Chapter Three
Schuyler expected his uncles to be asleep when he came in through the kitchen door.
He wanted to sit, get some food, and process the nonsense of yet another disastrous date.
He found, however, that the two men were very much awake, seated at the small kitchen dinette table covered in treats, including a vanilla milkshake from Hammy Ham’s Ice Cream Parlor—Schuyler’s favorite
Sky slid into the seat with a suspicious eyebrow raised. “What’s all this then?” He questioned reaching for the milkshake and the fresh-from-the-air-fryer fries sitting next to the cup.
“Monkey, you’ve been on like five dates and haven’t told us the first damn thing. So, welcome to our midnight attack zone! Dish.” Beau demanded, clearing the crème from the middle of a double-stuffed Oreo.
“Details are due, son,” Marshall added, tending to his own chocolate milkshake.
Schuyler knew there’d be no getting away. He dipped a fry, which was the epitome of crispy perfection, into the refreshing, cool ice cream and enjoyed the sweet-and-salty duo before launching into the evening.
“Well, tonight’s charming bachelor was Thomas, thirty-two: a visual artist, body like a jungle gym you wanted to climb but a face like a bulldog.
The date started okay; we had a few laughs, found we had a couple of shared experiences, and I was thinking I could get over the Bulldog-ness of it all.
I mean, yes, the pudgy nose and jacked grill, but his t-shirt fit his arms like they were molded out of fuckin resin.
“The conversation was good, he’s charming in the right spots, humorous in others. I was thinking ‘Okay, maybe a second date is in the cards. Or very least, a nice round of after-dinner oral.”
“Slut,” Beau snapped.
“Mmhmm. So… then the appetizers came.” Schuyler sighed out loud, shaking his head, still in disbelief of what had occurred a couple hours ago.
This is how people with PTSD feel, isn’t it?
“A sample platter as big as a meal arrived, to which Thomas said he had ordered for the table, for us to share. These are important facts that come into play later. Our convo continued, and I helped myself to a spring roll.
“This was the only one I got, mind you.
“And once he started digging in, he didn’t stop! He hoovered the entire plate: the spring rolls, southwest egg rolls, the sliders, mini tacos, chicken fingers, onion petals, and all the Crab Rangoons. I love me a Rangoon—the audacity of this man.
“And the dipping sauces!” An audible groan left Sky as the ordeal came rushing back to the forefront of his memory.
“The fucking dipping sauces. There were sauces for each fucking item, and there he was driving the food into these little cups like they’re H-bombs.
Sauce was flinging everywhere, all over his fingers, oozing down his face, and he just licked them fucking clean like a raccoon at a birdbath.
“Truthfully, the whole thing was borderline aggressive, even as he somehow still managed to carry on a delightful conversation. The ordeal was horrifying—a non-stop cycle of food, drowned in sauce, shoved into mouth, the chomping, the repetition. I love a good appetizer sampler as much as the next witch, but gawd damn.” Schuyler grimaced as he took a sip of the extra-thick milkshake.
“And then, he ate a full dinner on top of it.
“Needless to say, an offer for oral was not extended. I think maybe he didn’t realize he was doing it?
And what do you say that doesn’t come off rude as hell?
Am I supposed to Willy Wonka him? Augustus, save some room for later!
He certainly didn’t see how unappealing the whole thing made him. Maybe his nerves. But, no second date.”
After a few more fries, which his stomach thanked him for after the appetizer massacre, he’d lost his appetite for the remainder of the dinner.
“Let’s see, before Thomas, there was Callum Wren. You might remember him? We were close in my twenties. He was around when there was a lot of drinking, drugs, and abusing magic. Dealing with my grief, and he’d match me shot for shot, even with Devil’s Nectar.”
Both Beau and Marshall gnashed their teeth and scrunched their faces, recalling the horrors of the strong and enchanted liquor crafted by the reclusive monks who lived outside of town.
“Which I thought hilarious ’cause he complained about the sweetness of his iced tea to the waitress. Aging is a trip. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, and once I was like on the apps, he messaged me. I thought to reconnect as friends, but it turned out to be a proper date.”
Sky and Cal had had their fun partying, different clubs, sharing guys, and when there was no one else they fancied, they enjoyed each other. Those were only a handful of times, but once the topic surfaced at dinner, Cal never stopped fishing for it.
Schuyler flopped his head forward on his chest and pretended to sob; that dinner had proved exhausting, constantly steering the conversation away from the few scattered nights of their exploits.
Yes, the dorm room sex had been fun. Yes, their hot tryst in the parking lot of the Gaga concert was memorable.
There were other things to talk about, to catch up on since those days, but Cal refused to take the hint.
“It was like the movie, Speed; he couldn’t let the conversation change from us fucking, or the table would explode. And listen, I don’t wanna judge anyone’s appearance.”
Both Beau and Marshall sat up and leaned forward in unison.
“Cal had that nerdy, clean-cut librarian vibe about him, and it worked for him. He somehow rocked both his glasses and his notoriously bad haircuts and pulled them off. The vibe got me a couple of times, even when we weren’t drinking.
Like we would be hanging out, and he’d take a slender finger and push his glasses back up on his face, and I’d swoon. And then jump him.
“And he’d have a total Giles from Buffy vibe now that he is older, if—and listen—I get we’re all aging. Even if it’s a slower process for us witches.”
“Thank the Goddess our genes are good on top of that,” Beau interjected, as he and Schuyler held their milkshakes up for a toast. “Croy DNA doesn’t fuck around.”
“Well, Cal’s genetics double penetrated him raw and mercilessly apparently, and he opted to not face that gracefully and, um, fix it himself.
” Schuyler had held back his reaction when he met Cal in front of the restaurant.
He wasn’t sure if his initial impression was accurate until they sat down.
“You could see the hardening, the plastic shine, around his eyes, by his ears.”
“No,” Beau gasped. “Over-glamouring?”
Schuyler confirmed in the affirmative, chasing his milkshake with a stolen Oreo from Beau’s stash.
Sad at the thought of how much Cal had grown to dislike himself to the point of continuing to bewitch his own appearance.
Sky spotted the effects on Cal’s hands as well.
The plastic shimmer, the hardening of the skin, all caused by heavy Glamouring.
“He hadn’t done it that night. He knew I’d see through it probably, but he’s definitely been casting on himself something crazy and trying to use makeup to cover up the damage.
I mean, we used to do Glamours back in the day for fun.
I spent a week as a ripped blond-haired blue-eyed twink named Ranaldo. ”
Schuyler sighed and took another big sip of his extra-thick shake.
Past the scars of Cal’s insecurities were the other signs that he wasn’t the same person Sky remembered.
In fairness, their friendship went from close-knit to social media-based; mainly the occasional “like” and the yearly happy birthday posts.
Cal had crafted himself a more normative than witchy life, a far cry from the bold and proud witch he’d been in their days running around.
He’d admitted this to Sky during dinner, even though Cal’s friends didn’t know his truth.
Or that he still had a residence in Bairwick, even though he worked in the city, some career involving brokerage or finances.
Two terms that instantly tuned Schuyler out of any conversation.
Cal cared about the dollar, making money for people who already had money.
They’d enjoyed some laughs over dinner, and Sky was pleasantly surprised by the nostalgic feeling Cal brought along with him.
And Schuyler wanted to reconnect their friendship—an area he’d failed in with many former friends since he’d committed the cardinal sin of leaving them in the dust to build a life outside of Bairwick with his now-ex.
There were some great times and laughs with Cal, ones Sky would be happy to add more of.
Though he was taken aback when there was a strong visual disappointment written across Cal’s face when their evening did not end with them moving to a second location, but instead Sky thanking him for a great night and saying they’d chat later.
“I could tell he was bummed, but it wasn’t the Cal I remembered; he was someone new, I’d need to get to know him again.”
“I don’t recall a Cal,” Marshall said between bites of his Nestle Crunch. “But I also don’t remember why I walk into rooms sometimes.”
“Oh, I remember his ass, he was hanging around here a lot,” Beau added. “And let me tell you, that boy was the human equivalent of human Ambien.”
“He wasn’t that bad. He’s a quieter kind of person,” Schuyler defended.
“Bor-ing kind of person,” Beau interjected. “He was talking to me once, and my soul literally left my body ’cause I died midway through.”