Hecate's Gift (Ari & Soren Book 2)

Chapter 7 - Ari

"What happened to you?" Dr. Annabel Chissaud sat across from me in her office, looking at me over the top of her glasses. Her raised eyebrows scrunched her forehead into lines beneath her short, silver-gray hair.

"Freak wave," I said, settling myself carefully into the chair opposite her.

As my faculty adviser and my godmother, Annabel worried about my studies as much as about my personal well-being. I had to admit that over the past half-year, I'd given her plenty of cause for concern.

"All right. Tell me about it," she said, refusing to be put off.

I told her, leaving out nothing. When I finished, she was thoughtful.

"So you were actually able to use elemental magic," she mused. "Not effectively, it seems, but it proves you have the ability. Ari—I think you need a teacher. Someone who knows what they're doing and can help you develop and control your gift. An untrained mage is a danger not only to himself but to those around him as well. Not to mention your neighbor might have seen more than he should. Fortunately, your spell was so unfocused it looked like a natural phenomenon: unusual, but not impossible."

I shifted in my seat. The scrapes on my chest and back still stung, and my shoulder, hip, and right knee ached with a dull pain. I'd had enough of magic for the moment, but I'd need to do another healing session when I got home.

"Do you have someone in mind?" I asked. Annabel's grandfather had been a powerful witch and, unfortunately, a very evil man. She didn't practice magic, instead devoting herself to removing the stain her grandfather had put on the name Chissaud. She had many contacts in the occult world, though, and if anyone would know of someone who had the knowledge I needed, it was she.

She took off her glasses and set them on her desk. "Yes, there is someone. Give me a few days to get in touch with her, and I'll let you know. In the meantime, don't go trying anything new. Now, to real business. What have you got for me?"

~

We spent an hour looking over my most recent work, which she tore to pieces without mercy. Somehow, she did it in a way that left me feeling encouraged rather an eviscerated. When I finally said goodbye and started for the lecture hall, my mood was significantly lightened.

At this point in my studies, attending classes was optional, but I enjoyed the ritual and made the effort to sit in at least some of the time. Professor Parsons tended to drone and talk in circles, but Professor Taylor was a master of his art.

Emery Taylor taught Celtic studies, and this semester his lecture series focused on the Gallic Druids of the first century BCE. While not directly related to my own work, I found the subject fascinating.

When the lecture ended, Professor Taylor caught my eye and waved at me to stay behind. I waited while his crowd of adoring fans plagued him with questions for several minutes after class, noting that they were overwhelmingly female.

Taylor was the quintessential 'hot professor.' He was in his early forties, with thick salt and pepper hair, chiseled features, and a trim, athletic physique. He had the rare ability to wear sweater vests over checked shirts and still look cool.

As I made my way slowly down the aisle of seats towards the front of the hall, he waved and smiled. I'd been attending his classes since my undergrad days, and we had a strong student-teacher rapport.

"Ari, its good to see you in class," he said. His lilting Irish accent was a large part of his appeal, I suspected, and had to admit it made his lectures easy on the ears. "I missed you last fall. Annabel told me you'd had an illness."

I quickly searched my memory and recalled that she had concocted a pneumonia-related cover story to explain my absence at the end of the last semester.

"Yes," I said. "I'm better now."

"Good—glad to hear it. And I'm sorry about your Uncle. I didn't know him well, but he seemed like a good chap."

In the end, my relationship with my uncle had been complicated, and it still hurt to be reminded that he was gone. "Yeah. He was."

He patted my shoulder in sympathy. "And how're the studies?"

I reported on my progress, and he listened with interest.

"Well now," he said, smiling. "I've got something you might find exciting. Ever heard of Dr. Chadwell Stanton?"

"Of course." Dr. Stanton's work on Hermetic magic was inspired.

"Well, he's visiting the area, and I'm hosting a little soiree the day after tomorrow in his honor. Just a few people—close colleagues, mostly—but I think it would be appropriate for you to attend, if you're interested."

"Yes, I'd love to," I said, forcing more enthusiasm into my voice than I felt. While the chance to meet and talk to one of my academic heroes was exciting, the prospect of attending a party—no matter how small—was not. Professor Taylor had gone out of his way to invite me, though, and I didn't want to disappoint him.

"Wonderful. Here, give me your number and I'll text you the details." He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. I scribbled my number and name and handed it back.

His fingers brushed mine as he took it—I would have thought deliberately, if not for the wedding band on his finger—and he smiled warmly. "Wonderful," he said again. "I look forward to seeing you there."

~

I took the scenic route home, winding along the residential streets that hugged the coast. Late afternoon sunlight sparkled off the blue water of the bay, and a few high clouds skimmed across the cerulean sky. A stiff breeze whipped the waves into whitecaps and tousled the tops of the Cyprus trees along the cliffs. By the time I pulled into the driveway, the sun was below a bank of clouds, and the light had gone golden.

I got out of my old jeep to the smell of eucalyptus leaves and the raucous calls of crows. Al must have invited some friends of his own to stay. I looked up as a pair of black-winged shapes swooped over, headed out to play in the winds that buffeted the cliffs.

Turning towards the house, I was startled to see someone standing on the porch. Neighbor Guy—Chris—waved as I approached.

"Ari! Hey, man!" He trotted down the steps to meet me.

"Hi...Chris." I almost flinched as he reached out and clasped my forearm in some form of greeting. After a moment he stepped back awkwardly, and I felt like I'd missed my cue. I didn't keep up on the latest handshake trends, after all.
"Sorry for the ambush," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Only I wanted to invite you to this thing—sort of a meet-up—day after next."

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. I took it, and noticed it was the same as the one I'd found in the driveway—a large triple spiral above a date and time.

"We just kinda get together and talk about magic and stuff. I guess you could call us a coven, but we're not really that organized yet. Celene—that's our high priestess—says we need thirteen to be a real coven, and we've only got eleven so far. It's fun—we have a bonfire on the beach, drink, laugh. It's basically just a party with some magic talk thrown in."

He grinned hopefully.

I realized that this was the second invitation I'd received that day.

"Actually, I already have plans that night," I said. "Maybe next time."

His disappointment was visible, and I felt a little sorry for causing it. "Oh, too bad. Well, if your plans change, feel free to join us. You could bring your boyfriend, if you want."

The thought of Soren at a gathering of Neopagan witch-wannabes made me smile. It might almost be worth attending a stranger's party just for that. "Maybe I will."

"Great." Chris' grin had returned. "I'd like to meet him, with us being neighbors and all."

Speak of the Devil. The low purr of an engine made me look, and Soren's sleek Mercedes turned onto the drive.