Page 5

Chapter 5

The bell over the shop door hadn’t even stopped ringing before Rowan announced, “Can we just not talk about it?” as he hurried inside.

He shook his head, dashing past the tables of crystals, shelves of books, and his aunts, side by side behind the counter, beaming at him as if he’d won the lottery.

“Nope. I’m going to set up my table in the back and get to work,” he said. “Not talk about yesterday”s poetry slam.”

Never mind that it had gone on for hours. Well, more like fifteen minutes but it felt like hours. There was an entire paragraph dedicated to Rowan’s ass; its shape, its color, the number of freckles it had (apparently fifty-two), and of course what acts Callum planned to perform on it. He hadn’t spared one damn detail, making Rowan want dissolve into the cracks in the floor. Instead, he had opted to hide in his room and avoid everyone for the rest of the night.

“Maybe just a little bit of talk?” Rosemary batted her eyes. “For research! I’m writing a book on Satyrs and their mating habits, you know.”

“Darling, you’re not writing a book.” Dahlia’s red lips curled into a sly grin. She pulled a key from the pocket of her Morticia Adams style dress. “Rowan dear, the tarot room is locked. You can’t sequester yourself just yet so you might as well talk to us. We’re all ears.”

Rowan blew out a puff of air, scattering the hair from his forehead. Fighting his aunts was like boxing a hurricane. “Okay fine. Just lay it on me.” He spread his arms out wide, head tilted back as he waited for the firing squad.

“It was so very charming, Rowan!” Rosemary shook her fists, hearts practically forming in her eyes.

Dahlia pressed her hand against her chest with a dreamy sigh. “The part about your backside gave me goosebumps! Such imagery!”

“Did you really have to listen to the whole thing?” Rowan asked.

Rosemary gave a sage nod. “It”s good research for my book.”

“You are not writing a book,” Dahlia scolded. “You simply can’t help yourself when satyrs are involved.”

“But they are fascinating creatures. Filled with mystery and lust. So much lust.” Rosemary gasped. “Lia! I just had a brilliant idea. Callum should come to Krampusnacht! With his horns and hooves and his huge size he would be an amazing Krampus for the children!”

“Oh yes!” Dahlia cheered. “Good idea, love!”

“Oh no,” Rowan replied. “Bad idea. Very bad idea.” He could already see the terror in Callum’s eyes. Gods, the idea of being amongst all those humans and witches would scare him shitless.

“What harm would it be to ask him? I’m sure he’d have a lovely experience!” Dahlia shrugged. “Besides, he couldn’t do a worse job than you did.”

“Really?” Rowan said flatly.

Rosemary shook her head. “The police were called, Rowan. It was bad.”

“And on that humiliating note, I better set up the tarot room.” He held his hand out for the key but was promptly ignored.

“Rosie, my love, fetch Rowan some tea.” Dahlia said.

“I’ll make you my special blend,” Rosemary cooed. “Lavender and rose hips for your nerves and your relationship.” She bounded off, her gray curls bouncing along with her long green skirts.

Rowan shoved his hands into his pockets, Dahlia’s smug smile a heat seeking missile. “You have more to say. I can feel it.”

“Of course I do, dear. You saw the painting, yes?” Dahlia asked. “The one we commissioned from Aster?”

“Hard to miss,” Especially if it was your own ass on display. Freckles and all. “I know you and Aunt Rosie really want me to get together with Callum, but it’s not going to happen.”

“Why not? You are perfection together. Two strapping males who have been through so much sadness in their lives that- Ah, ah, ah! Don’t you shake your head at me, Rowan Connell Bennett! You have been on your own for far too long and loathe it.”

Rowan sighed. “I don’t loathe being alone, Auntie Lia.” The lie was bitter on his lips.

“You can’t fool a witch who practically raised you. You hate being alone and have since you were a child. It”s why your father made you that talisman.” On reflex, his hand went to his sweater, tracing the outline of his pendant, Dahlia giving him a knowing look. “It’s a wonder why you moved away from here in the first place.”

Because I was able to leave the bad memories behind. He rubbed his leg, the dull ache a token of what had happened. What he had done.

Rosemary returned from the back, pressing a steaming mug into his hands. With a grateful smile he took a sip, hoping the aroma of rose hips would overpower the phantoms dancing in his mind. “I’m not in the market for a boyfriend. It”s just not the right time.”

Rosemary clasped her hands before her, eyes gentle. “Rowan dear, it’s never been a right time for you.”

“It”s true. You never had a boyfriend,” Dahlia added.

“Yes, I have,” Rowan said. “I’ve had a lot of them.” His lips parted then sealed as he tried to recall at least one relationship that wasn’t a fling, a booty call, or just a fun one-night stand. Nothing. Nada. The big goose egg. “I have my career to worry about.” You mean you had your career. “Ooookay!” He stood, forcing a laugh into his sharp tone. “I really should get into that card room.” He held out his hand again. “Please?”

Dahlia placed the key into his waiting palm. “At least ask Callum about being our Krampus? A night out would be good for you both.”

Sweet Hecate, once Dahlia and Rosemary had a life plan for someone, that plan would come to fruition come hell or high water. And since he didn’t have the patience to fight or the heart to tell them to back off, Rowan nodded in reply, not daring to give them a verbal agreement. He handed his tea back to Rosemary, gave both a kiss on their cheeks then hightailed it into the card room, shutting the door before they could follow.

The room had already been prepared, not that he expected less of his aunts. Pillar candles were lit, and a stick of incense burned in the corner making the air taste of sandalwood and spice. The small table was dressed in a violet cloth with two plush velvet chairs at the ready. They even set out the beautiful tarot deck he’d left behind. The one that he hadn’t used since he’d left town.

His dad had taught him how to read Tarot with that deck. Every week he’d sit with Rowan, teaching him the skills of grounding and centering, how to listen to the spirits that whispered the meaning of the cards he drew. And every lesson ended with him telling Rowan how proud he was of him.

Heartache spread to his limbs, stiffening every joint and pinging every nerve. No, stop thinking about that. Stop it right now. He clutched his talisman, chanting “I’m not alone. I’m not alone. I’m not alone.”

He closed his eyes, shoving his grief aside to imagine what color Callum would turn if he asked him to be Krampus for a bunch of kids. Probably some shade of purple. There would be no way Rowan would subject Callum to that form of torture. He’d sooner play the Krampus himself again. Not like anyone would want him to. Which was for the best.

But what if Callum said yes? Afterall he’d just confessed how he wanted to leave the confines of the house. Callum worked hard getting his panic attacks under control, using his rescue potions less frequently. Maybe he’d be willing to try. Maybe you should at least try.

A sour taste filled Rowan’s mouth. Try? Try at what? Dating a satyr? He was in his forties. It was way too late in the game to change the life he’d settled for. Yet there was something about Callum that made him feel safe and wanted, made him want to lower his guard and just be himself, not the fortress he’d always been. Not to mention the oddly endearing poetry. Sure, it was awful but so sincere that it tugged at Rowan’s heart. How many guys in the past wrote him poems? None. That’s how many.

Rowan shook away the temptation. No. What mattered was his sisters and those spirits on the other side of the veil. It is why he chose to be a veil walker over a healer. The law enforcement for his kind needed him. Yeah, but you’re not needed now since you’ve refused to cross the veil.

He rested his head in his hands. “You need to get back to work and back to your life. It’s just a shade. Push it back across the veil where it belongs.”

Cold consumed him, bony fingers brushing his cheek. Rowan stilled. No, it wasn’t in this plane. It only existed in the veil, in his nightmares. Yet he felt its stare upon him. Rowan clutched the table. “You’re losing, Rowan. It’s not here. Manifest good things.” He took a deep breath. “Blessed Hecate, please show me something good.”

The candles flickered, flames splitting into two sweeping horns, long ears, and a strong jaw. Callum. Rowan breathed out his anxiety, concentrating on the satyr dancing in the fire.

Callum with his comforting embrace and his twitching ears always ready to listen. His eagerness to please. His sweetness under all that stony hurt. Someone in this world who wanted Rowan just as he was.

The flame snuffed out, smoke trails swirling from the wick like a ghostly hand. But the thought still tickled his brain like a hard-to-reach itch. Maybe you don’t have to be alone. Maybe, Callum is what you need. He swallowed. At least ask him about Krampusnacht. The worst he could say is no.

The knock at the door snapped him out of his trance. He shuffled his deck calling “Come in,” Callum’s silhouette still burning in his gaze. Don’t think about it now. Think about it later. But it was always later. Now never occurred when it came to this type of thing.

Rowan straightened, plastering on his best smile as his first customer entered. He shoved Callum to the back of his mind, yet the satyr remained, still smiling. Still tempting him.