Page 30 of Reluctant Witch (A Course in Magic #2)

30

Prospero

“So… it sounded like you said you love me,” Ellie asked a while later when they were curled up in bed together.

“I did.” Prospero’s hand, which had been drawing circles on Ellie’s back, paused.

“Have you said that to me before?” Ellie asked, lifting her head from Prospero’s chest to look at her. “Did I forget it?”

“No.” Prospero felt panic swirl in her stomach. “I have thought it, but I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“Because you lied to me about something, and then pushed me away?”

“Yes.” Prospero swallowed her panic. Running wasn’t the right answer. She knew that, but this was the part of relationships that she dreaded, the vulnerability of it all. She could handle courting, little gifts and flirting touches, and she definitely could handle the sex. Her body both ached and felt energized for having been thoroughly explored.

“What changed that you’re saying it now?” Ellie sounded more curious than anything.

“When I was over there, I thought you had died.” Prospero forced herself not to look away. “In my mind, you had merged with a memory of… my first lover because of Aggie’s magic. In my mind, I saw you dead and sightless, staring at me, and the grief—” Prospero stopped herself, took a steadying breath, and added, “I wanted you to know how I feel in case I don’t survive the next encounter.”

“You’re planning to die?” Ellie asked.

“No. I’m being realistic. Magic is unpredictable over there.” Prospero held Ellie close. “I want to defeat her, come home, lock the door so I can hide away with the witch I love and ignore the rest of the world.”

“So let’s do that. I’m not as experienced at magic as you, but in case you didn’t notice, I’m not useless.” Ellie pulled away and propped up on one arm, so she was staring down at Prospero. “I have a lot of thoughts about things I want to do with you. Those require you staying alive.”

“Oh?”

“We never had a honeymoon,” Ellie pointed out. “I want to dance with you, walk with you, have picnics, read beside you, cook a meal—”

“Court me, then.”

Ellie’s smile turned wicked. “And have you naked for most of it so that we can pause to make love.”

Prospero felt like her heart might beat too fast for her body to contain. “That sounds perfect, although I’m not sure about naked picnics or how well the hobs would tolerate naked cooking.”

“The hobs can go somewhere else for a few weeks, have a holiday or something.” Ellie shrugged. “I have plans for you.”

“Most women aren’t in my bed to pleasure me. I’m usually the one who—”

“Most women aren’t your wife,” Ellie said firmly. “So this? This is not a one-way situation.”

Prospero couldn’t restrain a laugh at the tone in her voice. “Where were you all my life, Elleanor Brandeau?”

“Well, I wasn’t born yet for most of your life,” Ellie said smugly.

Prospero opened her mouth to reply, but Ellie leaned down and kissed her before she could say a word.

This. This is what I’ve wanted for most of my life, Prospero thought.

Several hours later Ellie was finally asleep in their bed, but Prospero was awake still, holding her and pondering how to retrieve a witch who could pull fears to the forefront of one’s mind, a witch who lived for violence. Strike first. Strike mercilessly. Agnes had shot Scylla, injured Sondre, and made Prospero think Ellie was dead.

This was not the time for hesitating.

But there’s no way to hunt her until she uses magic.…

None of that resolve made it easier when Prospero felt the alarm at her door sound, and she smothered a curse. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of alarms, but Prospero always felt a visitor at the door like a hand on her shoulder.

She slid out from the tangle of limbs that was Ellie. Smiling, Prospero mused that she’d barely had a chance to sleep after several hours of bone-melting lovemaking. This was her, the person Prospero had needed for all of her life, and they were finally together, truly and fully. It was everything she’d dreamed of in a relationship, everything she’d been afraid to want.

And I almost lost it.

Prospero went downstairs and jerked open the front door with an exasperated sigh. She held her dressing gown closed even though it was tied. “Is anyone dead?”

“Always so gloomy,” the tiny man, Grish, muttered. The hob was Walter’s, and he was strangely quiet as a rule. Tonight, Grish had a pink-and-green-striped scarf round his neck, and the tassels of it would be touching the ground if not for the fact that the diminutive man stood in a planter beside her door. The result was that his scarf dangled over the rim of the tall, black urn. “Perhaps I’m here to ask for an egg. Or a hank of yarn or—”

“Grish. Is that a no ?” She eyed him suspiciously. It wasn’t a matter of dislike, but hobs were loyal to those they chose. Grish had been a part of the chief witch’s household for the entirety of Prospero’s life in Crenshaw.

“I suspect someone or several someone’s lives could be in peril. I can’t rightly say. The master of the house says magic’s spilling over there.” Grish raised his eyebrows. “Guess you were too busy to notice. What—”

“Wait.” Prospero closed her eyes, feeling for the magical signature over in the other world. “Please tell Walter I’ll handle it.”

“With whom?”

“What?”

“Lord Scylla is bloody, and the headmasher is not well for this.” Grish widened his eyes comically. “You ought not go alone, not to this. You know that.”

His words felt ominous, as they often did when Cassandra shared a prophecy. Were hobs prophetic, too? Prospero stared at him and asked, “Do you know something?”

“Oh, Prospero, I know more things than a human mind will ever conceive of.” He gave her a sad smile. “Tonight, what I know is that I think you should not go alone, not to this, unless you are ready to stop existing.”

Prospero thought over her options. House Grendel? That used to be Agnes, and it was now Sondre. One was a villain; one was in the infirmary. Scylla would be the next logical choice. She was in the infirmary. House Hephaestus? Fatima and Omer were willing to fight if necessary. Gil, House of Charybdis, and Walter were not. That left House Dionysus and Jord, but Allan, Dionysus, was one of the witches who had fled, so by default Prospero couldn’t trust Jord.

“I could ask Fatima and Omer, or I could speak to the sports house,” Prospero mused after a moment.

“The sport-witches would have plans, at least. What would the builders offer?” Grish countered. “Might as well ask the madam… although prophecy isn’t much use in a conflict, she has other experiences.”

“It’s not just about a person’s type of magic.” Prospero crossed her arms. “I do mind magic. What use am I? We are more than our magical strengths.”

“True. More than our fears, too.” Grish shook his head. His voice turned somber as he chided, “You know this answer, Prospero. Crenshaw has placed great trust in you for a long time. That is unchanged.”

The words sounded more serious than she typically expected from hobs outside her house. “You know exactly what’s happening over there,” she surmised.

“We do. There are other reasons to take Thesis rather than a witch you do not trust as you trust that one.” Grish gave her a sympathetic look. “It may be beneficial to you both.”

“You know Cassandra’s prophecy.”

Grish gave a nod. “We know everything. Take Thesis.”

“You don’t get to decide what Ellie does.”

“Neither do you,” Grish pointed out before vanishing without another word.

Prospero hated the fact that she was reduced to arguing almost as much as she hated knowing that there was no other witch she could trust so wholly. She knew she had to take Ellie or go alone, and she didn’t love either plan.

“Damn it,” Prospero whispered to the empty air.

She closed the door and walked into the kitchen, buying time before she saw her moody bride. I’m not being overprotective, Prospero argued with herself. I could handle this alone. I’m sure of it.

A guilty voice rose up. Like how you handled Aggie?

If not for Sondre, Prospero wasn’t sure what would’ve become of her. Her mind had swayed too easily to Aggie’s magic.

“Is there a reason you are standing here alone in an unlit kitchen?” Ellie asked from the doorway.

“Arguing with myself.”

“How’s that going?” Ellie leaned against the doorway, and the light illuminated her bare legs. She’d obviously grabbed a shirt, but that was all. As Prospero let her gaze drift upward, she noticed that the shirt remained unbuttoned. It gaped in such a way that a long line of bare skin, from cleavage to belly, was revealed.

Prospero closed her eyes before she could see if undergarments were omitted. “I have to retrieve a witch.”

“I see. And the argument…?”

“Inviting you to assist me.” Prospero opened her eyes and pointedly held Ellie’s gaze. “It’s dangerous. We can’t use exterior magic, and I can’t ask you to—”

“Give me five to get dressed. You might want to do the same.”

By the time they arrived in the nonmagical world, Prospero’s emotions were no more in control than at home. Now, though, it was all worry.

I can’t lose her.

I won’t.

But what if…

“This is a terrible idea,” Prospero muttered, even as she poured a handful of spell stones into Ellie’s hand. “These are nonlethal.”

“Who else are you going to take to do this? The headmaster and Lord Scylla are in the hospital.” Ellie glared at her wife. “Do you want to try taking the chief witch? A random head of house? What about Jord? She’s already leaking magic everywhere. Oh, I know, the seer! The witch you’re furious with…”

Prospero looked at Ellie and said, “You’re obnoxious when you’re right.”

“Luckily, I’m also really invested in you coming home safely,” Ellie pointed out in a kinder voice.

After debating it, Prospero took one lethal stone, wrapped in a silk bag, and slid it into Ellie’s jacket pocket. “That one is lethal, love. I know you don’t want to, but if it’s you or them, you use it. Swear it. I don’t want to lose you, so I need to know you’ll—”

“I swear.” Ellie stepped closer. She wrapped both arms around Prospero and said, “Now, come on. Before the witch gets away. I have things to do here at home, you know.”

It only took a moment to teleport to the nonmagical world. Prospero had done so countless times to retrieve a remedial witch or modify memories.

They appeared on a college campus somewhere in the northern United States, from the look of the trees. Oak trees in bud dotted a campus that was a swath of red brick and old money. The area where they’d arrived was a green space, not quite a quad but one of those areas where there was too much ground to leave it unmanicured, but not enough to squeeze in a parking lot or building. There were shrubs, a flower bed that twined along the perimeter, three trees, and a heterosexual couple currently having vigorous sex while others cheered them drunkenly. The woman on top had her skirt around her waist like a wide belt, and that seemed to be the only clothing she had on.

Two men to the left were fondling each other. One had his jeans unzippered; the other had them shoved down to his knees. Nearby, a woman was doing a keg stand.

“So I guess we found Lord Dionysus,” Ellie said mildly. Her cheeks were bright red, and she turned her gaze away from the group in the grassy lawn. “When Jord taught one of the classes, she had this same, err, sort of magic.”

“Oh?”

“I thought maybe I was just horny but…” Ellie shrugged. “I guess it’s just their magic.”

“Do I need to ask?” Prospero pushed the wave of possessiveness back.

“I admired her, touched her arm, and… that was all.” Ellie looked around. “So, Dionysus…”

“He’s somewhere here.” Prospero cleared her throat and suggested, “Perhaps we should send you home? I can find—”

“Are you afraid my Victorian sensibilities will be offended? Oh. Wait…” Ellie looked at her and grinned. “That’s you. This is just like we’re walking through a giant porn movie. I’m fine.”

“Oh.” Prospero had heard that term, and it wasn’t as if she was still, in fact, as innocent as she once had been. One of her two dearest friends the last few decades was the proprietress of a brothel. Admittedly, Cass’ house of ill repute was not quite this acrobatic.

One woman was holding up a very large fake phallus to another woman. Prospero couldn’t look away as the second woman lifted her skirt and opened her legs in invitation. That was not the sort of thing that existed in Crenshaw. “Wow.”

“Not much exposure to porn, huh?” Ellie said as they walked.

“Only live shows at the brothel.”

“That appeals to you,” Ellie teased, looking over at the two women.

“Not them. ” Prospero didn’t look away, though. She’d never seen that, never tried that. All the supplies they had in Crenshaw came from one warehouse that supplied food and clothing, or they had things that they made or grew.

“Perhaps we should take a shopping trip,” Ellie said mildly.

Nothing Prospero could think to say seemed appropriate, so she walked in silence, trying to tune out the moans and cries all around them. Everything felt too real, too exposed, and Prospero had to remind herself that these people would not recall the worst of their misadventures.

We just have to find Allan and get him out of here, so his magic isn’t spilling out and making people amorous.