Stop, “mind the gap”, change trains.
Stop, “mind the gap”, change trains.
Out at Picadilly, through the Circus, down the street and into the crush of Fortnum and Mason.
We were standing by the counter displaying jars of Goober peanut butter and jelly stripes (just behind the £30 boxes of Fortnum and Mason champagne truffles) and catching our breath when Viv turned to Gabriel and said…
“You’re hired.”
24 September
Listen to this.
Upon arrival at The Dozen this morning, Nerissa charged up to me and shouted, “She was here, yesterday, Girlie Spice!”
Eh?
“What?” (Me)
“Girlie Spice the one with the nose and the history with Robbie Williams.” (Nerissa)
I gave up and looked at Lucy.
“Geri Halliwell. Rissa reckons she stopped by yesterday for one of your new cinnamon rolls.”
“Really?” (Me)
(Was currently winning the War of the Wooden Spoons with the introduction of my Cinnabon-esque (little smaller, different frosting with a hint of cream cheese) cinnamon rolls – a whole new concept to English folk and they took to it like ducks to water.)
“Yes, I swear, it was her… Girlie Spice.” (Nerissa)
“That’s Baby Spice.” (Lucy)
“Er, I think she’s called Cutie Spice.” (This nugget of wisdom from Pandora)
Oh for goddess’s sake.
How soon they forget.
“She’s Ginger Spice.” (Me) “Was she really here?”
“Yes, yes, I swear it was her.” (Nerissa)
Lucy shrugged.
Yeah, I could trust that… Nerissa was an expert. I mean, Girlie Spice?
Still, could be first celebrity client.
Yay!
Who was next? Jennifer Saunders? Someone told me she lived in Somerset.
Or.
Ohmygoddess.
Madonna?
It could happen.
Yay!
Boo!
I was leaving the country.
I was going to be holed up in a safe house in Baker in about a month’s time when the protection spells had reached their full potency.
I would miss Madonna.
My war with Lucy would be lost because I wouldn’t be here to fight it.
I wasn’t going to get my own TV show!
The Dozens would go back to being another “caff” serving all-day “full English breakfasts” and smelling of grease and bacon with baskets full of pre-wrapped flapjacks and “American” brownies that tasted like cardboard.
Ack!
All I’d worked for… gone.
Damn Agatha, Endora, the Traditionalists and the rest.
They were gonna pay.
Chapter Twelve
The Month of October
5 October
Scary, sad and miserable run-in with potential-father-of-children/life sacrifice/shifty, boy-I-can-pick-‘em, “Boyfriend” Number One:
* * * * *
I was up in my Tower Room.
Over the months I had made it my Magic Room.
I replaced the old, battered, wooden cupboards, cabinets and work benches.
Delia’s husband (one of the few of our coven whose husband was not in Le Société but was a furniture craftsman) made me a huge circular, marbled mosaic table for the center of the room (with lovely, curlicued, wrought iron legs).
(Well, he didn’t make them for me, he made them for some rich woman who said she didn’t like the marble and he needed to unload them at a cut-rate price that still curled my toes but they were so very gorgeous I couldn’t resist.)
There were matching sets of baker’s shelves and some dark-wooded, distressed chests displaying my jars, bottles, bowls, scales, pouches of runes, boxes of tarot, mortars, pestles, knives, pentacles, cauldrons, incense and essence burners, chalices, amulets, crystals, feathers, mirrors and oils.
(Okay, I’d been busy. I shop. I finally found the life-skill that makes my hobby a necessity.)
There were candles, candles and more candles in various colors and assorted (mostly black, iron, curlicued) holders scattered around the room and fixed to the stone walls.
There were huge bunches of herbs and dried flowers hanging from iron racks suspended from the ceiling and even more on hooks drilled into the walls.
There was a small, round table draped with a sheer, soft pink alter cloth with silver moons and blue and purple stars embroidered in it with my crystal ball sitting on a hot pink, velvet cushion on top with two comfy, upholstered, high-backed chairs around it.
I made a deal with the John Lewis salesmen on the floor model, discontinued chaise lounge and a sleek-lined, armless chair and foot stool which was surprisingly comfortable even though it looked kickass.
My Magic Room… I loved it and I was going to miss it.
I was in a bit of a panic because I had yet to find the origins, thus be able to prepare a counter-ceremony, of magic-stripping magic.
I felt I had to do that before I left the country. Somehow, I owed it to Althea and the protection spell in Denver was maturing rapidly and the minute it matured, we were gone.
Su had arranged an escort from DIA (Denver International Airport) that included witches, a couple local vampires and a sorceress with whom Su was friendly.
We’d researched the school in which to enroll Rory and had a work visa in process through a fake engagement of Josie to a multi-media artist and teacher at the Denver Art Institute who had volunteered to be Josie’s fake fiancé.
(Where Su finds these folks, I don’t know but we were major indebted to this guy who was named, get this: Windspear, I kid you not, Windspear Jones. Un-fucking-believable).
Anyway.
Su was working with the help of a computer chiphead, IT geek to create a trail of years of fake e-mails, fake telephone bills and a bunch of faked photos which would link Josie and Windspear in order to lay testimony for the fiancée visa that we needed for Josie to move to The States.
(Okay, we were breaking the law but if she worked, she’d pay tax. And she was gonna save the world one day. I mean, give us a break!)
I found out that the magic-stripping magic was so rarely performed that even Mavis, Gran and Mom had exhausted their ideas of where I should search.
I was also in my Tower Room researching ways to sever the mind-meld with Ash.
The mind-meld was more magic that was hard to reverse, especially since I had to cloak my thoughts every once in awhile so Ash wouldn’t cotton onto the fact I was trying to cut ties with him.
Lastly, I was also in my Tower Room avoiding Aidan.
Because it was his birthday.
Although I was prepared, I didn’t think I could handle another birthday. The last one went great (Ash’s) and I was already heartbroken enough. I didn’t need more reason to be heartbroken.
It was late; I’d fallen asleep on the lounge upside down, my feet over the back and my head at the foot.
My notes and reference books on mind-melds and magic-stripping were in disarray around me.
And my mobile rang.
I jumped, twisted and slid off the lounge into the piles of paper and dangerously delicate tomes o’ magic lore.
And I saw before me a pair of legs encased in mushroom-colored corduroy.
I followed the legs up and saw a nicely veined, long-fingered, masculine hand holding out my mobile that said on the front display, “Gabriel Calling”.
Ack!
I grabbed the phone, scrambled to my feet, smiled innocently (I hoped) at the gorgeous head on top of the corduroy and fisherman’s sweatered body of Aidan while flipping open the phone and saying a bright, “Hello!”
“You’re not alone,” Gabriel responded.
Aidan crossed his arms on his chest.
“How’d you know that?” I asked.
“You sound bright and cheery, you’re never bright and cheery,” Gabriel replied.
Cheeky.
“I’m always bright and cheery!”
I cannot believe he said that.
Of course I was bright and cheery.
I was the Queen of Bright and Cheery.
“I’ll call back later.” And then he disconnected.
“Who’s Gabriel?” Aidan asked the minute I flipped my phone shut.
Ack!
“Um…”
Ack!
* * * * *
Now, I had been a very, very busy girl since my night on the cliff face but I couldn’t avoid Ash and Aidan altogether since we were all on a mission to fight evil (supposedly) and I was expected to be enamored with both of them.
But I’d used my single-minded desire to battle the Traditionalists, not to mention to have as many pairs of shoes and handbags and nice furniture for my Tower Room (thus working extra hard at The Dozen to earn money) as my excuse to steer clear of the Double-Crossing Duo.
I could tell my avoiding them was wearing thin.
Or as Danny Glover would say in Lethal Weapon, “Anorexic.”
What to do?
Stall.
* * * * *
“Wait here! Don’t move. I’ll be back in two seconds!”
And I ran from the room.
I kinda wished I could run from The Gables, from the town, from the country but that wasn’t in the cards.
Yet.
Instead, I ran to the kitchen and back.
When I arrived, I presented a somewhat-less-tolerant-looking (ack!) Aidan with a bright orange cookie tin wrapped in a hot pink organdie ribbon.
“Happy Birthday!” I shouted, maybe a little too loudly. “Those are oatmeal cookies, just like you like but I changed them. I noticed you like cranberry juice and, later, I saw you dig into Lucy’s almond Danish so I experimented and finally put in some dried cranberries…” Yes, I was babbling. “And a bit of ground almond in the mix and added white chocolate for good measure and came up with those… Aidan’s Cranberry Almond Oatmeal Cookies with White Chocolate Chunks! Voila!”
Once I’d done a lame little hand flourish with my “voila!” one of his arms snaked out, rounded my waist and he pulled me into a tight hug, burying his face in my hair at the side of my neck.
“Jesus, Matty,” he muttered by my ear, relief in his voice.
I felt my throat close as shivers ran down my spine.
Bastard!
Bastard!
Bastard!
“What’s the matter, Aidan?” I asked.
I knew exactly what was the matter but I wasn’t going to let on.
His arm gave me a squeeze and his lips gave my neck a brush and more shivers ran down my spine.
Then he whispered in my ear, “Nothing, darling.”
Darling.
I loved that.
Bastard.
“Okay,” I whispered back before I pulled away and ran to one of the cabinets. “That isn’t all,” I said, tearing through cabinets to find what I’d made in a fit of tears and fury but still, it had to be done.
The game had to be played.
I found it, walked back to Aidan and handed him a booklet made of thin strips of hot pink paper held fast at one end by a bright orange, organdie bow.
Then I said, “I asked myself, ‘Self? What do you get the man who has everything?’ and my Self answered, ‘Something money can’t buy.’ So there it is.” Then I gave another lame hand flourish, gesturing to the booklet.
He was leafing through it, no expression on his face.
“It’s vouchers,” I told him, coming up to his side and pointing as he leafed. “You tear them out and give them to me when you want to redeem them. See, that one is for night out at the Indian. You know, Monsoon on the High Street?” I explained.
Yikes!
I kept going. “And that one is for, my treat, a movie at the Curzon. You can even have a box of that icky sweet popcorn if you like.”
Ack!
I kept on talking. “And that one is for a scalp massage. I have this great copper tool that Su bought me a couple birthdays ago that you scrape on your scalp. I know, it sounds awful but it… is… fucking… fantastic.” I stopped to look at him and then pulled back at the expression on his face.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded and turned fully to me.
I retreated.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
He came after me, stalking me again, the look on his face melting my insides.
“Yeah, I like it,” he said and tossed the book and tin on the table.
Hmm.
What to do?
He was going to think something was up, why would I move away? He knew I liked him.
There was no reason I’d move away. Especially on his birthday.
We’d slept together.
He’d given me the Big O.
He thought I thought he might die for me.
Yikes!
So I stopped retreating and ran toward him, threw myself at him and kissed him.
Goddess, leaves, twigs and trees, it was, as always, fabulous.
He took over the kiss and all thoughts of betrayal flew from my mind.
This wasn’t hard at all.
“Happy birthday,” I said (a lot softer this time) when his lips left mine.
“Who’s Gabriel?”
Ack!
Single-minded bastard.
He went on, “Is he the vampire you met at The Hobgoblin?”
Ackity ack ack!
Ack!
“You know about that?” (Me)
“Yes.” (Aidan)
“How? Derek?” (Me)
“Well, him and half a dozen others who witnessed the brawl.” (Aidan)
Oops.
“Why did you hire a vampire?” (Aidan)
“I can’t, er… tell you.” (Goddess, did I wish I could lie. Okay, I take it back, this was hard.)
His arms tightened.
“Matty…” (Aidan, all warning)
“Aidan, you’re just going to have to trust me.” (Me)
Ha. Trust! That was a joke.
No response.
“Please?” (Me again, trying to be girlie cute, tipping my head to the side and everything)
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Boy, did I need to win this staring contest.
Okay, so I couldn’t win the staring contest.
So I kissed him instead.
It took a bit.
He fought it.
But I worked hard, giving it my all.
Then with a groan he gave in, backing me into the lounge, twisting at the last minute and seating himself, taking me with him, not breaking the kiss and lounging back in one smooth move with me on top.
Finally, after my body melted into his due to his superior tongue action, his fingers in my hair fisted gently and tugged even more gently and he asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
I gave my stock answer, “I never know what I’m doing.”
He twisted me so he was (mostly) on top of me.
I don’t know what it is and if other girls feel this way but there is something very nice about the weight of a man on you, especially a man who smelled like wood, vanilla and musk with a hint of citrus (Lalique Le Lion, mm…).
“Matty,” he called, his voice lower than normal, a virtual rumble that travelled along my body like a physical thing, “now is not the time to be playing around.”
“Aidan,” I said in all seriousness as I put my hand on his cheek, “really, you’re just going to have to trust me.”
He might not think I was doing the right thing.
But I was.
He dipped his head so his face was close to mine and he whispered, “Something isn’t right with you.”
I rubbed my nose against his.
Then I teased, “You think? I mean, less than a year ago, I was a girl with the simple dream of one day owning a $3,500 Hermes Birkin Bag. Now, look at me, look at this place,” I flicked out
a hand to encompass my Magic Room, “look at my life. We’re on the cusp of war, Aidan, and I’m Che Guevara.”
Finally he grinned. “Che was just the face of the revolution. It was Fidel who was the heart. The reason you see so much of Che is because he was photogenic.”
Ack!
“I know but I don’t want to be Fidel. He’s hairy, cigar-chomping and icky,” I informed him.
Aidan touched his lips to mine then pulled back and stated, “Believe me, you don’t want to be Che. Che came to a nasty end in a Bolivian jungle.”
Yikes!
I didn’t need to be reminded of that.
Aidan went on, “And Fidel lived to subjugate millions.”
That sounded better.
Kinda.
I still didn’t want to be Fidel.
I decided to change the subject. “Are you going to cut me some slack?”
He kissed me again, I melted again. His kiss grew deeper, I melted more. Things carried on, got a bit out-of-control and I must admit, we kinda slid, head first, into second base.
Then he disengaged, rearranged my clothes, kissed my nose and said (clearly convinced by my reaction which I must admit was a little wanton, can’t keep my head on straight when making out with man I adore even if he is probably about to throw me to the wolves), “I’ll cut you some slack. But you should remember three things.”
I didn’t want to remember three things.
Still, I said, “Yeah?”
“One, I’m watching you.”
Ack.
“Two, Wilding’s watching you.”
Yikes.
“And three, we’ll do anything to save you, even if it’s from yourself.”
Great.
* * * * *
Scary, sad and miserable run-in with potential-father-of-children/life sacrifice/shifty, boy-I-can-pick-‘em, “Boyfriend” Number Two:
* * * * *
Last night, Aidan redeemed his Curzon voucher.
We went to the movies and he didn’t eat the icky, sweet popcorn but instead we shared a bag of Galaxy chocolate Minstrels which I chased with a Diet Coke (of course).
He dropped me at The Gables, backed me against the front door and laid a really good one on me.
Mm.
I was wandering dreamily up the steps to the Tower Room, a long night of browsing through some black magic books (I’d looked everywhere else…) when I felt the chill run up my spine and I looked behind me.