CHAPTER SEVEN
Elysian
As she led him back into the living room the familiar space felt alien, tilted sideways by the presence of someone new. She couldn’t help feeling embarrassed at how strange it must look to him, with every rug and picture frame straight out of Good Housekeeping circa 1967.
“Annette’s pretty particular about keeping things the way they were when she lived here,” she said. “I mean, lived here-lived here. She still lives here, only not really because she’s not alive.”
Elysian could hear the words pouring out of her mouth, and knew that she was just trying to stall on explaining everything to Walt. But she couldn’t drag herself off the track she had found herself on. “English doesn’t really have a word for the way a ghost occupies a house. There’s ‘haunts’, of course, but Annette doesn’t really haunt. She mostly drinks tea and judges me.”
Walt let the silence hang between them for a moment, until it was clear that she was finished pouring words on him, and said simply, “That must be difficult, not being able to change anything.”
“It’s fine,” Elysian said. She sat on the couch and at her gesture he sat beside her.
His thigh was warm against her leg. She didn’t pull away, but did tug the crocheted afghan from the back of the couch into her lap, self-conscious of the way she wanted to lean into his warmth. “She’s pleasant to live with, and I couldn’t afford to rent a house like this if it didn’t come with a phantom roommate.”
Which was a perfect opening that she didn’t want to take.
“Not that I can afford to rent this house anymore,” she said. “I kind of lost my job yesterday.”
His face immediately fell. “I’m sorry. What do you do?”
“I’m a photographer,” she said. “Well, a photographer’s assistant. I mostly edited photos and carted around equipment. But it was a real job for a real newspaper, and there aren’t a lot of jobs like that around for someone with no college degree and a patchy resume.” She picked at the bobbled wool of the afghan. “Which is why I freaked out and did something I regret.”
“Did you jump off a roof?”
“What?” She jerked back. “No. Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, confusion twisting his face.
You did that to him, Elysian reminded herself. Every moment of confusion, every missing piece of his puzzle, that’s on you.
“I cast a spell,” she admitted, ripping the Band-aid off. “To summon a familiar.”
“I don’t know what that is,” he said. “Some sort of weather thing? Did you cause a tornado? Did you hurt people?”
She held up a hand to stop him from guessing. “I think I hurt you. I think you’re the familiar.”
“I’m the familiar what?”
“The familiar. It’s a noun, not an adjective. A familiar is a companion. A witch’s right hand.”
She stared down at her cup of tea, and got a flash of her grandmother’s voice, so vivid it was like being pulled back twenty years. “Oh, mon petit Elysees,” she’d sighed, in response to the hundredth question of the day. “There are so many things to learn, and every answer brings another three questions.”
His face twisted. “So a familiar is what, some kind of slave? You cast a spell to mind wipe me and tie me to you?”
“A familiar isn’t a slave,” she said quickly. “A familiar is an animal companion. I didn’t even consider the spell might summon a human.”
“I’m not a human,” he retorted.
“Or a werewolf.”
“I’m not a werewolf either,” he snapped, then looked surprised at his own vehemence.
“Um, you’ve shifted from wolf to human twice since you arrived. You turned into a wolf in my kitchen less than three minutes ago.”
“Werewolves are B-movie monsters that run around biting people and go crazy once a month. I’m just a guy who turns into a wolf.”
“Oh. I get it.” She did, actually. Some women in the circle got annoyed at green faced Halloween decorations and dollar store pointy hats for similar reasons. It was interesting that he remembered that much, though.
Walt stood up, stalking around to the back of the couch. “Why didn’t you just go to a shelter if you wanted a dog?”
“A familiar isn’t a pet,” she said. This was exactly the conversation she’d had with Annette, even sitting in the same room. The two conversations were like two little bookends around her foolishness—’don’t do it’ on one side and ‘why did you do it?’ on the other. “A familiar is like a piece of your soul taken animal form. They’re there to support and guide you.”
“But still lesser. A servant. Someone to prop you up.”
“Something,” she emphasized. “I know it sounds awful, but I really do think it matters that I thought I was summoning an animal. A cat or a bird or a god damned mountain lion. I never for a second thought I was roping in a thinking, feeling person.”
Not that she’d really thought much at all.
“I don’t believe it,” Walt said, his voice abruptly switching from simmering rage to dismissive. He strode back around the couch and threw himself down on the cushions. “Let’s be sensible here. There are a thousand things that can cause memory loss. A mini stroke. Drug use. A traumatic brain injury. Dissociation. Let’s not jump straight to magic as an explanation. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘if you hear hoof beats think horses, not zebras’?”
“I’m a witch,” Elysian said. “That phrase stops being sensible when you’re sitting in a zebra enclosure.”
“True. But.” Walt held up a finger. “Here’s the killer. What time did you cast the spell?”
Elysian had to think about it. She’d taken until five to finish up the loose threads of her work and pack up her desk. Then they’d all gone out for drinks that she hadn’t mentioned to Annette when arguing for her sobriety. Then she’d walked home. “Eight, maybe eight thirty?”
“And I arrived at about,” he looked at the ticking clock on the wall, pausing for mental calculations. “Let’s call it two? So about six hours. I’ve got Montana plates on my truck. That’s half a day’s drive, and that’s assuming I lived in a town near the border. If I was closer to North Dakota or Wyoming you could be talking eighteen, twenty hours. Are you saying your spell was so powerful it managed to compel me to leave a whole day before you even cast it?”
That was...actually not a bad point. “Do you feel like you’ve just finished a full day’s drive?”
He deflated a little. “I feel tired,” he admitted. “My eyes are getting pretty heavy. I’m not sore. You’d think after that kind of a drive, I’d feel completely shattered. But maybe being a wolf gives me super stamina.”
Super stamina. The words burrowed into her brain, summoning up images that he definitely hadn’t intended. She glanced down at the hard line of his thigh muscle under the sleek fabric of her robe. She dragged her eyes back up to his face. He deserved better than to have her thinking sinful thoughts about him on top of everything else.
“Maybe we could consider other possibilities,” she admitted. “Keep an open mind. But.” She twisted her fingers in the afghan, taking comfort in the familiar landscape of the knotted wool. “Head injuries? Strokes? None of that sounds like a better option than rogue magic.”
He made a noise, blowing air through his closed teeth like he was trying to say maybe to you.
She knew it wasn’t true, though. There may be a thousand causes for memory loss, but there was only one explanation for how he had strolled into her living room and looked straight at Annette. He was a member of her circle. He was her familiar. But if he needed to consider other possibilities, that was the least she could do for him.
“One of our guests, Praneeta, is an EMT. I could get her to come over early, give you a once-over, ask you who is president and how many fingers she’s holding up, the whole battery of tests.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Is going ahead with a party really a good idea? While you have a pantsless wolf shifter on your couch?”
Elysian couldn’t help letting out a little huff of surprised laughter. “Now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, if I had a potentially enchanted wolf shifter on my couch and no plan, my first move would be to call the circle to come over. So it’s a good thing, even if I have no idea how I’m going to get all the cooking done.”
“I can probably help,” he said.
“No,” she said. “You’re a—”
Guest, she couldn’t say. It put her in mind of the song, “Be Our Guest”, but then that would make him Beauty and her the Beast, right? Trapping him in her home with an evil curse.
“You said you were tired,” she said to change the subject, fluffing the cushion that had been squashed between her side and the arm of the couch. “This couch might look a bit dated, but it’s deep and soft. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
She wished the solutions to all of his problems could be that easy. She flipped the light off, which did little to dim the room when the morning light was already starting to creep around the edges of the drapes, but he still mumbled a thanks into the couch cushion he was using as a pillow. She was going to set this right, she swore silently.