“You’d do that?”Why would he do anything for me?He barely knows me.
“Yes. People like us have to stick together. You’ll never be alone again, Ambrose,” he promises me before pressing his lips to mine for a lingering, chaste kiss.
His kiss sends sparks of life through me. The shades of gray in the black and white world I’ve been trapped in suddenly have color. I feel alive for the first time in days.
I lean into him to kiss his pink lips. He rubs his tongue along the seam of my mouth, and I open, letting him plunder his wayinside. He explores me, claiming me wholly and filling me with hope.
For the first time since my parents’ untimely death, I don’t feel alone. Because Caulder Scarborough is here for me.
2
AMBROSE
Two Years Later
The conspicuous closing of a drawer wakes me from a fitful, raucous sleep. I roll from my side onto my back, burying my face in the pillow and exhaling deeply as I stretch. Bits and fragments of dreams flashed in my head throughout the night—breaking glass, dark shadows, a raven cawing in the woods. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I think about what they may mean.
As a natural witch, my magic isn’t divination or sight, but I knew those were dark, ill omens that meant loss, the shattering of the known, secrecy, and hidden agendas. Or maybe I’m being paranoid and letting my stress burrow under my skin. Things with Caulder have been different the past few months.
He used to come over for dinner often and we’d spend hours talking, watching movies, and taking pleasure in each other’s bodies. Then we’d have magic lessons in the morning where he’d teach me ways to control my magic. Caulder used to make me feel loved. Safe. Protected from the world. Now, he only comesover once a week at most, and is usually gone before I even wake up.
Today is a rare sight. He stands near the bed, buttoning his shirt. He makes sure it’s tucked into his pants before he dons his long, black suit coat. The crisp lines and smooth texture of the fabric make him look regal. Important. Caulder wants everything to look perfect, all the time.
Your image is everything, Ambrose. First impressions mean everything,he always says. His look is a far cry from my own jeans, tees, and cardigan sweaters.
I get out of bed and hug him around the waist from behind, laying a lingering kiss on his shoulder blade. “Good morning, handsome.”
His body stiffens, and it feels like a slap in the face. I don’t know why his behavior toward me changed. It feels as if a chasm grew between us inch by inch, slowly pushing him away from me. One I can’t bridge no matter how hard I try. Knowing he’s distancing himself from me makes me feel so fucking sad. Useless. Broken.
“Get off me,” he grits out, pushing me off him. I stumble back and almost fall onto the floor. “I have to go.” He gingerly places his wide brim black hat on his head.
My heart's already breaking, just like it always does when he leaves. In the privacy of our bedrooms, we’re lovers, but outside it, he’s High Priest Scarborough. Our relationship is a secret, even though I don’t want to hide it anymore.
“We have a lesson this morning, though,” I remind him. “You canceled our last few and I’m looking forward to this one.”
“I have more important things to do today,” he responds.Great to know I’m not a priority…
Caulder comes to my home acting sweet, fucks me, then when the sun rises, he’s back to being emotionless and distanttoward me. He wasn’t always like this. My heart crumbles every time he pushes me away.
“You don’t want breakfast before you go?” I ask as a last ditch effort to spend time with him.
I try to keep my tone light and my eyes dry, but the exasperated frown on his face makes it difficult.
“Please take a hint. I say no every time you ask. I need to prepare for tonight’s Samhain meeting.” He doesn’t even look at me as he talks… he just stares beyond me at the wall, as if I’m not even worth making eye contact with.
I hate it when he treats me the way everyone else does. Like I’m not worth knowing. Just a piece of meaningless garbage.
I want to lash out, beg him to tell me what I did to make him act this way toward me. But the last time I brought it up, he told me I was imagining things. The time before that, I was accused of making up shit to complain about to ruin our perfect evening together. My magic swirls inside me, pushing at me from the inside to escape, but I use the techniques he taught me to control it.
Controlled breathing. Fortitude of mind. Calming thoughts.
He walks toward the door without hugging me or kissing me goodbye. Tears well in my eyes and I sniffle to hold them in. His loud sigh echoes in the quiet room, and he makes his way back, pecking me on the cheek.
“I don’t have time for dramatics, darling. I’ll see you tonight after the meeting.”
His words do little to make me feel better, though. It doesn’t take away the rejection or pain I feel. It doesn’t make me feel less alone.
The sunset peaksthrough the open shutters of the meeting house, combining with sacred candlelight to give the space a warm, dim glow. High Priest Scarborough, as he insists I call him in public, stands at the raised platform at the front.
