Chapter Nine
Issac stepped back, his wand firmly in his hand, disappointment written across his face.
“You’re getting annoyed with me, aren’t you?
” he asked, slightly curious, slightly perturbed.
His lips were pursed as he tucked away his wand, a delicately curved piece of twisted wood, hollowed out in spots along its shaft where circular opal gems were affixed.
There had been moments throughout their morning together where Schuyler was fervently reminded of Issac’s age. He couldn’t avoid the truth. “Little bit,” he admitted, sitting down on the bench.
Schuyler experienced the full force ebb and flow of attraction as their day progressed.
In the morning, he had watched Issac in the adjoining bathroom, fresh from the shower, applying his skin care routine.
He wondered how lucky he’d been to wake up in bed with this gorgeous creature who danced around, letting his towel fall away, twirling his curls in his fingers, ensuring his hair lay perfectly.
An attractive sight. Yet once Schuyler noticed Issac’s lack of motivation, the sight of his bouncing member and ass held no sway, especially since Sky had ported home, changed, ported back, and was ready to get something to eat.
He’d been unsure upon waking how things would fare with Issac.
The young man had been charming in the tavern and very enjoyable after, but morning light painted people in different hues.
At breakfast, Issac had proved charming again.
He spoke about life, the art he loved, books he’d read, the planet, spirituality, and animals with such vivacity and passion he appeared more mature than his age suggested.
And while there had been an abundance of the above, there had also been a litany of incorrect information rattled off as fact with alarming confidence.
Schuyler didn’t mind correcting anyone. Even if the desire to bed them again was strong, he couldn’t stomach the misquoted celebs—so and so never said that—and other items Issac thanked Tik Tok for sharing with him.
No, that isn’t how you make scrambled eggs.
There were moments throughout the morning where he thought they would only be friends, but then Issac rebounded, astounding him with an astute observation on the human condition, and the attraction to get him naked would flow right back.
Schuyler showed Issac around Bairwick after breakfast, through the neighborhoods founded by foreign witches who’d relocated to be closer to the power emanating from Bairwick. He took him through British Row, Little Hong Kong, and Down Under Avenue.
When he realized they were near Montgomery Park, he figured it’d be a good spot to give Issac some basic lessons in conjuring and casting.
The park was a popular spot where witches of all ages practiced.
He figured the space would be ideal to see what Issac could do, get a sense of the power within him.
Yet after a few simple spells of translocation, levitation, and basic elemental manipulation, which Issac caught on to quickly, he childishly reverted to replicating the wizarding world movies he’d grown up watching.
Whipping his wand around carelessly, oblivious to the damage he could cause.
Schuyler continually reminded himself Issac had never even been shown the remedial lessons about his abilities and therefore didn’t understand the inherent dangers, but still the attitude upset him.
“Well, I’m sorry,” he snapped, “I really don’t get what it is I’m doing that’s so wrong. Or why it’s bothering you.”
“Issac, what separates us from other witches is the fact our magic is tangible.” Schuyler whisked his right hand upwards, red energy erupting and surrounding his hand like a flame before forming into a ball which he controlled.
“We’re born with a deeper connection to the source than other witches, and you need to know how to wield it.
‘Cause otherwise,” he flung the ball, which whizzed past Issac’s head and onto the tree behind him, immediately devouring it with ravenous flames before self-extinguishing, leaving the tree unscathed but Issac startled.
“You whip that wand around, trying to Lagardieum or whatever the hell you were doing, and you could mis-cast, strike someone—like those assholes last night on the street. You could burn a forest down, especially if you don’t yet possess the skills to correct what you’ve done.
“I’m not trying to be a dick. You want your uncle’s spell to work correctly? Then you have to know a little something about what you’re doing, or believe me, your spell will backfire. And a backfire can rob you of your magic.”
Issac lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.
” Schuyler went to reassure him it would be okay, but then he paused.
Issac’s demeanor shifted: solemn to snarky.
Jutting out his hip, cocking his head, and pursing his lips, he argued.
“Though, in fairness, I’m just having some fun.
Which you do not seem to be a fan of. And it’s not my fault I have to use this silly wand while you’re over there Voguing the damn house down with your overly expressive hands. ”
Schuyler wanted to snap back, yet he couldn’t help but laugh at the accurate observation.
“Yes, we have very talkative hands in the Croy family. But I used a wand when I was young, we all do, and I know people who still need to use them. Or their amulets, rings, a staff, which is just as ridiculous, but we don’t judge.
They’re all conduits. With time and practice, you could harness yours to the surface the same way I do.
“Magic is conjuration,” Schuyler announced, waving his right hand and cupping his fingers slightly.
A trail of blue energy began to follow his looping motion.
“But it still requires a conductor.” With every flex of his fingers, the blue energy either rose in intensity or dulled.
He pushed the circle he’d created forward, sending it toward Issac.
It softly hit his chest, sending a rush of goosebumps and a scintillating tingle throughout his entire body.
“I’m not the enemy of fun here. You’re the one who wants to do your uncle’s spell solo, just you and him, which I admire, but you need to be ready. As easily as I made you feel good—it could have been painful.
“I could have twisted your body, tore your muscles apart, broke your bones. And what could you have done to counter that?” Schuyler noticed Issac’s handsome Laryngeal Prominence moving up and down as the young man swallowed hard, the gesture betraying his sudden understanding of Sky’s point.
“Exactly, nothing. I get you’re learning, and all of this is new, and magic is so much fun.
There is a serious side as well, one where witches twist magics any which way they want. ”
Issac nodded and exhaled, understanding.
Schuyler, slightly frustrated, still found himself smitten.
Every movement the young man made, from the motion of rubbing the back of his right leg with his left, the way he jutted out his hip to get sassy, or licked his lips before casting a spell, enchanted him.
As much as he wanted to strangle the entitled attitude out of him, he wanted to kiss him till the sun set and rose again.
And the bouncing between the two was tiring.
“Why don’t we get some lunch.”
Schuyler took them back to the Tavern for burgers, hoping the ambiance would reset their afternoon. Issac went quiet on the walk, the non-stop chattering of the day no more, but he lit up once a pair of cloaked figures in the main room broke out into a fight.
He realized again the difference between them, and for the first time, thought about how Issac’s attraction to him probably ebbed and flowed with the day as well.
He’d been dubbed an enemy of fun, certainly not a title that led to another round of hot sex.
He’d corrected him dozens of times even while complimenting him.
And yet, Issac still smiled at him when they locked eyes, still asked questions about magic, still made references to the enjoyable Analmancy the night before.
The dueling witches lashed spells at each other across their table.
The rest of the patrons continued with their drinks and meals unfazed, throwing up shields when needed, while Issac kept remarking on how cool the scene was.
Schuyler, however, would have used the term annoying, seeing only witches who couldn’t communicate, who needed to blast each other out of their chairs as opposed to figuring out their issue.
“Witches fight a lot. Aren’t there police?” Issac asked as the victorious, robed witch took his ale and removed himself to another table, sitting silently.
“Mainly, we self-govern,” Schuyler explained.
“We don’t have a lot of issues, but when we do, you duel and call it a day.
There’s always a witch going old school and hexing or throwing curses, but generally it’s always over small shit.
We all live here because we want to exist in peace to practice our craft.
No one is really trying to disturb that.
“We do have a few laws.” Schuyler realized those were topics he should have brought up sooner. “First, and I’d hope the most obvious, under no circumstance can you reveal the truth of Bairwick to a non-witch. Ever.”
“What would happen if I did?”
“The trio of witches who founded Bairwick—the Elders—well, they never left. They sleep, beneath us in their chambers, within deep caverns, continuing to protect their beloved town. They awaken when their Edicts are violated.
“If you were to tell someone about anything past Main Street, you’d be erased. You’d cease to exist in the mind of anyone who ever knew you, from your mother to the stranger on the street who thought you were handsome. You’d have no place in the outside world, and you’d be barred from Bairwick.”