For the Love of Magic Page 4

  Ingrid stopped beside Tara Kay, her waist-length graying brown braids swinging against her tie-died dress, pulled back from her weathered, wrinkled, make-up free face with beaded clips. Tara Kay kept her back to her aging hippie mentor, her green shoulder-length hair hiding her vibrant green eyes as she watched her own porcelain hands pick figs. Maeve had often fantasized about tracing the blue veins that stood in such contrast to her skin tone and kissing those full pink lips that Tara Kay now licked nervously. That wasn’t going to happen, no matter how many jams Maeve got her out of. Where Ingrid grew up in an era of free love, Tara Kay did not do chicks. Ingrid and Tara Kay were two sides of the Earth Mother coin; one went to Woodstock, the other to Electric Daisy.

  “Nice night?” the Abbess asked informally.

  Maeve said, “Yea, lovely, but not entirely successful. Jolie met her match and I gave her permission to stay out for a while.” Maeve glanced at Nathalia’s face, saying, “He’s cute.”

  Nathalia rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t even try to make it a girl?”

  Maeve held her tongue. There was no use arguing. They both knew it didn’t work like that. She called the mate best suited for life with Jolie; the one who’d love her most and bring her the greatest happiness. She couldn’t dictate who that would be. Maeve endured Nathalia’s willful ignorance silently. “No other new matches were made.”

  Tara Kay and Ingrid picked fruit nearby, glancing at Maeve with raised eyebrows but keeping busy with the fruit. Individual abilities were mostly kept between a mentor, her apprentice and the Abbess.

  You failed? Maeve fought down the familiar nausea at hearing Nathalia’s voice in her head. She never got used to that intrusion and she didn’t think she ever would. She answered aloud, “No, I didn’t attempt a match last night. Turns out my intended mark, the one from the Family that the Council suggested, was Jolie’s match. I sent Sara on a solo try, but it wasn’t a success.”

  The Abbess frown deepened but she nodded her head. “Matchmaking’s hard. I’m not surprised she wasn’t successful on her first attempt. Frankly, I was more surprised to hear you say that you thought Sara was ready. Not many girls her age could wield the level of power you do.”

  Even the compliment from her Abbess pressured Maeve. She knew, when she stopped acting as their Vinculum Primo, that Nathalia would have a hard time replacing her. It was a common theme in their conversations.

  Maeve argued, trying to keep the frustration from her voice, “She has to know her weaknesses and find ways to deal with them, and she can’t do that if all she ever does is watch me work.” Maeve suspected that Nathalia refused to authorize Sara’s attempts as a way of delaying the inevitable. “I never said I thought she would be successful yet, only that she was ready to try. Margaux was the one pushing for Sara to ascend so soon. She can’t do that until she has at least one success in her book. And she can’t get an entry in her book until she can generate sufficient amounts of white energy.”

  Tara jumped in, “Yeah, she and I have been talking about it and I think we can make something specially designed to help her reach climax easier and generate more power for her matchmaking.”

  Glad that Tara had broached the subject but worried that Tara was mighty close to the secret getting out, Maeve interjected, “That’s why I came here to talk to Tara and Ingrid.” She’d wanted Nathalia to think this was her idea. “I think at this stage in Sara’s advancement, she needs some herbal help. Sara was hesitant to talk to me about her troubles and her need. I guess she thought I wouldn’t understand.”

  “Probably not.” Nathalia smiled and nudged Ingrid with her elbow. “I was a senior in high school, and Maeve was a Sophomore when I heard that she had an orgasm in the middle of English lit.”

  Maeve rushed to her own defense. “It was an accident.”

  Tara Kay admitted, “Sara told me about that. How do you accidentally cum?” Any pretense of not listening was gone. “I know guys can, but...girls always take so long to get there.”

  Maeve explained, “We were giving oral reports that day on Madame Bovary and I was nervous and had my legs crossed a little too tightly. My turn came and when I stood up, blood rushed back to that area and I had an orgasm. Full. Blown. Climax. In front of my whole class.” Maeve had been mortified as a teen but now felt fully comfortable with her extraordinary sexual prowess. Good thing too, because Nathalia loved for Maeve to tell about her first.

  Tara continued with her suggestion, “I was thinking maybe a slight alteration to the bliss recipe.”

  “But it would need to be gentler than that since matchmakers have to keep their concentration to direct the white energy throughout the spells,” Maeve said, relating to Tara just what had gone wrong with the drug without revealing the event to Nathalia or Ingrid.

  Tara Kay acknowledged Maeve’s sly reply with a smile and said, “Your story gave me an idea. What if we did something that affected blood flow—like Viagra does for men? We could combine it with a small amount of bliss.” She looked genuinely excited by her thought.

  “It will take some research and some trial and error, but it can probably be done.” Ingrid chewed on the inside of her cheek, wrinkles of contemplation forming on her face. “Designing something that specific would be a great learning tool for my apprentice.” She turned hopeful eyes toward Nathalia.

  No matter what Maeve and Ingrid thought about it, their Abbess had final say. That was the rub. Nathalia was against the use of intoxicants with her girls, but the Ingenium had a place here and she was forced to accept their assistance on a regular basis. She was Abbess and could say no; they would just stick to making the everyday medicines that the other women needed.

  “Fine,” she said. “But nothing gets used in the field until it has been properly tested here in safety under supervision.”

  Nathalia and Maeve left them eagerly discussing possibilities there in the grove. Maeve thought that this was how the sisterhood should be run. Each woman should bring her skills and talents and use them to make the group better and more successful. Each person pushing the others to be their best. She often wondered why the Council had chosen Nathalia as Abbess, when she was so obviously tainted toward men and had such prejudiced notions about key topics. The Council did not make mistakes though, so they must have their reasons.

  The two friends walked out into the warming morning sun toward the main compound. Nathalia’s hair was up in an elaborate knot again, though it looked a little frazzled, like it had been slept on or possibly tugged on. Nathalia looked frazzled as a whole. Her eyes were puffy and red and her skin looked droopy and pasty.

  Maeve said, “You wanna lay out together this afternoon? You look like you could use a little sun,” and steered her toward the library, the roof of which was their favorite tanning spot.

  “I could use a little sleep,” the Abbess admitted.

  Maeve knew the nightmares must be back. Nathalia’s eyelashes were missing too. Maeve wished for just thirty seconds alone with Michael. What he had done to her friend’s body was bad enough, but those wounds healed quickly. It was the wounds to her psyche that still hurt her and those made Maeve want to cut him. Deep.

  “I’ve been trying something with my hair,” Nathalia said. “I found some books about the magic in braids and knots. There’s a section in it about using them to block out bad thoughts and I thought it might apply to dreams. But all I really did was make it easier to tear at in my sleep.”

  “I’m sorry, Nathalia.” She put her arm around Nathalia’s waist. “Maybe you should go talk to the counselor at the shelter.”

  “I am the counselor now.”

  “Teresa quit?”

  “She said she couldn’t take it anymore. She only ever got to see the dark side of humanity and she was tired of losing women back to their abusers. It’s a very depressing job.”

  Nathalia’s thoughts came through clearly: Once a victim, always a victim.

  Maeve said, “I heard that. You are not a victim. You�
��re a strong woman who left her abuser behind.”

  Nathalia started to cry. “I left my family behind and he killed them.”

  They ducked into the library and Maeve pulled Nathalia into a secluded section of the stacks. The girls did not need to see their Abbess weeping. They needed to see her as the strong leader she was; someone neither they nor anyone else should cross. Maeve said, “We don’t know who killed your parents. If you’d been there the burglar would have killed you too. You didn’t cause their death and you did nothing wrong. You went off to college like any other normal eighteen year old.”

  Each time Nathalia broke down, beating herself up about the incident, Maeve said the same things. Nathalia had yet to admit that it wasn’t her fault. She was away at college, but she still blamed herself.

  “I know who killed them,” Nathalia insisted with a quivering voice. “Michael killed them when they wouldn’t tell him where I was. I know it was him.” The police had told her over and over that it was random and that a junkie had wandered in looking for money and drugs. Fools. She couldn’t tell them about the witchcraft. They never believed her when she said it was Michael. After all, who wants to believe that the small town football champion was capable of something like that.

  The school guidance counselor hadn’t believed her, either, when she tried to get help right after the abuse started years before. The counselor had told Nathalia that it would be better to keep it quiet, lest someone thought she was a liar looking for attention. Who would people believe when it was just her word against his, the counselor argued, the star senior running back or a freshman girl? Nathalia knew her parents would still be alive today if she had told that idiot counselor where to stuff her overrated opinions, and then told the world what kind of “man” Michael was. She’d still be a whole person. Instead, she’d allowed it to continue for four years. He had never left town. Even after graduation he stayed there doing small jobs on campus so he could keep his eyes, and hands, on her. He always asked her if she was “his girl.”

  Nathalia never could keep her emotions from her best friend. Maeve felt Nathalia’s stress and it was different than the usual murdered parents kind. She asked, “It is not just the nightmares stressing you, is it?”

  “No,” Nathalia answered. “I am going to be fine. Thanks.”

  Maeve saw the wall go up. She had known Nathalia for long enough to recognize that barrier and acknowledge its solidarity without testing it further. The conversation was over, but the battle would go on internally. There was nothing more she could say, so she tucked a stray strand back into her friend’s updo. “I need to report to Libby and then maybe we can get our vitamin D the old school way. Whadya say?”

  “I’ve a couple other ideas to help Sara,” Nathalia said. “I need to talk to some sisters. See you on the rooftop at noon, hopefully with some good news.”

  The lines on Nathalia’s face eased. She’d just been overcome with tears, but she was fine now. Nathalia always recovered fast. She just needed a shower and some down time.

  LEONARD PUT the finishing touches on John David’s and Jolie’s page in Maeve’s book. Maeve reported to Libby but everyone knew Libby’s handwriting was chicken scratch. Leonard was the real artist in that couple. He pretended not to know what he recorded, but he’d been in the house longer than Maeve or Nathalia. He knew what was up. He put the little flurry under Jolie’s name indicating that she was a Daughter.

  “JD’s of the Family.” Maeve stated the fact knowing that Leonard would, without question, add the notation to JD’s name.

  Libby’s voice called out, “Really? Maeve that’s so exciting!” Looking very much the part of Librarian, complete with horn-rimmed glasses and a tightly bound graying bun, Libby came down the sliding ladder to embrace Maeve. “The Council will be so thrilled. Do you think this could be The Match?”

  Secretly Maeve was thrilled too. She hoped to be the Vinculum responsible for the ancient prophesied match. It was a serious honor and would herald the coming of a new era for the sisterhood and the world. No one knew where prediction originated, but versions of it had been found in old manuscripts from all over the globe. There was even one in Sumerian—the oldest language in human history.

  “I’ve done three other matches for sisters,” Maeve said, “but this’s the first with a man from the Family.”

  The Family tree was huge, with thousands of branches in every country in the world. They were the direct descendants of Enoch, the man who “walked with God and then was no more, because God took him away,” or so Christians and Jews believed. The Daughters had a different legend. It was documented in a secret book held by the Council. Goodness knows where they got it or how much they paid for it. No one outside the Council had ever seen it.

  Libby said, “Today just gets better and better. First the glove and then this.”

  Leonard smirked at his wife’s attempt at a nonchalant comment, then shook his head good-heartedly when Maeve asked, “What glove?”

  Libby said simply, “The Council sent me a gift.”

  The Renuntio Primo pulled a wooden box out of her desk drawer and, after clearing a space on the desk, laid it down. The box was very old from the look of it, and was ornately carved depicting a falcon holding a scepter.

  Libby sat on her side of the partner desk and gestured that Maeve should sit on the other, with the box between them. Libby beamed as she opened it to reveal a pair of delicate white gloves. She carefully took the left glove, turned it over, and placed it on the box lid. Now Maeve could see an example of both sides. Libby sat back and waited.

  Maeve had seen some old artifacts over the years, but clothing of this age was rare. She could not even estimate their age. They were worn impossibly thin in places and seemed to be turning to dust before her eyes. A dainty hand-embroidered green vine wrapped all the way around the wrist and flowered into a beautiful A and B.

  Maeve could just make out the handprint of the owner. Even the shapely nails were outlined on the left glove. Something was odd about the right glove, which was palm side up. Maeve covered her mouth and nose with Israel’s shirt, to protect the ancient garment from her moist hot breath, and leaned in for a better look. The worn places looked similar to those of the other glove, but their position was off. Six fingernails on the right hand...

  ”Yes,” Libby said, “Anne Boleyn herself wore these gloves, and the rumors were true. She did have an extra fingernail on the side of her palm.”

  Libby continued as she carefully put them back in their case and then into a humidity-controlled container. “Anne was a natural Vinculum. She had the skills, but the Daughters didn’t exist in England during the time, so she’d no training. I often suspected it to be the case, but holding these confirmed it for me.” Libby was a Renuntio, a psychometrist who could tell an object’s history just by touching it. “Anne was supposedly such a great dancer and truly seemed in love with Henry, and it ended so badly for her. It just makes sense. King Henry even claimed later that he was seduced into marriage by ‘sortilege’—spells or deception. I believe he was—but accidentally. Anne unknowingly cast primitive spells to ensnare and marry the King. It all went wrong because she was acting for herself. Using magic for personal gain always brings twisted outcomes even when unintentional.”

  Maeve understood that well enough. She had personally experienced it with her first boyfriend, Jimmy. Her ability was strong even back then but she was untrained. When they first slept together Maeve had been so into it, so lost in the moment, that she had bound them together. It was years later when she realized they weren’t right for each other but he was under a spell. Maeve hadn’t called the best match for Jimmy. She thought she wanted him and her magic had warped him and their love. She was just lucky that her rookie mistake didn’t end up as tragically as Anne’s.

  That was when Nathalia stepped back into her life. She never really left, but sometimes living gets in the way of life. It was after Nathalia’s parents were murdered but before s
he was Abbess. She was trying to leave behind everything that reminded her of home and that included Maeve, but they still talked over the phone. Maeve was insistent on keeping that thin semblance of their old relationship going. Maeve told her everything and Nathalia realized what had happened. She brought Maeve to the Daughters and it was confirmed that she was a Vinculum. Over a few months their childhood friendship grew into an adult love affair.

  Breaking up with Jimmy had been difficult to say the least. He had begged and pleaded then became belligerent. He had gone to her parents. After hearing about her love affair with Nathalia, they disowned her straight away. Tough love, they had called it. By then she was a Novice of the Daughters of Women and knew that real love was unconditional. The sisters had told her that there was no need for her to ever have to see Jimmy again if she did not want to. They would take care of her from then on and fix the Jimmy slip-up.

  “How’d the Daughters fix things with Jimmy?” Maeve asked what she’d never asked before.

  Libby’s eyes went wide. “Your mentor never told you?”

  Maeve shrugged and shook her head.

  Libby rested her chin in her hand. “Peggy and I were best friends, you know. She was stunned at your raw talent. By the time you came along she was so tired, so relieved to have a replacement, she probably just didn’t want to worry you.” She covered her mouth while she thought. “If I remember correctly, we tried a couple of things to remove the spells. Nothing worked and he got more and more obsessed for a while. We kept it from you as we thought was best, but continued to try. After all, he wasn’t a bad person, just unlucky. And you had erred in innocence. In the end, your mentor had to just matchmake for him. Your spell couldn’t be undone, just overwritten. He got married to a nice little Christian girl the next year.”

  Maeve said, “Sara botched her first solo attempt last night. I don’t know what parts, if any, of the spell she completed.” Maeve had no filter. She shared her gift freely, often telling near strangers about her magic. There were no secrets between Daughters. She looked up to find Libby staring at her oddly. Maeve felt a little ill; something was wrong. She mistook her gut feeling and Libby’s look, “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I can fix Sara’s mistake.”