Chapter Nine #2
“For serious?” The fun Issac appeared to be having faded. “Even my mother wouldn’t know me? That seems extreme.”
Schuyler nodded, though he realized maybe he should have advised Issac of this before showing him the real side of Bairwick.
“There’s also no raising the dead, that’s a big no-no, mainly because it’s messy.
I believe you’re stripped of magic and exiled—or just exiled.
Who can remember. We learn all of this in grade school.
“The third Edict is about protecting the balance. If a single witch or a coven venture too far into the Dark or the Light, threatening the equilibrium of our magical ecosystem, the Elders awaken and restore the balance.
“The fourth Edict is about vengeance. There was a real issue once, with witches being unable to let their shit go, threatening others, their lineages. A lot of good witches lost their lives until the Elders stepped in. A witch cannot cast vengeance upon another witch, like our passed-out friend on the floor over there. He must accept defeat, lick his wounds, and return for another duel in the future once he’s recharged. That’s the four. Everything else we-”
Schuyler stopped upon noticing the green eyes that looked across the table at him so adoringly earlier, were now retreating behind narrowing lids. The charming nose—wrinkled. The delicious, kissable upper lip curled upward, as if the food Issac tasted had suddenly turned foul.
“Erase them?” Issac asked, still hung up on the first Edict. “Do you not realize how horrifying that sounds? Someone being erased, their own mother not knowing who they are. And with no trial? No defense?”
“Um… not really big on trials as a group, generally.”
“It borders on inhumane,” Issac stated, his tone sharp with a surprising amount of defensive attitude. “Old institutions like these need to be brought down, especially if they’re ruling with fear. It’s archaic. Unlimited cosmic power and everything, and you can’t find a better way?”
“No one in this town is living in fear, Issac.” Schuyler was confused by the dramatic shift. “And this is the better way.”
“Is it? You have these Elders swooping down, disappearing people, doling out punishments—it’s borderline barbaric. There are atrocities like this occurring all over the world. People just—taken! Authorities abusing their powers. I thought maybe this place was different, but clearly not.”
“Wait a tick, you’ve been here a couple of days.
Bairwick’s history is not the sugarcoated story they told your ass in the museum,” Schuyler defended.
“The laws work because we’ve learned the hard way what happens without them.
Our history is soiled with ugliness and blood, because at the end of the day, witch or not, humans remain fallible.
Power corrupts. Vengeance unchecked spreads like a plague, and it only takes one—one non-witch to find out the truth of Bairwick, and they’ll be here with their ignorance and their torches.
“You weren’t born here, I can’t expect you to understand.”
“I understand you’ve made me culpable in this.
I didn’t know I could be erased.” Issac snapped before going silent, pushing his half-eaten burger away and focusing on the witch who was still recovering from the duel as they got off the floor.
Schuyler had no more fight in him for the day, and he wasn’t sure if Issac’s anger was genuine or just overblown because his argument was faltering.
“Maybe we should call it a night.” Schuyler motioned for the check. “We can look for the ingredients tomorrow.”
“Maybe. If I’m not erased.” Issac’s bratty response punctuated the end of the evening. Schuyler paid, said his goodbyes and left the still stewing Issac in the tavern.
Schuyler listened to the cicadas, who’d held firm in their position as the soundtrack of the summer, thanks to the size of their once-in-generation brood.
Sky enjoyed them; any insect who woke up to hang from trees, screaming for sex, was okay in his book.
He sat in the rocker on the porch, a joint in his hand, slowly rocking, his mind racing with thoughts the cannabis had yet to soothe into silence.
The day felt like a bipolar disaster. Amazing highs of great times and then lows.
Should he stack the brief Issac affair onto the pile with all the other bad dates and move on, or should he mourn the moment?
Throughout the day, he’d looked at Issac and marveled as to why the young man was hanging out with him at all—and then he’d do something irritating.
Is he thinking about me?
It was early when Schuyler left the Inn; he could have gone out. There were a couple of clubs only a block away from him, a few other bars. Issac could easily meet someone else. Maybe he should. Maybe that would be better in the end.
“And what are you out here pondering?” Beau asked, sliding into the rocker next to him, draped in his rose gold silk kaftan.
“The usual—how I’m a screw-up,” Schuyler admitted as he passed the joint to his uncle.
“Pish, you spent the night with him, didn’t you? ‘Cause you sure as hell didn’t come home.” Beau took his hit and passed the joint back with a little side eye.
“Sorry, I should have messaged, but then I remembered… I’m forty.”
“Well,” he threw his arms up, letting the kaftan flare out, “you living in my house, so your age doesn’t matter to me. How’d it go with the cutie?”
“Started out okay, but the rest of this day just got, I dunno, sour. I kept getting frustrated with him, maybe the age gap is tripping me up. He’s a different generation; he wasn’t born or raised here.
There’s a disconnect with him.” Schuyler shared the details of the day as the joint passed back and forth.
Was he talking to his bestie somewhere, saying the same things to them about me? Was he questioning how the day had turned on him too?
“I don’t think that’s it,” Beau said, returning the joint, “cause, girl, you already knew he was young, so don’t be trying this different generation nonsense.
Twenty-somethings are like puppies: you want to play with them, but then abandon them in the woods after a couple of hours.
You? At that age? By the Goddesses, the ridiculousness of you.
You thought you knew everything. No one could tell you shit.
Your way of thinking was the only way. And honey, no one did magic as good as you. I could go on.”
“Please don’t.”
“His age has nothing to do with it. If it did, you’d have not spent as much time with him as you did. You’d have seen his childishness and left. Ask yourself—why is he triggering these reactions within you? ‘Cause that boy is just being himself.”
Schuyler went to counter the argument, to find a retaliatory example to prove Beau wrong, but he couldn’t. He took a hit, then paused before passing it on. Beau was correct. Maybe this was about him more than Issac. “Damn, this strain has made you quite wise.”
“Indeed.”
They sat for a moment in a blissful conversational lull.
The creak of the chairs as they rocked, the scent of jasmine growing around the porch, mixed with the hum of the cicadas and the other night insects—all screaming for sexual fulfillment on an otherwise peaceful night.
The lull, the cannabis, and Beau’s presence calmed the chaos in his head, allowing him to say what he’d been avoiding all day.
“He reminds me of Dev more than anyone I’ve ever met.
It’s in the attitude, the way he sees the world.
Something about him I can’t put my finger on.
“All day I’ve pushed that thought away because I can’t stomach chasing another Dev substitute.
One after another, he’s in everyone I meet in some way.
And if he’s not, I put him in there.” Schuyler reached over and grabbed Beau’s hand.
“When will it not hurt anymore?” His voice cracked as tears welled up.
Twenty plus years later, and the feelings remained just beneath the surface, as if it were only yesterday. The pain drove him from Bairwick twice: once to Europe and then to Chicago with his ex. And every time, the pain lay in waiting for him to return.
Beau placed his other hand on top of Schuyler’s, squeezing it tight. “I wish I could tell you, Monkey. Maybe never. Maybe the ache of such a tremendous loss lasts as long as the love was intended to. Maybe it heals when you’re truly ready for it to heal. Only the Goddesses can say for sure.
“With that thought, I’m going to bed. But I’ll say this, however you left things today with that young man, and I’m guessing not well knowing your messy ass—message him. Fix the situation. If you got shit to deal with, deal with it. But don’t take your stuff out on that kid. Love you, Monkey.”
Beau rose from the rocker, excusing himself.
Schuyler finished the joint and left the porch, walking out into the yard and staring up at the sky.
A coven had enchanted the sky over the town in the 80’s to never be affected by growing light pollution from across the lake.
The stars were always fully visible, as were the unobstructed wispy clouds of the Milky Way hanging above him, along with the glorious moon currently in her waning gibbous phase.
He could feel the connection with the Earth, the stars, and the moon.
The full moon would appear in a couple of days, and he realized with it all the potential time left to be with Issac.
Who knew what the young man would do once he’d completed his uncle’s posthumous spell.
Nothing kept him bound to Bairwick; he had a full life back at home.
I should just enjoy the time with him. I’m being stupid, aren’t I?
He was indeed, but we had to let him get to that revelation on his own.
I swear—you and I are going to have words when this is over.
Schuyler retrieved his phone from his pocket.
To his surprise, Issac replied instantly to his text.
Within a minute of conversation, Schuyler ported himself to Issac’s room.
He appeared next to the fireplace across from the bed where Issac sat, wearing a white tank top and underwear, a bowl of brightly colored Mike and Ike candies in his lap.
“Hi,” Schuyler announced sheepishly.
“Hello,” Issac replied sweetly.
“I need to apologize for my attitude earlier. None of that was about you, like at all. That was all my shit, and I’m sorry.” Schuyler rushed his apology out; if Issac didn’t want his help or to see him anymore, at least he’d said his piece.
“No worries. You were right, if that helps any. I wasn’t taking your lessons as seriously as I should have.” Issac set the candy bowl down and stood up, though he stayed near the bed. Schuyler remained across from him.
“I figured you’d be out somewhere tonight, living up the witchy fun.”
“I went out after you left,” Issac admitted, “to the library.”
Schuyler’s heart did somersaults.
Did he say ‘library’—could there be anything more swoon-worthy?
“You did?”
Issac motioned to the bed, where Schuyler noticed several books scattered on the comforter. One of them was open, next to a notebook where Issac had scribbled notes. He restrained himself from leaping across the room, scooping Issac up in his arms, and kissing him.
Issac casually shrugged as if the gesture meant nothing, but Schuyler noticed the sly smile.
“You might have been dealing with your stuff today, but I didn’t help the situation by acting the way I did.
The reality of everything we talked about at lunch broke the fantasy I was living in.
I really enjoyed spending today with you, and then lunch made everything messy.
“And you weren’t wrong. I do need to know what I’m doing if I want to feel connected to Uncle Yannif and perform his spell. There’s a lot about this place I don’t understand and shouldn’t assume. I’m very grateful you’re helping me. So, I’m sorry too.”
“Thank you for that.” Schuyler found himself elated at hearing Issac had also enjoyed their day. His worries were washed away.
Issac walked over to him, grabbed his waist, and pulled Schuyler in toward him. “Fuck me,” he whispered in Schuyler’s ear. “No magic, no fancy tongue, just you and me.”