“Irresponsible?”
I winced at the cool tone in her voice, and she pulled away from me physically and emotionally while I swore to myself in four different languages, including Middle Gaelic, which isn’t easy.
“Love, this is killing me,” I said with complete sincerity. “I want this very much. And here you are, giving yourself to me, and it’s our first time, and it’s incredible. I absolutely don’t want to hurt you. But—what if something happens that keeps us apart? I don’t want to do this just once and then forget about it. I want our first time to be only the first in a long, long series of us being together.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Wait—stop.” She had scooted to the side of the bed, and the sight of her bare, beautiful back, stiff with anger and hurt, pained me almost as much as the athame she had once sent into my neck a long time ago. “Please, Morgan, wait. Hear me out.” I lunged and grabbed her around the hips, my cheek pressed against her back as she tried unsuccessfully to get up. “I’m dying to sleep with you!” I said. “I’m mad with wanting you! There’s nothing more that I want than to be in bed, making love, all night long!”
“Except to be responsible.”
“Morgan! Just think for a minute. Do you really think that the night before I leave for Goddess knows how long is the best time for us to sleep together for the first time? I mean, if we had been sleeping together for a while, this would be fine. But this is our first time together. It should be perfect. It shouldn’t be part of a good-bye.”
Her jaw barely moved. “In your opinion.” Icicles dripping. She took advantage of my momentary appalled shock to leap out of bed. I scrambled after her, wondering where the hell I had thrown my underwear. In seconds she had pulled on her camisole with the lace and was reaching for her sweater and socks.
“Morgan, Morgan,” I said, looking desperately around the floor. “This isn’t my decision alone. We need to agree on this. I mean, I hate this. All I want to do is make love with you. But can you try to see where I’m coming from, a little bit?”
The look she gave me was distant, and my heart dropped down to my bare knees. She shrugged and sat on the bed to pull on her socks. “I don’t get it. You want to, but you won’t. You love me, but you won’t sleep with me. I feel like a leper.”
I ditched all thoughts of underwear and pulled on my jeans, being careful with the zipper. “Morgan, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my whole life. And I’m ecstatic that you feel ready for us to go to bed. That’s what I’ve wanted ever since I met you.” I knelt down in front of her and looked up into her eyes, her shuttered face. “I love you. I’m so attracted to you. Please believe me. I mean, you felt it. This has nothing, nothing to do with how much I want you or how sexy you are. It’s just about timing.”
“Timing.” She sighed and lifted her long hair away from her neck, then let it fall. I thought of it spread over my sheets, over my pillows, and began to think I was completely mad.
“Morgan, I don’t want to hurt you. But either option is bad: if I ask you to wait for the next time we can be together, it hurts your feelings and makes you think I don’t want you. Which isn’t true. But if we go to bed tonight and then something happens and we’re apart for a long time, would that be better?”
She glanced away, seeming for the first time to examine the state of my room. Great. I saw her gaze trace the bare floor, the gutted candles on my desk, the boxes still unpacked. With no warning, an image of Cal Blaire’s bedroom came to mind. I had seen it when I’d been in Selene’s house, undoing spells, setting other spells. Cal’s bedroom had been huge, quirky, and romantic. His bed had been an antique, hung with mosquito netting. Everything in that room had been beautiful, luxurious, interesting, seductive. Feeling bleak, I rested my face on my outstretched arm, wondering if I had just buggered things up in a really huge way.
“Morgan, please,” I said. When I raised my head, she was examining me calmly, and I damned her ability to rein in her strongest emotions. I covered her hand with one of mine, and she didn’t flinch. “Please don’t be angry with me or hurt. Please don’t leave like this. Please let’s have tonight be a good thing for both of us. I don’t want this to be the moment we both look back on while I’m gone.”
My words seemed to reach her, and I felt the sharp edges of her anger soften. A tiny bit. Then her face crumpled, and she said, “Hunter, you’re leaving tomorrow. I want us to be joined together in a real way before you go. Here I am, I’m seventeen”—she threw out her arm in a disgusted, disbelieving gesture—“and you’re nineteen and can be with anyone you want, and I want you to feel connected to me!” Her voice broke and she clenched her fists, looking embarrassed and angry with herself for seeming weak.
Her words completely threw me, and I gaped at her. One of my favorite Tynan Flannery quotes came back to me: “Women are impossible, witches are worse, and women who are powerful witches are going to be the death of me.”
I reached up and enfolded her in my arms, resting my head against her chest just under her chin. “Love, we are joined together in a real way because I love you, and you love me. We’re mùirn beatha dàns,” I said quietly. “You say I can be with anyone I want—well, you can be with anyone you want, too. I choose to be with you. Who do you choose?” I tilted my head back and looked up at her.
“I choose you,” she muttered ungraciously, and I wanted to laugh but had enough sense left not to.
“I feel connected to you,” I went on. “And it doesn’t have anything to do with us having sex. Not that I don’t want to have sex!” I added hastily. “I definitely want to have sex! Make no mistake! The second I come back, I’m going to jump you, wherever you are, and initiate you into the sublime joys of womanhood.”
She burst into laughter, and I grinned. “My mother will be thrilled,” she said dryly.
“Me too,” I promised with intense sincerity, and she laughed again.
We sat there, hugging, for a long time. I hoped that we had somewhat mended our earlier rift, and I again started to question whether or not I should just go for it. Hell, Morgan wanted to, I wanted to, it would make us happy. . for the next couple of hours. What about after that? I was conducting a debate within myself when Morgan gently disengaged from me.
“It’s late. I better go.”
“Uh. .”
She kissed me, holding my face in her strong hands. “Drive carefully tomorrow. Call me when you can. I’ll be thinking about you.”
Then she stood up and left, her clogs loud on the stairs. I trotted after her, still trying to figure out what I wanted. She turned and gave me a last, wistful smile, and then she was gone. I sat down on the steps, unsure of what had happened between us, unsure if I had done the right thing, unsure about everything.
4. The Journey
February 1992
Today the world seems like a different place than it did yesterday. I’ve always loved the winters here, but now the sky seems cold an pitiless. The beauty of our world seems to have dimmed a little. Yesterday Mama and I were calm and sage, secure in our lives and mist especially in our magick. But last night Mama got a witch message from Aunt Celine. A Seeker had come to «investigate» her library, and he found some dark spells she had written-a weather spell and a spell for bending another's will, spells Mama says she never even used. But according to the council-the idiot council, Mama calls them-just writing these spells shows a leaning toward dark magick that can't be tolerated. And Aunt Celine committed what Mama calls the cardinal sin: she argued with the Seeker, tried to make it seem like the spells aren't all that dangerous. Mama says the Seeker couldn't accept another point of views, he thought it was dangerous. And Aunt Celine was stripped of her powers today.