Wired

Valentine

 

Valentine was sitting, her legs crossed, in the darkened apartment, Circe’s cat in her lap, a long-haired ginger with intelligent eyes (as all cats were considering they were spirit creatures and had long since been smart enough to allow themselves to be the familiars of witches).

She’d timed it precisely.

Enough time had passed where she remained aggravated.

Not enough time had passed where she could get exasperated.

She wasn’t angry any longer. This, she found, her lovely companion had the power to curb by performing so beautifully and being quite capable of giving as well as receiving.

For this, Circe was lucky.

She was also lucky that Valentine heard the lock click and the door open before Valentine had to wait any longer.

“Really? You sit in the dark waiting for me?” Circe asked.

This greeting was not a surprise. Valentine knew better than to think she could sneak up on a witch.

“You’re blocking me.” Valentine found herself in the annoying position of wasting energy to share something that didn’t need to be said.

The door closed, a switch was flipped and several of the lamps in the relatively-attractive-but-sparsely-furnished room illuminated.

Really, Circe should use some of her treasure, something Valentine had noted she hadn’t touched, simply to decorate.

But the witch could actually purchase a home, if she so desired, one that provided far superior accommodation than…this.

Valentine did not declare these thoughts aloud.

She watched Circe toss her purse into a chair and then cross her arms, leveling her eyes on her sister-witch.

“You’re doing something that needs to be blocked,” she finally replied.

“I’m simply looking after you, chérie,” Valentine lied.

“I’ve been in this world for some time, Valentine, I hardly need looking after.”

Valentine lazily flipped out a hand as she suggested, “Why don’t we look at it as a mother bear taking care of her cub?”

“Please, no offense, my sister, but we both know you are no mother. And you bear no responsibility for me. I brought myself to this world and it was my decision to stay. You had nothing to do with any of that.”

At Circe’s mention of Valentine and “mother” in the same sentence, strangely, disturbingly, and lastly, pleasantly, visions of little girls with lovely blue eyes and thick blonde hair danced in Valentine’s head.

Her trifle, who somehow she’d allowed to turn into her companion, had lovely blue eyes and thick blond hair.

He’d once been simply a body.

Now he was…

Not.

Merde.

“And we both know with my magic restored, especially having that and being in this world where it isn’t often wielded, I need no one taking care of me,” Circe continued.

“Is there something you don’t wish me to see?” Valentine asked, forcing her mind from her thoughts back to their conversation.

“I simply don’t wish the intrusion, and I have that right, as you know.”

She did.

Bother.

“Though, I might be moved to stop blocking you if I knew why you were suddenly watching me,” Circe went on with her own lie.

No witch, or non-witch for that matter, liked someone interfering in their lives.

Certainly not observing them.

It would not do to tell her she was watching in order to start meddling, doing this to magically maneuver a meeting with the future love Circe was destined to have, her aim to see them married, creating children, doing such enjoyably and living happily ever after.

Circe was fiercely independent, something of which Valentine approved, though the reasons life had given her to make her bent on protecting this trait at all costs was something Valentine despised.

A history where she had nothing like it. No independence. Not even free will.

Nearly her entire life she’d lived imprisoned and enslaved by a despotic ruler who took advantage of a beautiful young witch and her powers in every way he could.

Goddess, she hoped this world’s Dax Lahn could handle such a challenge.

Valentine’s mind wandered to the fact that, interestingly, his first name was Dax in this world, Lahn his last, proof the Dax in the other world would hold his kingly title as prophesied until he passed it to his son on his death.

This meant the Circe and Dax of this world would likely name their son the same.

Lovely.

“Valentine?” Circe called and Valentine focused on her again, feeling her frame slightly tighten.

She’d just gone sentimental.

Hoping.

Caring.

Worrying.

And now being sentimental.

She shivered in revulsion.

Another shiver of revulsion followed at the very thought that she’d have to give up magical meddling and do something a mundane human would need to do in this situation when magic was not an option.

Fix the two of them up.

How revolting.

“It would seem you’re holding an entire conversation to which I’m not privy since you’re having it silently with yourself,” Circe observed.

At this, Valentine stood, dropping the cat gracefully to her feet as she did.

“Franka has decided to come to our world to start her life anew,” she declared, and went on further, sharing about Franka’s growing connection with Noc and the friendships she was making in the other world.

Circe looked astonished and moved to her couch, seating herself on the arm, her cat slinking elegantly to her momma, jumping on the seat and rubbing against Circe’s thigh.

“This surprises me,” Circe stated.

“I see that. I have, of course, shared with you all that has occurred and the knowledge she’s our sister. Thus this decision pleases me. She’s also decided to accept my training. Unlike you,” Valentine stressed, “it seems she has no qualms with using her magic for enjoyable purposes once she learns to wield it.”

“I’ve had my magic manipulated nearly all my life, Valentine,” Circe reminded her. “I like it to be my own, to use it when I will, how I will.”

“That’s understandable,” Valentine murmured, annoyed to have to concede that point.

“I’m pleased she’s made this decision too,” Circe said. “This is an odd realm, but it’s a good one to make a new start. Very easy to get lost in the sheer numbers of people, and because of this you can focus on the person you wish to be.”

“There are nearly the same numbers in both worlds,” Valentine reminded her. “With scant variation.”

“I’ve assessed that my old world has nearly twice the land mass as this one, which allows much more space for people to spread out,” Circe returned.

Valentine knew this to be true.

She didn’t concede that point.

She stated, “She’s awaiting her sister-in-law’s safe delivery of a new child. I cannot assess when this will be, but calling up the woman and the little she’s showing, my assumption would be that this will happen in five to six months’ time.”

“I will welcome her and assist her in any way whenever she arrives, my sister.”

“That’s good to hear,” Valentine replied.

“This is not why you’re watching me.”

Valentine tilted her head. “Do you think for even a second I do it for malicious reasons?”

Circe grinned. “I think you think you’re quite wicked when you have a soul of emerald but a heart of pure gold.” When Valentine opened her mouth to object to that ridiculousness, Circe lifted a hand, kept grinning and continued speaking. “Don’t deny it. Actions speak louder than words, my green witch, and with all of yours, you could talk, as they say in this world, until you’re blue in the face, or green,” her grin got bigger, “and I wouldn’t believe you.”

Valentine lifted her hands, declaring, “I feel this visit is at an end.”

Before she could conjure her magic, Circe spoke on.

Gently.

“I’m happy, my sister, please know that with whatever your golden heart is speaking to you to do.”

Valentine halted her spell that would spirit her back to the other world and regarded the witch closely.

Then she stated, “You will be happier.”

And at that juncture, before Circe could open her mouth to speak, Valentine finished casting her spell and disappeared.

 

* * * * *

 

When the hour had struck midnight in Lunwyn, Valentine appeared at the appointed place seeing a sleigh close by, four horses hitched to it, blankets covering the steeds’ coats to protect them in the cold, her two compatriots already there and waiting.

As she’d asked, Lavinia had brought their charge.

The witches had decided to perform Franka’s ceremony close to an adela tree. It was just a sapling, but its power could still be felt and its place in this world for anyone with magic was sacred.

Franka stood beside the adela sapling wearing a glorious cloak of Prussian-blue fine wool lined with ermine, her hands encased in blue kid gloves, no cap on her head to cover her glorious hair that had a healthy sheen, even in the moonlight.

And there was no anxiety in her eyes. Her shoulders were straight, her chin up.

Valentine sensed no fear from her.

She also sensed no excitement.

This would change.

“Are you ready, my sister-witch?” Valentine asked, moving through the snow toward her, her own green cloak lined with red fox keeping her warm.

“Of course,” Franka replied.

Valentine stopped close and cast her gaze to Lavinia, who was moving to them. She waited for her fellow witch to arrive and catch her eyes.

When she did, Valentine nodded to her.

Lavinia returned this gesture.

They both looked to Franka.

“Take my hand in one of yours, Lavinia’s in the other,” she ordered.

Without hesitation, Franka did as told.

Valentine felt her power through her touch and realized, even if she’d already sensed it was substantial, she’d been in error at just how substantial it was.

This power Franka Drakkar held had not simply fed on itself and grown over the years with no use.

She, too, like Valentine (as well as Lavinia) was a legacy. And from what Valentine could feel, it was not one or two generations in Franka’s line who had practiced the craft, but centuries of them.

This was superb news. So much so, it made Valentine smile and look to Lavinia, who she knew felt it too, not only because it would be impossible to miss, but also from the answering smile on the witch’s face.

“Would you care to share what you find so pleasing?” Franka drawled.

Both of them turned back to her. “Your power is already substantial.”

“And you can tell that how?” Franka asked.

“Do you not feel it?” Lavinia queried softly, and Valentine knew she squeezed her hand when Franka looked down at their two hands clasped together. “You must feel it,” Lavinia prompted.

The tip of Franka’s tongue came out and touched her lower lip briefly before she turned her gaze to Lavinia and answered, “I feel it. From you,” her gaze went to Valentine, “and much more from you.”

“We feel it too,” Lavinia told her. “From each other…and you.”

“You come from a long line of witches,” Valentine put in, this gaining her Franka’s attention, and her altered expression showing unconcealed surprise. “The last, not a very good one. Sadly, she didn’t share this proud heritage with you so that you both could enjoy the satisfaction of having such, ma sorcière. But as you stand with two of your own with the same noble lineage, we will teach you exactly this.”

“I’ve never been proud of anything to do with my noble lineage,” Franka shared.

“This is because your lineage was superior as self-decreed, not noble, save the magic it offers the Freys and Drakkars it produces,” Valentine explained.

Franka nodded her understanding of this then asked, “Will all future sessions such as this be conducted in the dead of night, thus the worst of any day’s chill, and carry on a good deal of time? If so, I’ll be forewarned for them and dress warmer.”

Valentine had the odd desire to laugh out loud.

Oh, but she liked this witch. She liked her very much.

“She’s impatient,” Lavinia noted with kindred humor.

“I’m cold,” Franka returned but took a breath and went on, her voice lower, her gaze going between them, direct and steady. “And when this is done, I can be done with her.”

She could indeed.

And that should be seen to immediately.

“Then let us delay no longer,” Valentine decreed.

She looked to Lavinia and nodded.

When she did, Lavinia turned her gaze to Franka.

“Magic is nature. Nature is magical,” she began to enlighten their charge. “What you have flowing through you, millennia ago, was drawn from the earth. From the sky. The air, the dirt. From the seas, the winds, the rains, the rays of the sun. Our originators worshipped these things, walked, breathed, sowed, all with reverence. The elements shared their beneficence for this veneration, offering them power, allowing them to manipulate the magicks they celebrated, to internalize them, to utilize them. And more, they strengthened them through sisterhood, rewarding loyalty, building them along magical lines, enhancing power when used amongst other sisters, communing with them.”

“Covens,” Franka whispered.

“Indeed.” Lavinia smiled. “And here,” Valentine felt Lavinia’s hand tighten, knowing her other did the same with Franka’s, “we sisters stand, in nature, in magic, and now, Franka, my sister-witch, my daughter, my mother, my ally, my friend, I bid you to feel the cold. Feel the snow beneath your boots. The sting of ice in the air against your skin. The cool freshness of it in your nose, down your throat, in your lungs. The strength of the adela growing in the nurturing embrace of the earth. The whisper of the gentle wind in your ear. Close your eyes, my friend, and open your senses. Feel the magic all around you. Celebrate it for it is beauty, and the fact that beauty lives inside you.”

Valentine watched Franka close her eyes.

When she did, Valentine did the same.

It was time.

“We are one,” Valentine declared quietly.

“We are one,” Lavinia repeated after her.

Valentine squeezed Franka’s hand as a prompt.

“We are one,” she whispered, taking her cue.

“We are earth,” Valentine stated.

“We are earth,” Lavinia repeated.

“We are earth,” Franka said.

“We are air,” Valentine decreed, her voice rising.

“We are air,” Lavinia echoed, her voice doing the same.

“We are air.” Franka followed suit.

“We are the sea,” Valentine said, now on a low cry, the winds through their words kicking up as that element, too, celebrated the power in that glade. The cold now biting, their heavy cloaks beginning to sway, their hair getting mussed, and after she spoke, her witches followed with the same words.

And with each additional chant, their voices carried into the air louder and louder, the pine rustling, the powder of snow under their feet catching in the wind and drifting up, swirling around them.

“We are wind.”

“We are rain.”

“We are the rays of the sun.”

And on this decree, the three witches started chanting together. Franka drawn into the magic through her sisters, knowing the words by instinct, their voices ringing straight to the heavens, their words carried up on tufts of wind and whirls of snow glittering in the moonlight.

“We are the light of the moon. We are power. We are strength. We are the dark. We are the light. We are magic. We…are…sisters!”

And with that, a burst of emerald, grass green and sapphire shot in a twisted circle from their boots into the sky, and the three women were thrown back several steps. Losing their connection, they opened their eyes to see the glade around them swirling with wafting clouds of greens and blue shimmering off the gentle, floating flurries settling around them.

But Franka was standing, hands lifted before her, blood-red sparks glinting from them, illuminating her face, a face now tainted with alarm.

“Do not fear, Franka,” Lavinia said gently, again edging close. “She burns away. Your sapphire soul is good, it’s strong, it’s pushing out the wickedness and spite. It won’t take long, it’ll cause no pain and then it will be gone.”

Lavinia was quite right and was proved so when, in mere moments, the last of the red sparked with trails of cobalt until there was nothing but blue, and finally, the glimmers died away.

Valentine and Lavinia stood silent as Franka remained still and staring at her hands.

It took time but she eventually lifted her head.

And Valentine felt the soft curve lift the corners of her mouth as she saw the wonder in her sister’s expression.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, feeling that same beauty. The beauty she felt any time she called up her craft or was around a sister using hers. The tingle of it on her skin. The warmth of it through her insides. The thrill of it up her spine. The heat of it in her sex. The sumptuous taste of it down her throat. The glorious energy of it in her fingertips.

Oh, but it was good her companion was waiting for her at the cottage and she had planned what she had planned, as for once she could take these feelings and exalt in them just as she should do, joyously and uninhibitedly.

“It’s…well, nothing like I’ve ever known,” Franka replied.

“But beautiful, yes?” Lavinia prompted.

Franka shook her head and Valentine felt her brows draw together.

“That isn’t the word,” Franka explained, crossing her arms at her front. Not protectively, she’d curled her hands around her biceps and was stroking them as if she was trying to keep the feeling close, hold it to her, not lose it. “There is no word to describe this beauty,” she finished reverently.

Valentine relaxed and again smiled.

“I…” Franka went on and shook her head again, this time shorter, sharper shakes, like she was clearing it, but her gaze was steadfast on Valentine. “I thank you. I…thank you, my sister,” she finished on a heartfelt whisper. “I would not think I’d wish anything from her. Anything that was hers. But…” she swallowed and finished, “you were right. I’ll remember this night always, her end, my beginning.”

Oh yes, Valentine very much liked this witch.

Both Valentine and Lavinia approached and all of them again clasped hands.

“It was my honor,” Valentine shared the truth.

“And mine to be here,” Lavinia added.

“I wouldn’t have chosen this, not if you hadn’t advised it,” Franka told Valentine. “And you will have my gratitude for as long as I remain breathing.”

“It’s most appreciated,” Valentine accepted before she gave her a small smile. “And it’s also cold. We will soon meet again. Your training now commences.”

It was not blinding, but there was excitement in Franka’s eyes that she didn’t hide.

Progression.

Excellent.

“The sisterhood,” Lavinia said on a tightening of her hand.

“The sisterhood,” Valentine repeated, doing the same.

“The sisterhood,” Franka trailed, her hand tightening and her lips twitching.

Valentine broke away.

“And now to warmth,” she declared, and warm, firm, naked male bodies with handsome faces, beautiful blue eyes, charming smiles and mouths that could utter sweet words, she did not say.

“To warmth,” Lavinia agreed. “Until we see you again, farewell, my friend.”

Valentine nodded to Lavinia and Franka.

It had been beautiful, as she knew it would be. It had been an honor, as she knew as well. It would be something, like Franka, and she was certain Lavinia, Valentine would never forget.

But now it was done and time to go home.

Time to get warm.

Time to celebrate not only what had just occurred but much more.

It was time to celebrate and continue to nurture what was growing between her and…

Not just a body.

Not a trifle.

Not her companion.

With Laurent.

 

* * * * *

Franka

 

I was pacing my room, the only illumination the fire that was also providing warmth.

My feet were bare, but not cold. No, I was far too stimulated to even think of cold feet.

I should be in bed.

But the quickening inside had not died down. I felt like I had too much energy. As if I could run around the palace again and again (like Noc did nearly every day for reasons he stated were, “keeping fit,” whyever anyone would do something like that).

And I was just bursting to tell someone all that had occurred and just how beautiful it was.

Unable to stop myself, regardless of the fact it was late, I knew in my heart he wouldn’t mind, I dashed to the door, opened it and hastened down the hall to Noc’s room.

I knocked. Not loudly, I didn’t want anyone to hear.

Seconds later, I did it a little louder because Noc surely was sleeping and I did want him to hear.

I was still doing it when the door flew open.

The firelight was illuminating Noc’s room as well, not to mention the lamplight from the hall.

And thus I saw quite clearly that he was shirtless, wearing a pair of loose, lightweight trousers with a string tied under his navel to hold them up.

At the sight of all of it (though I had to admit, my eyes got stuck on his flat stomach, the ridges that defined it, and the trail of thick, black hair that led from his unusual sleeping trousers to his navel), my mouth went dry.

“Baby, you okay?” Noc asked.

I jerked my eyes up to his face, saw his hair mussed and fought the urge to lift my hands and smooth it.

Or muss it further.

With effort, I stayed focused.

“The ceremony was tonight.”

I was standing in the hall and then I was not.

Noc grabbed my hand, yanked me into his room and closed the door. He didn’t hesitate to guide me straight to the fire to stand in front of it so it could warm us both.

Once he got us there, he also didn’t hesitate to draw me near to him and say, “I know. That’s why I asked if you’re okay. You look…” his head tipped to the side as his scrutiny on my face intensified, “wired.”

“Wired?”

“Jazzed. Hyper. Agitated. Edgy. Alert.”

I leaned closer to him. “I do think I am all of those, Noc. But in a good way.”

He continued to study my face. “So it went okay?”

I nodded fervently. “It was…I was…”

How to explain the unexplainable?

There was no way except understanding Noc would listen and do so closely even if I couldn’t find the right words.

Thus I sallied forth, “I was very anxious. I did not wish to have anything of hers but the word ‘absorb’…” I shook my head. “That concerned me the most. To have her inside me in any way…” I didn’t finish that thought but Noc’s expression told me he understood what I was communicating so I carried on, “But it was…I felt her and…and then it was me, it was what’s inside me…” Again I couldn’t finish so I pulled slightly away, lifted up my hand and whispered, “Here, I’ll show you.”

I focused on the quickening inside me and that was all I had to do before I felt it surge up my spine, through my frame, tingling in my scalp and fingertips and the blue sparks drifted up lazily from my palm.

“Gotta say, sweetheart, as freaky as that is, it’s still fuckin’ cool,” Noc muttered, and I looked from my hand to his face, now illuminated in blue, making his eyes even more extraordinary, his gaze riveted to my palm.

“It sparked red when it happened,” I shared, and he looked to me. “When Valentine gave the magic to me. It was her. It was Mother. I felt her. The ugliness. The darkness. But it was me,” I lifted my hand, the blue still sparking, “that forced her out. Took over. See?” My hand rose another inch. “That’s just me. No red. All blue. It’s all mine. And look, Noc,” my hand rose further but my voice lowered with reverence, “don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

He only glanced back to my hand before his gaze again caught mine.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “It’s fuckin’ gorgeous.”

I smiled at him.

He smiled back and his attention drifted again to the sparks.

“Can I touch it?” he asked, and instantly I closed my hand and the magic disappeared.

Noc returned his eyes to me.

“I don’t know much about it,” I explained hastily as I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or deny him anything he wished to have. “It could be dangerous and I don’t wish to harm you.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

I smiled again. “Maybe when I know more, when I know if it’s safe, I’ll conjure it again and you can.”

Noc smiled again too. “That’d be cool.”

“I just, well, I just had to share.” I leaned back into him, lifting the hand that had sparked blue and wrapping it around the warm, silken skin covering hardness at his biceps. “It’s impossible to explain. Being out there with Valentine and Lavinia. Being given a gift I didn’t want but the instant I received it I knew how precious it was. Understanding more of who I am, what’s inside me, that there are women who have the same and they’re not like my mother. I don’t have words to describe the magnificence and I know it’s late. I shouldn’t have woken you but I just had to share it with someone. And you know who I am, what I have inside me. Outside of Josette, Valentine and Lavinia, you’re the only one. And I know I can trust you with all of it.”

“Yeah, you can,” he replied with a smile, but there was a firmness to his tone that I liked very much. This he coupled with resting a hand on the side of my waist and giving me a squeeze. “And seriously pleased you woke me up to share, sweetheart, and totally stoked to hear you dug the experience.”

I nodded up at him enthusiastically, not sure what “stoked” meant but I did know what “dug” meant thus affirmed, “I did, Noc. I very much did.”

He looked down at me with an indulgent expression.

We stood standing close, staring at each other and touching lightly for some time before I realized neither of us was speaking.

Suddenly feeling awkward, I cast a glance at his disheveled bed, took my hand from his arm and stepped back, forcing Noc’s hand to fall from my waist.

My eyes to the rug at my side, I stated, “I woke you, now I should let you sleep.”

“We could go raid the kitchens,” he curiously suggested.

I looked back to him. “Pardon?”

“Babe, you don’t look any less wired than you did when you walked in here. That means raid the kitchen, or hitch up a sleigh and go joyriding through Fyngaard, or find ourselves a bottle of whiskey and get slaughtered.”

I was definitely peckish.

And I always enjoyed a lovely libation.

“I choose the first and the last,” I shared.

To that, Noc’s smile went white and wide, and promptly after he strode from the room into his dressing room. He came back wearing one of his attractive, long-sleeved shirts that had no buttons (and I’d discovered all of them were of an oddly stretchy material).

He handed me a ball of wool that I realized were a pair of his socks just as he sat on the couch by the fire and pulled his own ball of wool open.

“Put those on to keep your feet warm,” he ordered.

He was concerned about my comfort, did something about it, and that something was as intimate as me wearing his clothing.

There was a loveliness to this I shouldn’t allow myself the opportunity to feel.

I did not delay even a second in sitting beside Noc to pull his socks on my feet.

When I had the over-large, warm wool on, he was up and I was too, as he’d grabbed my hand and pulled me that way.

“Let’s go, sugarlips.”

I rolled my eyes at his irksome endearment.

But I said nothing.

My hand in Noc’s, we went to raid the kitchens and get “slaughtered” on whiskey.

This we did.

And I enjoyed every second.

Better, with delight he did not hide from me for a second, Noc did too.