8. Maddox
MADDOX
After my Wednesday morning class, I always go for a run around campus.
It’s my last fall semester, and seeing the leaves of the old elm trees and newer sugar maples already turning makes me sentimental.
I spent my whole upbringing dreaming of college and adulthood.
Now that it’s crouching in the background, ready to spring forward and claim my existence, I’m not sure I’m ready to leave the safety of academia.
Today, I’m running harder without tiring.
The other night infused us with magic, but also energy that at times can make us restless.
Thorne’s message this morning to the group chat came from the gym right on campus.
I guess he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wait for Asher to wake up for their early morning run.
Though, I think the date he went on the other night has more to do with his relentless gym time.
Apparently, the girl he met there hasn’t been showing up since and he’s too chicken shit to call her.
I round Cambridge Street to Peabody and head to the section of campus that’s more of a tourist trap than academic space. The Yard is historic and beautifully maintained, but the sprawl of the buildings has outgrown it.
My destination is a coffee shop across the street that has the best toasted maple latte I’ve ever had, and it’s the only reason I’ve come this far.
Usually, I’m drenched in sweat and grab my coffee and pastry to go.
But today, I think I’ll take a seat by the window and enjoy the fall atmosphere before I go home to shower.
The minimalist nature of the shop doesn’t match the exterior. Cool tones run throughout with small tables, thin, unwelcoming chairs, and bright fluorescent lighting. The only contrast is the barista, who greets me with a bright smile behind the white counter.
“Welcome in,” he says as he’s finishing up payment with a customer.
The hiss of the espresso machine replaces the road noise as the door closes behind me. At this time of day, most people coming in are on their way to work or class. The seats are largely empty, but there are plenty of bodies crowding around the pickup side of the bar.
“What can I get for you?”
I step up to the counter and take my phone out of its running sleeve on my arm. It took me a month of my ass hanging out the back of my spandex shorts to realize that the small pockets in them aren’t made for the hefty weight of a cell phone.
“Can I get a large toasted maple latte and a dark chocolate cherry scone?”
“Sure.” He taps my order out on the screen in front of him. “For here or to go?”
I scan the row of small tables and chairs, seeing only a couple cuddling up together. The next two seats are free, but a pair of eyes catches mine at the last table near the far wall. Moss green framed with wire glasses, brassy freckles, and rusty red hair.
She couldn’t be looking at me . . . but then her head tilts as if she’s been waiting for me.
“For here,” I answer, not breaking eye contact with the beautiful woman across the room.
“That’ll be $14.98.” The barista’s voice sounds a mile away, but I manage to tap my phone on the card reader to pay.
“Thanks.” I don’t wait for a response and make my way to the siren who could ask for my soul. At this moment, I would gladly give it—no questions asked.
One corner of her sultry mouth lifts into her cheek as I approach.
Pulling out the chair across from her, I sink down into it and wait for brilliant words to fall out of my steel-shut mouth.
But nothing comes. I’m lost for anything close to wit, and every second that goes silent feels like my throat is closing.
“Elsbeth,” she says. This blessed angel at a random coffee shop in the middle of New England speaks, and I stumble for my own name in return.
“Elwell . . . Maddox Elwell . . . or Mads, if you like.”
Should I give her my social security number and birth date too? What the fuck is wrong with me?
The bridge of her nose wrinkles and she lets out a giggle that inflates some sort of caveman reaction in me because I could elicit that sound from her.
“Mads. I like that.”
She cradles the book to her chest, and the cover looks brand new.
Four men surround a young woman in fishnets in a scene that looks like they’re in some sort of band or going to a festival.
I’m with the Band, the title, is scrawled across the top and at least gives me a clue about the contents inside.
I lift my chin in a vague gesture toward her novel. “Is that the newest New York Times Best Seller?”
She shakes her head and holds it out for me to get a better look. “I don’t think they tend to put these types of books on that list. But it’s just getting to the good part.”
“Oh yeah? Did they finally make it to the big show?” I lean back, letting my body regain gravity now that I don’t feel like my cardiovascular system is going to explode.
“Actually, they finally got to the first orgy. You see, they’ve been tag teaming for a bit, but now everyone is in one bed.”
Well, that feels a bit pointed. But I’m assuming those four men aren’t using their lady to complete some ancient ceremony to endow magic into their bodies.
Or maybe they are? Sex magic can be done by the layman without their knowledge.
Orgasms and pleasure as reward or empowerment have been used since the beginning of time, after all. I’m thinking about this too much.
“You’re not running for the hills,” she says, breaking me away from that convoluted stream of thought. “You’re either into group activities or trying to think of a polite way to call me a freak.”
I exhale the tension I’d been holding because she has no clue how much of a team player I am.
“Or it’s the hidden third option.” I lean over the small table and clasp my hands.
“Which is?”
“That I’ve been eyeing that book but now you’ve spoiled it for me. Very disappointing.”
She laughs, and I can’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across my face.
“Toasted maple and pastry for Maddox on the bar!” the heavily tattooed barista calls from behind me, and I’m instantly torn. Do I even need caffeine or a sugary scone now that Elsbeth has lit my senses on fire?
“Order for Maddox on the bar,” he repeats.
“I’ll be right back, then you can ruin Titanic for me.” I get to my feet and take a step back, worried she’ll vanish into thin air if I lose sight of her.
“Okay.” She takes a slow, shallow sip of the ceramic coffee mug in front of her, and I’m convinced I’ll have time to sweep her off her feet.
The sudden urgency to hold onto someone that I’ve never met engulfs me. It’s as if we should’ve known each other our entire lives and fate has finally intervened. I’ve never felt like this before. She’s not even out of sight before the ache in my chest starts and my stomach twists into knots.
Maybe I’m sick?
Have I contracted a virus during class that’s being super charged by the flood of magic in my nervous system? That’s the only explanation for the chaos wrecking my senses right now.
I take up my coffee and scone, both in takeaway containers, before turning back around.
She’s still there, proving she isn’t some apparition or phantom my psyche has come up with to test me.
She’s real and she’s waiting for me to sit back down.
Her oversized, dark green sweater complements her fair complexion, but the black miniskirt and stockings leading into sleek boots gives her an unexpected edge that I don’t see often with women on campus.
Not that I’m picky or truly have a type.
Women are lustrous, ethereal beings in my eyes.
How our society has mistreated them for all recorded history is enough to prove how badly men have failed.
Our coven was founded, cultivated, and nurtured by powerful women.
Though it’s always the male heirs who take up the positions of legacies, we’ve been taught that our place is to serve our sacrifices.
Our protection over the coven is to ensure our lines may continue through the women who carry our children.
I wonder what my and Elsbeth’s children would look like. My genes diluting any of hers would be a tragedy.
“Do you go to school here?” she asks, not at all scared away by my inability to have an intelligent conversation. Six years of higher education are worthless to me now.
“Yeah, do you?” I take a sip of my coffee and watch her over the rim of the white paper cup.
She nods. “I’m just about to finish my degree, but I wish I would have stuck with my minor in history for fun.”
I smile, choking down the hot latte to speak. “You find history fun?”
“Parts of it. You don’t like history?”
“Studying texts that have been whitewashed and bastardized by men who only aimed to brainwash the generations that came after them to believe that the atrocities that were committed on this land and many others were some form of divine prophecy? No, not a big fan.”
“You’re either trying really hard to impress me, are a raging feminist, or are really into NPR.”
“Potentially, it’s all three.”
“I’m flattered . . . and a little impressed.”
“My plan’s working then.”
She huffs a laugh and that warmth in my gut starts to spread again.
“What are you studying?”
I want to tell her that it doesn’t matter what I’ve spent my time doing before this moment, but that may come off a bit intense.
“I’m finishing my masters in English lit, with a dual minor in modern sociology and anthropology.”
Her lips form an “O” to sing a soft whistle. “Well, your thoughts on history make sense now.”
Does that mean she thinks I’m a pretentious prick?
She’s not far off. Being raised as coven royalty, attending prep school from kindergarten through high school, and always having a safety net have an impact.
But field and social work through university have broken down many of those disillusions.
Not that I’ll ever know what the people I’m working to help have ever had to persevere through, but change needs money and humanity. I like to think I have both.
“Does that lose me points?” I wince, waiting for my heart to be shattered.
Elsbeth looks me over like she’s using the new information and putting it together with my outward appearance to see if they line up.
“No, but only time will tell if you’re as kind as you seem. Or if you’re a pretty face who knows just what to say to get a girl to go out with you on Saturday night.”
“What will I find out about you on such a night?”
She lifts her hand up expectantly. “Give me your phone and you’ll find out.”
I obey without another thought, taking my phone from its pocket on my arm.
Opening it with my password, I pass it to her.
She types out a text to whom I presume is herself then holds it out to me.
Our fingers brush and the contact feels electric.
I’m hit again with the urgency to do something.
Pull her in close for a kiss, get on my knees between her legs, create some sort of elixir that would instantly bond us for eternity . . . but instead I say:
“I should get going. But I’ll text you later with options for dinner.” I grab up my cup and pastry, knowing damn well I’ll be cursing myself for leaving but too afraid that’ll I’ll give into these foreign impulses if I stay.
“I get to pick?”
Getting to my feet feels like I’m climbing Everest as her gaze follows me.
If she wanted, I would let her choose every last detail of the rest of our lives, but that feels a bit strong. “Of course,” I say simply and hold her gaze a little too long.
She smiles and cocks her head. “A true gentleman. See you soon, Mads.”
It takes every effort to walk away, but the moment I step outside, my lungs fill with fresh oxygen and the world around me is a little less colorful.
The reds of the leaves on trees I pass on the way to the parking lot aren’t has beautiful as Elsbeth’s silky auburn hair.
The sun peeking through gray clouds isn’t as warm as her smile.
Even the dark green ivy growing up the library walls isn’t as vibrant.
When I get to my car, I take my phone out and see a text and a photo from the newly added thread:
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Just in case you were worried the number was fake.
She sent through a quick selfie, the café wall behind her, and then I notice the small roll of paper tucked into her hair clip and the flower petal tied to it with red thread.
My stomach drops and realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
My stomach roils and I heave over into the gutter to purge the acid and few sips of coffee.
My thumbs shake, hitting the keys into the legacy group chat as fast as I can.
Mads
SOS.