Chapter 16 #2
“You’re more powerful than I am, at least in this aspect. I’ll keep that in mind .” He chuckles, removing his hand to study my palm once again.
“Huh?”
“Those who can heal, can also harm, and vice versa,” Legion clarifies, reminding me of one of the hermetic principles, though I notice his tone has lost some of the enthusiasm he seemed to have only moments ago.
“I see your marriage line is strong, ” Legion nearly mutters the words, shifting my hand to examine another line near the base of my pinky, but to the side. “And here is your line for Ace.”
“ You can see that?”
His finger traces another spot. “Here. A deep line, indicating a male child.”
Suddenly, my mouth feels dry, and I’m torn right down the middle on whether or not to ask if there’s another…
Legion’s pale grey eyes flick up to look into mine. “Are you alright? Your pulse has suddenly?—”
“I think I’m thirsty,” I blurt.
He releases my hand and straightens. “I’ll escort you to the bar. Then perhaps, might you care for a dance?”
I force myself to laugh a little and tell him, “I’m not supposed to leave the gazebo.”
He only looks at me, cocking his head to the side, as if he hopes I’m joking.
“Besides…we both know Dean wouldn’t like that.”
“ Ah , but the good warden isn’t here.” Legion leans in closer to me, the flickering candles and string lights creating purple and gold flecks in his silvery eyes.
They really stand out in contrast with the black makeup he has smeared around them beneath the skull mask.
“I promise to be a gentleman…” he places a long-fingered hand against his chest and promises, “Won’t even try to cop a feel. ”
I shake my head at that last remark, but… I wouldn’t mind getting up and stretching my legs a bit, either.
“I’m supposed to wait until someone tells me I can take a break.”
“They’re all plastered,” Legion pushes, “And judging by the state of your abysmal gratuity jar, I doubt anyone will even notice you’ve escaped your post.”
I glance over at it, covering my mouth to stifle a laugh. “This is kind of a joke, isn’t it?”
“ Pathetic , really.” I can tell he’s suppressing a chuckle of his own.
I bite my lower lip, gazing up at him as he stands and offers me his hand once again.
“ W hy do I feel like Snow White, being presented with the poison apple?” Vanna teases upon my return, eyeing the flute of champagne I’ve brought back for her.
“Why not Eve, presented with the forbidden fruit?”
She scowls at me, though the slight quiver in her lips betrays a hard-fought inclination to smile.
“Come now, Vanna… The Devil was only trying to enlighten Eve.” I grin.
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it…but are we…still talking about a Bible story? Or you ?”
“I’m willing to discuss anything your heart desires.”
Another little scoff brushes past her luscious lips. “I doubt that.”
“ Try me,” I dare her, stoking those cardinal fires.
She stares for a moment. I watch her delicate throat swallow. “I can’t drink tonight. I drove myself here.”
“You don’t trust me.”
Instead of commenting on my pointed statement, she insists, “I…have a low tolerance.”
Indeed . I down the glass of champagne myself, staring her in the eyes as I do.
Letting out a hiss of air, I slam the flute down on a service tray carried hurriedly past us by a member of the waitstaff.
“Would I ingest the apple myself, had I poisoned it?” I ask, more impatience in my tone than I intended. “What’s it going to take, Vanna?”
“I don’t know…” I barely hear her nervous reply over the festivities, though she appears to harbor some level of regret in regard to her answer.
“May I bring you something, madam?” another waiter offers.
“A bottled water?” she asks, as if it’s some major inconvenience.
I hate that she suddenly seems uncomfortable in my presence. Or perhaps, she always has been. Was the Seven of Cups a warning? Am I only seeing what I want to see between us?
Lurch fetches her bottled water, and she takes a few little sips, awkwardly standing beside me. We watch the costumed social climbers waltz around upon a Halloween-themed, checkered dancefloor in the center of the manicured grounds.
“You refuse to dance with me.” I try not to sound like the slighted, lovesick simp I’ve somehow managed to become. “But perhaps you might like to walk with me? There’s a lake beyond the gardens… I promise I won’t?—”
“ Yes ,” she swiftly replies, akin to firing a shot to end the suffering of a wounded animal …
“Though I should probably grab my bag and sad little tip jar. There’s got to be a whopping forty dollars in that thing.
I’d be beside myself if someone should steal it.
” She gently elbows my arm, a playful attempt to ease the tension between us.
“Allow me,” I insist.
S he talks about Ace, mostly, on our walk through the arbored gardens along a slate stone path.
Though there are golden-hued lights every few steps, the moon above is bright, providing additional illumination.
When we come to the back of the garden, I open the little gate, gesturing for her to proceed before me.
“I love these trees.” Her hand brushes through the wispy branches of one of the weeping willows on our journey toward the lake. “Ace likes to pretend they’re dragons.”
“Dragons?”
“Yes.” She giggles. “To him, the leaves look like the scales of water dragons ,” she explains, then adds with pride, “he has a wonderful imagination, and a love for nature and magick.”
Her heartfelt words, the way she smiles when she speaks of her son… It soothes something broken inside of me.
“He’s such a brilliant little boy. I love him so much, so deeply, it actually hurts.
Just thinking about him, I could cry.” A slightly strained, awkward little laugh escapes her, and she glances up at me, eyes misted, revealing the beautiful truth in her words.
“I sound crazy, don’t I?” she asks, and all I can do is shake my head.
A tightness in my throat robs my ability to speak.
“I’ll shut up now,” she sighs, as if embarrassed.
“ No … Don’t… I…” I don’t fucking know what to say…except that… “I… I knew you would be a good mother.”
She studies me for a moment, surely piecing together memories of the few, brief conversations we’ve had in the past. Her eyes settle upon my shoulder, where the half-skull portrait of a silver-eyed fortuneteller is tatted beneath my tailored suit.
I know she’s thinking back on what I mentioned in a moment of weakness, regarding my own mother.
The heaviness in the atmosphere around us intensifies on our journey toward a curved stone bench at the edge of the lake.
“There are things I want to know… Things I want you to know,” she finally says, smoothing her long skirt as she takes a seat upon the bench. Her purse slips down her arm, and she places it in the grass at her feet.
“Well, nature is our church…and here we are.” I gesture to the lake and forest beyond as I sit beside her. “I’ll confess all to you.”
She smirks, teasing. “I imagine you’d burst into flames if you ever set foot in an actual church.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“Yet? You’ve been to church? To an actual confessional? I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me, considering your little head games …” She lets those words taper off. We both know all they imply. “Were you catholic once, too?”
“No. Though I did attend a catholic boarding school for a portion of my youth.”
“Oh?” she looks at me with genuine curiosity. “I find that fascinating, considering the line of work you’re in… And your esoteric practices … Whatever those might actually be.”
“In regard to my line of work, I’m retired .” I want to make that damn clear to her, yet at the same time, I’d rather not speak of anything pertaining to this aspect of my past. Not with her. “And it seems Catholicism didn’t stick on you either.”
She grins. “Fair enough… You’re older than me, but you don’t look nearly old enough to have reached retirement age.”
“I’ve changed.”
“I suppose that’s possible… You do seem…different.”
“A lot can change a person in the span of three years. Three years is a lifetime to some. I intend to tell you everything… It’s just that… everything I’ve done… I… I…”
“Alright,” she fires another mercy shot, astutely aware of my heightening unease. I’m grateful. The guilt inside would never have permitted asking for one myself. “I’ll give you an easy one to break the ice… What’s your sign?”
The anxiety wracking my system while we converse, Vanna willingly in my presence for the first time , renders me unable to decipher if she’s simply toying with me now or genuinely wants to know. I rule in favor of authenticity. She is a witch, after all. I’m sure she’s wondered. “Aquarius.”
“That makes so much sense! I would love to see your chart. Have you had it done?”
“I’ve wondered what it might reveal.”
She glances at me with curious skepticism. “You haven’t seen it?”
“No.”
“How? Do you know what time you were born?”
“Only the date.”
“What about your birth certificate?”
“I wasn’t born in a hospital.” My mother went the midwife route.
I’m sure they took the time of birth down somewhere.
I imagine she’d have been curious about my chart…
Then again, maybe she never cared. Ever.
.. I clear my throat and continue, “Time of birth was never recorded. And when I was sent to the orphanage, they obtained a Letter of No Record on my behalf.”
She stills. “Orphanage?”
“Yes. I did a short stint in a catholic orphanage. Moved on to their boarding school.”
I need a fucking cigarette… This is proving more difficult than I anticipated...
“Oh…” the little word seems so heavy on her sigh.
“You’re not pregnant again, are you?” I bluntly inquire, pulling out my pack of cigarettes and lighter from my jacket pocket. “I don’t know if my habit can take that.” Or my cursed heart…