though, the witching hour arrives, and we can no longer pretend that this very scary thing isn’t happening.
The light conversation gives way to sprinklings of logistics for the rite. Then it’s all we talk about. And the stress of it has me feeling like I’m on the brink of seizing.
Wren takes my hand in hers and squeezes.
“Babe, why don’t you go get some air?” she asks. “You’re looking pale.”
I tuck my lip between my teeth and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”
I wish I could call Damien. Hearing his voice would do a lot for me right now.
But I settle for going outside and putting my head on my bent knees and focusing on the feeling of air entering and leaving my lungs.
Focusing on how it feels to be alive. Focusing on believing that I will still be alive in a few hours’ time.
After being outside for a few minutes, I hear the scuff of shoes and lift my head. “Time to go?” I ask.
“No. You looked a bit sick. I just wanted to come check on you,” a surprising voice says. Daisy. I look up at her as she sits with me on the back stairs. She brushes her hand in soothing circles over my back.
“Nasty bit of magic you’ve got on you,” she says.
I gasp, checking my scarf. Did it move? Did I forget and take it off?
“It’s still covered,” she says. “My late husband. He was a powerful familiar, kind of like that other fellow at your table. When he departed, he gave me a lot of that power. It used to be overwhelming—feeling all the threads in the tapestry of magic around me. But it got easier with time. Most days, it feels like the same old carpet I walk across every day. But when you walked in, it was like expecting the carpet and stepping into a frozen lake instead.”
“Please don’t—don’t tell anyone,” I say.
“Of course not. I haven’t lived this long by being a gossip,” she says, winking one of her crinkled, golden eyes.
“So, have you been hearing what we’re talking about?” I ask. “Do you think it will work?”
“It sounds like it will. And you know you can trust your friends, right?”
I drop my gaze to the ground, feeling guilty.
“You can, Lillith,” she says. “I know it’s frightening—to put something so intrinsic to your being in the hands of someone else.
But that’s what you do when you love someone.
Even if it’s not so tangible as this plan of yours is, at some point, we all put something important and fragile in someone else’s hands, trusting them not to crush it. ”
Some people are worth being devastated over.
“And what if it backfires?” I ask. “What if it rebounds.”
You know you can’t pregrame that shit, right?
Daisy smiles at me like she heard Damien’s words in her head, too. I tuck some of my hair behind my ear and frown. “Maybe I really am a coward,” I say quietly.
“Cowards bury their heads in the sand and hope it will all turn out. Cowards don’t make consistent efforts toward fixing things. Cowards don’t take risks like this.”
“But I’m terrified.”
“And you’re doing it anyway,” Daisy says, shrugging. “I used to know another witch like you. Worse, even. She was always downplaying her own strengths, not realizing the very things she felt made her weak were actually her greatest assets.”
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“She’s still living a blissful life with her husband. Realms away from here. They’ve been together since they were practically children. Went through hell and back, and came out the other side of the whole thing.”
“You think I’m going to come out the other side?” I ask.
“I do,” Daisy says, smiling softly at me. “And if this approach doesn’t work, something else will.”
My phone rings. I check it and find an unknown number on the screen. I send the call to voicemail and turn on Do Not Disturb. The last thing I need is spam calls while I’m freaking the fuck out. “I hope you’re right,” I say, tucking my phone in my pocket.
“I am,” she says, pulling me toward her for a hug and kissing the top of my head. “You’re going to be okay, Lillith.”
And for what it’s worth, I do kind of believe her.