Chapter Thirteen #2
Schuyler tried to recall the last time he saw Dev’s sister, Deana. Had she been pregnant? They’d left so quickly after the accident, and he’d been too drowned in grief back then to notice.
And now he’d been too mesmerized by Issac to notice he was being lied to, given fake names.
Schuyler slid out of the booth, his face red, eyes watering, and threw out his hand, stopping Issac from getting up. He gnashed his teeth, “No.”
Issac retreated into his seat.
“What you’re proposing is cruel.”
Schuyler stood still, stunned. Did he want to go home? Did he want to Port Issac back to the Inn? He wanted to scream and throw hands, to curl up and cry.
“When were you going to tell me, Issac? Two nights from now, when it’s time to perform the spell? After? How about when the first man I ever loved is revived and staring me in the face?! Would that have been the best time to tell me about this? Do you have any idea how fucked up this all sounds?”
“I do. I only came here to talk to him. That’s it. To say what I needed to. I didn’t expect anything else to happen. I didn’t know I’d have feelings for you. Please don’t leave like this.”
Issac reached to take Sky’s hand, but he snatched it away.
“Like what—betrayed?” Schuyler snapped loudly, which caught a few other customers’ attention. “You hurt me.”
“I didn’t mean to, I… I-—”
Schuyler scowled at Issac, who started crying, and without another word, Sky Ported himself away to Shipton Circle.
Schuyler sat on the outer edge of the benches that looked in on the large circular fountain. Around its base and the pavers which spread out fifteen feet were inscribed with the names of women falsely accused of witchcraft who’d been executed throughout the world.
The three Elders were carved into the wide column in the center of the fountain, each with their arms up, holding a large basin from which water poured.
It symbolized eternal gratitude to the women who lost their lives in the wake of hatred.
The fountain, a memorial, was a gathering place for many female-led covens during certain phases of the moon to honor the fallen women.
Schuyler focused only on the steady stream of water falling over the lowered portions of the basin and not on the witches milling around the fountain. Some were standing and talking, others sitting, some reading, some writing. None of them appeared to be reeling from recent revelations like he was.
How nice for them.
What the hell had happened? Had there been signs he’d missed? Or had he truly been blindsided? He didn’t know Dev had kept a journal. They were about to move in together when the accident happened; maybe he would have learned then?
Maybe I would have known about my potential nephew and not Analmanced him.
Now there was a chance to see Dev again, albeit briefly. But would that be worth the heartache? Reunited for an hour? Less? Not enough time to say everything needed.
And then I’d lose him all over again.
Dev wrote spells all the time, but why was there a spell in his journal about bringing someone back from the dead?
Why had Dev’s mother, Adriana, never passed anything of Dev’s down to him, despite him asking?
Schuyler had some items stored away, things which were left in his room: underwear, socks, CDs.
All these were thoughts he’d packed away long ago, and now they were everywhere.
I could see him again.
There were too many coincidences with the spell; timing which did not make sense, which Schuyler passed off as synchronicities—a sign he was on the right track before.
If Issac had told him the truth up front, would he have agreed to help at all?
Schuyler tried to think of what he would have done.
One of the fundamentals was that dead is dead.
We move on, move forward, to what’s next.
But if the spell could work?
I don’t know.
Betrayal was all he could focus on. Issac knew who he was and what Dev meant to him, yet he continued being intimate with him without a word.
Schuyler recognized that to Issac, Dev was simply words on a page, an echo of the past. Perhaps the situation wasn’t as odd for him.
More like the thin plot of a porn video he’d seen and now got to live out.
Unsure if he was overthinking that part too, Schuyler didn’t know who Issac was related to either when they met. In another timeline he would have been his uncle, but that wasn’t the one they were in. Sure, the connection was interesting, but maybe he manufactured the weirdness.
What was he upset about? Being lied to? The facts withheld from him? He’d come this far not caring what the spell was about—why care about the details now? What was he even upset about? Because he cared for Issac? Maybe the connection explained the deep attraction he felt.
Bring my deceased boyfriend back?
The idea was incredulous. No matter the theory or conclusion he rested on, there was no altering how hurt he felt.
He should have been told the truth from the start, been allowed to know all the details before agreeing to help Issac.
Knowing those might have changed his mind, or at least he could have protected his heart, which broke easily and often.
Sometimes at the slightest offense; Schuyler had learned early how to slap a bandage on and promise, next time will be better.
He deserved a choice to avoid what he was feeling now.
“Schuyler?”
He opened his eyes and saw Cal, stopped mid-walk and now approaching him, still in his suit from work. “Hello, Cal.”
Without being invited, he sat down next to Schuyler. “I was walking home. How are you?”
“Long, weird, fucked up day.” Schuyler quietly sank back into the bench.
“Sorry to hear. Anything I can do? Wanna get a drink and talk?”
There was not an ounce of desire to be around a gathering of people or the noise of a bar, and he let Cal know this by politely declining.
They sat for a minute before Cal countered with a different offer.
“Walk with me then? My apartment is two blocks up Hamilton Ave. You can easily come back and continue to stew, or head home. But you can vent for those two blocks, if you want of course. If not, I’d at least appreciate the company of a handsome man.”
The second offer was one Schuyler didn’t refuse. It took a block to inquire about Cal’s day, and by the second block—despite dodging Cal’s constant, thinly veiled asides about hooking up to ease both their stressful days—he agreed to come up to his apartment for a drink.
Schuyler sat on the couch, looking at the finance and gaming magazines scattered on the coffee table, mixed in with a game controller and Blu-rays.
The television remained on the home screen, no selection made.
Schuyler couldn’t focus even if something was playing.
He started talking about Issac while Cal fixed drinks.
“Ah, that’s his name. Everyone’s talking about him. Well, you too. A lot of people are surprised you’re back. You were sly when you came home, I guess, stayed out of sight all those weeks, but not so much now.”
“Goddamn small town.”
“No one noticed you were working at the shop; I take it?”
“In plain sight, my favorite place to hide. But yes, that’s Issac.”
“Guess he’s had your attention.”
Schuyler heard the tinge of jealousy in Cal’s tone and rolled his eyes. He liked his friend, but the dude did not know how to read a room. In fairness, Schuyler also remembered the unanswered messages sitting on his phone and apologized.
“No worries,” Cal called out from the kitchen, clinking glasses and pouring their drinks. “You’ve always been like that when you’re into someone new.”
Cal spoke the truth; Schuyler knew he got caught up, ignoring those around him. “It’s a blind spot, apologies.”
“Never apologize for being passionate, that’s rare. Must be nice for the person you’re all wrapped up in.”
“Maybe. Except when they lie to you.” Schuyler threw his head back and groaned. Why was he at Cal’s? Why didn’t he just go home? “Cal, where do you stand on withholding information? Is that the same as lying to you?”
Cal popped into the doorway, “Well, I guess it’d be situational, but generally I’ve always felt it’s the same as lying. The intention was to hide the truth from someone. Drinks will be ready in a minute, just muddling the fresh mint for some Mojitos.”
“Cal, vodka in a glass would have sufficed. You don’t have to go through all that.”
“It’s no bother. I usually do it for myself anyway when I get home.
Nice to have some company. I’m sorry he lied to you.
My last boyfriend lied to me—a lot. About everything.
Even small shit like what he ate for breakfast. Made no sense, but his intention was always to be deceitful.
” Cal moved into the living room with two Instagram-worthy Mojitos in his hands.
“Guess it comes down to what you think Issac’s intention was? ”
Schuyler took the chilled glass and admired it before lowering it to his lap as he pondered the question.
What was Issac’s intention? Everything with him about the spell had been so dodgy, but now that was explained to a degree.
Why did he need to bring Dev back? To talk?
To ask a question? Why did Issac need this?
Do I need this? There are things I want to say.
Schuyler drove his turbulent thoughts away and focused on Cal’s abode.
A ferocious and eclectic reader, Cal had books lined along the baseboards, climbing nearly a quarter of the way up the wall throughout the entire one-bedroom apartment.
The titles had changed over the years, more business acumen, economic theorists now and less science fiction and cheap romance, but the aesthetic hadn’t.
And like in the past, Cal still had nothing else adorning his walls.