Chapter 6

Gwyneth breezed into Sly’s apartment, but Morgaine remained in the hall.

Sly wondered if she was hesitating, because she was worried about what he had to say. “Aren’t you coming, Morgaine?”

“I—it’s awfully dark in there. Would you mind turning on the lights?”

“I’m afraid I never hooked up the electricity.”

Gwyneth sighed. “Morgaine’s afraid of the dark. Have you ever heard such a silly thing? A witch afraid of the dark?”

Morgaine folded her arms and glared in Gwyneth’s general direction.

“Oh, come on. He might as well know since his place is always dark.”

When Morgaine didn’t respond, Gwyneth continued, “I can bring some candles down.”

She let out a deep breath. “I can get some. And it isn’t silly. It’s an actual condition called nyctophobia.”

“No need to leave,” Sly said. “I have candles here. I’ll be right back.”

While he was in the kitchen, he overheard Morgaine say, “Did you have to tell him I’m afraid of the dark? Couldn’t you have said it’s harder for us to see in a dark apartment than it is for him?”

Gwyneth whispered, “Y’all are bein’ silly. It’s Sly, after all. Not someone y’all have to impress. In fact, y’all might as well tell him about your agga…agriv…whatever that condition is called. The reason why I came up North to help you in the first place.”

Morgaine whispered, “Agoraphobia, and no. I’d rather not tell anyone, if I don’t have to.”

“Oh, for pity sake. What are you gonna do if I’m not around and you need something from the store?”

“Wait until you get back.”

Gwyneth let out a big sigh. “I do declare. You are as helpless as a Yankee at a barbeque contest without me. Either get over this or find someone else to help. I won’t be here forever.”

Sly returned to the living room with a couple of jar candles Roz had left for him. She’d said they weren’t allowed to burn candles at the school, even in the resident apartments, but he suspected that was a ruse. The thought was appreciated and as it turned out, handy as well.

The witches settled on the couch once illumination was flickering around the room. Sly placed the candles in the empty fireplace. “I hope you don’t mind cinnamon scent.”

Gwyneth smiled slyly. “We don’t mind at all. Cinnamon inspires lust. Did y’all know that?”

Morgaine elbowed her.

Sly leaned against the mantle. “Well, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Gwyneth’s eyes popped. “A three-way?”

Sly almost burst out laughing. Said with the innocence of a phone sex actress. “No. Actually, I thought before anyone got the wrong idea, I should explain why I’m not interested in a sexual relationship right now.”

Gwyneth’s face fell. “You don’t want a three-way? You must be the only man on the planet who don’t.”

Morgaine leaned over and covered her face. “Where’s a black hole when you need one,” she mumbled.

Sly figured he’d better jump right into his explanation. “Gwyneth, Morgaine, you’re both beautiful women and any man would be lucky to have you—separately or, uh, together, but I’m afraid I just wouldn’t feel right about that.”

“Why? Because you’re still hung-up on your wife? She’s been dead for about a zillion years,” Gwyneth protested.

“Twenty-six. It’s not that. I don’t want to come between you two. I’d like to date one of you, but I hate to hurt the other’s feelings. There’s one thing I know about women, none of them want to feel second best.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Gwyneth said. “So, which one of us are y’all choosin’?”

“Morgaine and I seem to have more of a connection, Gwyneth. I don’t want to insult you, but I think she and I might really hit it off.” Was he imagining it, or did Morgaine’s eyes widen as if she were shocked.

Gwyneth rose. “Well, I won’t be botherin’ you, anymore Sly. I know when I’m beatin’ a dead horse…so to speak.”

Morgaine bolted upright. “Gwyneth, you’ll still help Sly by going to Salem, right? I mean, he’s still our friend—even if he doesn’t want to have a romantic relationship.”

“Of course. What do y’all take me for? I ain’t someone who turns her back on a friend.” She turned up her pert little nose. “I’ll even help him set up and run the still, just like I promised.”

Morgaine visibly relaxed. “Good.”

“Well, Sly. I guess I’ll mosey on. Y’all let me know if…”

Morgaine sent her a head-shake.

“What? I was just gonna say—”

“I know what you were going to say.”

Gwyneth threw her hands in the air and walked out muttering something about how folks have the right to change their minds.

Morgaine moved toward the door but stopped before she got there. “Did you mean what you said about me, or were you just saying that to discourage any more of my cousin’s advances?”

Sly strolled over to her and took her hand. “I absolutely meant it.”

She smiled shyly, then glanced up the stairs. “I’m sorry about her. I don’t know if she has the maturity to understand, completely. I’ll explain that it wasn’t personal.”

“Can you stay for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

Sly closed his door and led her back to his couch. “I don’t have much to offer in the way of refreshment, but I do have that champagne Merry gave me. Would you like some?”

“I thought you didn’t have a corkscrew.”

He chuckled. “My champagne doesn’t need a corkscrew. I was just making a joke. I didn’t really want to open it then.”

“But you do now?”

He tipped his head and shrugged. “Why not? Unless you don’t want it since it’s not chilled. No electricity means no refrigeration.”

She hesitated a moment, then mirrored his gesture and said, “No, I don’t mind. Sure. Why not?”

She waited on his couch while he strolled to the kitchen. He watched her stare into the candle flames as if in deep concentration.

This witch fascinated him. He could read the other one like a book. A book with two pages, including an index that referred every item to page one. Not that she’s shallow or anything…

Morgaine was far more complex and raised questions he would love answered. Prying wasn’t in his nature though. He’d let their connection form organically.

He grabbed a couple glasses and set them on the counter. Then pulled the champagne out of the fridge and ripped off the foil paper to open it. When the cork popped, Morgaine jumped.

“Are you okay, Morgaine?”

She chuckled. “Yeah. I just forgot about the pop when opening Champagne. I should have been ready for it.”

Jeez, she has quite a startle reflex.Sly strolled over with the glasses and open champagne bottle. “Are you nervous?”

“No. I was just…far away. Sometimes looking into flickering flames puts me right into a trance.”

“I see.” He poured a glass and handed it to her. “Is it all right if I sit next to you?”

“Of course, silly. You and I have sat next to each other before.” She took a big sip of Champagne.

In a few moments, she appeared relaxed and comfortable again. Good. “Do you ever see things in the flames?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’ve heard it’s one way psychics scry. Is that the word…scry?”

She grinned. “Yes. I’m surprised you knew that.” Another long sip of Champagne and her posture relaxed some more.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m full of surprises. I spent many evenings at the Boston Public Library reading anything and everything that caught my interest.” Setting down his wine glass, he rubbed his hands together, hoping the friction would take the chill off.

He took her hand in his. “I have a confession to make.”

She sat up a little straighter. “Confession? I’m a priestess, not a Catholic priest. We don’t generally hear confessions.”

He laughed. “Not that kind of confession.”

“Oh,” she looked slightly embarrassed.

Her blush sent shivers straight to his loins, as did her earlier smile.

“Morgaine, I asked you to hang back because I’d like to get to know you better.”

Her brows knit. “In what way? We’ve known each other a long time.”

“I might be undead, but I’m not—dead. Know what I mean?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t follow.”

He rubbed her hand gently with his thumb. “I’ve noticed you in a whole new way recently. And it isn’t because of the makeover. Well, maybe softening the hard edges opened up the idea of…” He struggled for the right words. Why, oh why, hadn’t he rehearsed this speech?

“What is it, Sly? What have you noticed?”

“You’re a caring, nurturing person. You’re the one who thought of room darkening shades for me. And even before that you took such good care of me when I hurt my fang. You didn’t even tease me about my lisp until I was feeling better.”

She dropped her head and blushed.

“Put it this way, I miss being married, and I think the right woman might be able to ease the loneliness.”

She lifted her head and stared at him. “Are you coming on to me?”

He chuckled. “What I’m saying is that for some reason I can’t explain, I’m attracted to you. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and yet, you confuse me. Well, that’s not exactly right.”

“My, I feel so flattered,” she said, deadpan.

“Sorry. What I mean is, I’ve always liked you, but recently I’ve liked you more…”

“More than what? A kick in the head?”

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t blame you. I’m making a mess of this.”

“Would you mind if I tried something to clean up the mess? It might help.”

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“Hold both of my hands and let me read you.”

“You’re not talking about mind-reading are you?”

She chuckled. “I wish. That would make things a whole lot easier. No, I’m just talking about gleaning whatever I can psychically. My mind forms pictures. Then maybe you can fill in the blanks.”

He nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“Just hold both my hands and face me.”

Sly adjusted his position on the couch and grasped both her hands. She did the same.

“Now lean forward until our foreheads are almost touching and close your eyes.”

He followed her directions. “Am I supposed to be thinking of something? Or should I try to empty my mind, like in meditation?”

“Just let it wander,” she said softly. “Relax and let your mind go wherever it wants to.” Her voice was almost hypnotic.

Despite hoping it wouldn’t, his mind went straight to his cock. He pictured himself and Morgaine lying next to each other, facing each other, on the rug before the fire. Her long, blond hair splayed out behind her, then the romantic scene in his mind’s eye rolled into an intimate embrace, a long kiss, tenderness…that’s it.

That’s what he felt for her. Tenderness. It wasn’t exactly love, but it was more than like. A step between, perhaps.

His eyes drifted open. Hers were still closed, but she was smiling. Sly let go of one of her hands and cupped her jaw. The thought of compelling her to kiss him flitted across his mind. But no. He wanted her to want to. What good was it otherwise?

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Is everything all right?” Her lips remained slightly parted.

He didn’t answer her, at least not verbally. He simply drew her to him and kissed her—tenderly. Thankfully, she responded well, and they kissed for a good, long time.

Gwyneth, bundled in her black cape, rode the bus to Salem. It was still early morning, but Sly would be fast asleep by now. She didn’t bother to say goodbye to Morgaine either. How dare her cousin think she’d let him down? She realized Morgaine was a lot sweeter on Sly. Maybe he did pick the right cousin, after all. She’d find another guy and then everyone would be happy. That’s what she really wanted.

She was going to find out not only how to reseal the front door against Vampires, but she would ask the Cabot trained witch if she’d heard about the vampire wine cure. Perhaps the High Priestess knew the right ingredients. Then if she and Sly could figure out how to make the stuff, they could bottle it in the moonshine, and it would keep practically forever.

Forever…that’s what Sly was facing as a vampire. How could he stand the idea of going on without a woman’s companionship—without sex—forever? Even if he did find someone to love again, it would be awful to know that person was going to grow old and die before his very eyes. She still couldn’t imagine how he stood it, but the more she thought about it, the sorrier she felt for him. So, why didn’t he see the obvious? A little casual sex could scratch the itch without the complications of a full-blown relationship.

Staring out the window, she watched as the bus made its way through the seaside town of Lynn, remembering the old adage she’d heard about the town…Lynn, Lynn, city of sin, you never come out the way you went in. Sin didn’t bother her, as long as it was her choice and didn’t harm others. Still, she didn’t relax until Salem rolled into view.

A mix of old and new greeted her. Many small New England towns were the same. Fishing shacks and weathered boat houses along the water vied with a small but modern college campus only a few streets over. Prettier homes that may have belonged to ship captains back in the day a block away from cheaper digs like three-deckers and blocky apartment buildings.

Eventually, she made her way from the bus stop on foot around Pickering Warf and found the place, now called Enchanted, Laurie’s old shop. Gwyneth wished she could have visited before she sold it to another witch, but she was in her 90’s after all!

Gwyneth’s nerves began to zing with excitement. How often does one get to visit with the most famous living witches in the whole country?

She strolled up the few steps to the front door. It was still early, otherwise the shop would be busy. The shop used to be a popular stop on Salem witch tours—maybe it still was.

Suddenly, the scent of roses met her nose. Roses? In November? With her hand on the doorknob, Gwyneth glanced around. Inside the window, she saw roses twining across the bottom of the display shelf. How odd that she could smell them outside! Then again, look where she was… She was in the shop of the woman who made it snow in Salem, Massachusetts, inJuly.

The door opened, as if by itself. Gwyneth realized she’d been standing there for quite some time. Perhaps the powerful witches realized she needed a touch of encouragement.

She slowly entered the shop. Behind the counter stood a kind-looking young man. He smiled at Gwyneth immediately.

“Hi, there. I’m Jon. Are you Josie’s consultation?”

“Yes, Gwyneth Wyatt.”

At the sound of her name, a door to the far right opened. An attractive older woman with black and gray hair, wearing a long black dress strolled into the main shop area. “Merry meet, Gwyneth,” the woman said.

“Are—are y’all her?”

The woman smiled. “I’m Josie, a student of Laurie Cabot—now a high priestess in my own coven.”

“Should I bow or kiss your ring or anythin’?”

Josie stared at her a moment. Perhaps she needed to know if Gwyneth was sincere. She imagined the woman must take some ridicule from ignorant tourists.

“I’m not bein’ a smart ass or anythin’…”

“We’re all sovereign, Gwyneth. Please come in.” She swept her arm in the direction from which she’d come.

Light-headed, Gwyneth followed Josie into the small room. Sweet smelling incense burned in a brass censor. Crystals decorated the table and a witch cord hung down one wall. Gwyneth had made one and hung it in her kitchen, where she did most of her spells. A nine-foot cord, braided with nine knots, each one holding a symbol of the spell it represented.

The rest of the room was just as fascinating. A portrait of a black cat hung on the back wall. The massive armchair, covered in gold brocade, sat kitty-corner to the left with a hand-painted table in front of it. Whimsical Alice in Wonderland colored ink drawings and a white rabbit statue added to the décor. Gwyneth imagined the tourists knew what Alice felt like in a place like this.

Of all things, a pink Christmas stocking lay against the back of her chair. Seriously? The greatest Wiccans of modern times celebrate Christmas and put a stocking out this early? Maybe it was just a suggestion to the tourists that they could buy their Christmas gifts at the store. They sold everything from jewelry to homemade incense, spell kits and candles.

“Y’all must do a lot of spells.”

“Wicca is an art and a science. As with any art form, practice improves one’s results.”

“Pardon me for sayin’ but I think y’all must be an expert by now.”

Josie smiled. “Living Wicca includes practicing our craft even after it becomes second nature. As long as we’re alive, we don’t have to stop growing.”

Gwyneth nodded slowly. This sage woman seemed like Morgaine in some ways. Maybe she should listen to her cousin a little better in the future.

Josie gathered a few ingredients and laid them on the table. A black candle in the shape of a man, a package of powder labeled Vampire Slayer, and some iron nails.

“Have you made a protection potion yet, Gwyneth?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the first thing my cousin Morgaine taught me to make for myself. Even with all that iron powder in it, the stuff stays mixed and doesn’t settle to the bottom of the jar. That’s when I knew magic was real.”

“Good. You’ll need to use your protection potion as you would normally to protect yourself while working with any magic, and also on the door as you reseal it against the vampire. Do you know his name?”

“No, ma’am. Even our friend who he’s after don’t know his real name, yet. We just call him Sly’s Maker for now—or A-hole.”

Josie nodded. “That will have to do. If in the meantime, you discover any details like his name or date of birth, etch those on this wax figure.” She handed her the black wax doll.

“I’ve used a doll like this in bindin’ spells. Is that the spell that y’all recommend for a vampire?”

“That and more. Like these iron nails for over your entrance. You can’t overuse protection magic when it comes to vampires.”

Gwyneth shifted uncomfortably. “Now, that brings up an itty-bitty problem.”

Josie cocked her head, listening.

“Our friend Sly—the one we’re protecting…He’s a vampire too.”

“Oh, dear.”

“But he’s a good un.”

“Then it’ll be doubly important to specify on the wax figure exactly who you mean to bind.”

“I understand. Cause if we just said, “Bind the vampire,” the powers that be could get the wrong one.”

“Exactly. It seems as if you’ve learned to word your spells well. Have you ever had one backfire when you worded it incorrectly?”

Gwyneth tried not to laugh remembering some of her early blunders. “Yes, indeedy. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m from the South.”

Josie smiled and nodded.

“Well, we sometimes have colorful ways of puttin’ things. It’s just how we talk, but there was this once I was really mad and I called my ex-boyfriend a flea-bitten dog.”

“Oh, dear. Let me guess…you witnessed him scratching his skin raw?”

Gwyneth couldn’t hold it back any longer. She burst out laughing. “How did you know? He even took a flea bath!”

“I teach my students to avoid using magic in anger. Careless words can easily backfire on the witch.”

“Yeah, I think that happened—even with all my self-protection stuff. I couldn’t get the smell of wet dog out of my nose for a solid week.”

Josie covered her mouth as if trying to hide a smile. Eventually, she cleared her throat and refocused the conversation. “Could your friend Sly be mistaken for someone called ‘Maker’ by anyone who doesn’t know him?”

“He never made another vampire. I’m not sure if makin’ other stuff counts. I know he made a daughter before he was turned.”

“Better be specific and only refer to the wax figure as “Sly’s vampire maker” until you find out his real name. If your friend is also barred from the residence, you’ll know it wasn’t enough of a differentiation.”

“And what would we do in that case?”

Josie shrugged. “Simply invite him in again.”

“Oh.” Gwyneth hit her head with the heel of her hand. “Duh.”