Maximus took a breath. Mine caught in my chest. Topaz eyes ringed with caramel locked onto mine and I recognised a flicker of uncertainty. I took another sip of elixir-infused tea, welcoming the relief as the magical liquid softened the edge of my nerves.
“My mother …” He broke my gaze as though embarrassed and looked across to the sink.
Not what I was expecting! I took another sip of tea. Warmth spread at the base of my skull, and I felt cossetted by the woolly sensation spreading through my body. The fizzing at my fingertips receded.
“There’s no easy way to say this, but my mother is returning from Hirta for the Choosing …”
“Oh? Is she running for election?”
“Hah! My mother? No. She’s far too much of a hermit for that. All the politics would drive her insane. No, she lives a much simpler life cloistered in Hirta.”
I knew nothing of his mother other than that the knot garden had been inspired by the intricate patterns on a dress she had worn. Immortalised in a painting by Hans Holbein during the reign of Henry VIII the picture hung in the gallery at Blackwood Hall. My only understanding of a cloister was monastic. “Is she a nun?” I asked.
Bemused topaz eyes fell on mine. “A nun? As in a bride of Christ?”
I realised my mistake. “Sorry. You said cloister. It threw me.” Fizzing prickled my fingertips. This time I gulped the tea. Its soothing magic seemed to be wearing off, that or my anxiety was overwhelming it.
“Easy mistake,” Maximus replied. “The Cloister is my name for her home up there. Hirta is one of the islands of the Outer Hebrides. Very private. Unpopulated until Mother took up residence with her acolytes.”
Was she a priestess? I couldn’t resist the urge to dig a little further. “So, she’s not interested in being chosen as the next Mistress of All Covens?”
A quizzical frown deepened the line between his brows momentarily. “No, she doesn’t qualify. She’s not a witch.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No offence taken. Being a witch is nothing to be ashamed of … obviously.”
“Obviously,” I agreed.
“Don’t be fooled though. Mother keeps a close eye on the covens. It’s just that she prefers to manipulate from afar—without getting embroiled in their petty squabbles and power struggles.”
I was fascinated and stood cradling my mug, waiting for more revelations.
“She may as well be a nun though,” he muttered then took a sip of tea before placing the mug on the table. “Nevermind. It’s a long story and I’m not in the mood for reminiscing about that! Back to why I’m here,” he said with a tight smile. “So, the thing is …” He took a deep breath. “As I said, my mother is leaving her seclusion and gracing us with her presence for the remainder of the summer.” He stalled. I waited. “And she’s bringing a companion with her.”
An acolyte? “That’s nice,” I replied. “How can I help?”
“Well, the thing is …” He threw up his hands as though in frustration. “The thing is, that this companion – this is my mother’s doing and I want nothing to do with it - is a prospective bride.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, unable to hide my surprise as a wave of shock tore through me. “A bride for you?”
He nodded.
“Well, that’s awkward,” I said, unable to think of a better reply.
“It is,” he replied with a martyred raise of his brows.
Silence sat between us for several moments and I was about to suggest that he explain to his mother that he wasn’t keen on the idea when he said: “She can be overbearing at times and when she gets an idea into her head … Constantia is from a very good family. Powerfully connected. A good match but …” He gave a sigh of resignation and then a wry, almost nervous laugh. “I’m really not in the mood for more of her powerplay and matchmaking machinations – I’ve had a gut full of marriage, if I’m honest – and so was wondering if you’d – now, you can say no, I’d completely understand – if you’d pretend to be my girlfriend—just until they’ve gone!” He held out his hands as though to ward off my ire whilst pulling a grimace.
“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend,” I said. Ringing in my ears became a high pitched wheedle as though someone were tuning an analogue radio and I felt the stirrings of fizzing at my fingertips.
“Yes. It’s worth a try. Constantia may withdraw her offer if she believes I’m unavailable … so to speak.”
A surge of adrenaline shot to my hands. I fought to control the tremble it caused as the fizzing in my fingertips became pricking as though they were being mercilessly needled.
‘Constantia may withdraw her offer.’ What does that even mean?
Unthinking, and with the pain becoming uncomfortable, I reached for the map and began to roll it up. A spark from my fingers caught the edge of the paper and smoke began to rise from a tiny but widening hole, orange at its edges. Maximus noticed the spark and watched as I quickly stamped out the fire with the palm of my hand.
“That’s new,” he said as I placed my fizzing hands behind my back. “Is that my fault?”
“What?” I asked through my fuddled mind. “Oh, that?” I said with a glance at the unfurling map as the delicate scent of smoke wafted between us. “No.” I managed an awkward laugh. “It just happens sometimes. Beatrice and Aelfwen said its normal at this … erm, this stage of my development. You know … bit chaotic at this stage – being a newbie – something like that.”
“Ah,” he said, though he seemed unconvinced. “So, Leofe. Will you?”
“Be your girlfriend?” I asked, heart pounding.
An inscrutable flicker in his eyes quickly passed. “Pretend girlfriend,” he corrected.
My heart hammered. The boss’s fake girlfriend! It was such a cliché. “Well …” What could I say? If I said no, it would cause friction and maybe resentment and if I said yes, it would throw me into a maelstrom of turbulent emotion and some seriously uncomfortable situations – possibly embarrassing and mortifying situations. It would also mean lying—in front of his mother and the entire coven.
Are you going to let Constantia just take him?
I’m not in their league!
As he waited for my answer, the caramel at the outer edge of his iris seemed to glimmer. Motes eddied on the ray of sun shining through the window, the particles sparkling as though lifted by magick, and I could feel the tension in the room, thick and resistant like warming treacle. I became intensely aware of the nearness of his body, and despite my angst, I felt a shock of desire. Pretending to be his girlfriend would mean spending time with him. Being close.
Which would be a bad idea!
Which would be delicious.
Which would be ridiculous. You’re the paid hand. Hired help.
Well, a little more than the hired help, but yes, an employee.
He’s your boss. Off limits.
It’s my job to help him fend off unwanted advances!
Sure.
In that moment I wanted nothing more than Maximus to take a step forward and fold me into his arms. It was an impossible dream; being a pretend girlfriend was as close as I would get. I turned my gaze back to the unfurling map, taken surprise by the intensity of desire that gripped me.
Surprise? Don’t lie.
Okay. I’ve been having dreams, but what woman wouldn’t? I mean look at him!
Focus!
Please don’t let him have the ability to read minds!
Pull yourself together.
Maximus remained silent, with no hint that he could hear my erratic, incriminating, thoughts. I grew calm. I can do this, I thought.
Just tell him no. Tell him that you’re not going to lie and humiliate yourself.
“Sure,” I said before I had a chance to choke off the word. Then I added: “Does it count as overtime? I mean, it’s not part of the job specification—at least it wasn’t the last time I checked.” I groaned inwardly and felt the first heat of a blush rising to my cheeks. Idiot! Stop blathering! I met his gaze with a fraudulently confident smile.
For a moment he looked confused and then relaxed and gave a wry chuckle. “Well, it’s definitely not in the job description,” he laughed, “but I really do appreciate it. You’re saving my life—literally!”
“Not a problem,” my lying tongue said.
By some miracle I managed to get through the next minutes without spontaneously combusting and the fizzing in my fingers subdued to a painful throb. The wheedling in my ears disappeared too. At one point the wheedling had seemed to become a voice, but it was so faint and indecipherable that I dismissed the noise. Maximus thanked me once again for ‘helping out’ with his mother then left. With the door closed, I leant up against the door, my mind reeling with his request.
As I pushed away from the door, barely recovered, shimmering in the corner of the room caught my attention and a figure began to form from within the shadows.
“My, my,” the bird-like woman said. “You have been busy.”
“Beatrice!” I scolded. “You’ve got to stop doing that to me.”
***
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