4 January
Yes, I know it’s been a long time since I journaled.
Yes, a lot has happened.
So much, I haven’t had time to journal.
Yes, I’m gonna share.
Buckle up, because it has not been pretty.
Here we go.
The morning after Aidan called and Ash took the call, told me my other boyfriend was going to be absent for a (longer) while, talked me into trusting them, and gave me the Big O, Ash was out for a run and I was curled on the sofa in the living room of the Cottage, glaring at my Post-its all over the walls, worried about Aidan, war, and a pimple that seemed to be forming on my chin that heralded my period coming.
This was when a knock came on the door.
It was Dad.
Alone.
No Mom.
No Marcus.
No Gabe.
Just Dad.
It was then it struck me that my father and I had not once in our lives spent time alone together.
I felt suddenly shy.
It was whacked but give me a break.
I was thirty-four years old, and this was the first time I was alone with my father.
“Hey,” I muttered, sounding as shy as I was feeling.
“Good morning, honey,” he said softly.
Okay, I might not have mentioned this, but my dad is super good-looking.
He also looked ten years younger than my mom, which meant he looked about ten years older than Gabe, which meant he looked about ten years older than me.
Yeah.
This felt weird.
That said, even though Gabe looked my age, Gabe himself was ten years older than me.
He was Mom and Dad’s firstborn.
Which pissed Viv off because it meant she could still be bossy big sister, but she couldn’t be bossy firstborn with all the rights and privileges that Viv thought she should have in that role.
That said, she pointed out (frequently) that she was still firstborn sister, which continued to afford her said rights and privileges.
Su and I just didn’t agree.
Then again, we never did.
“You want coffee?” I asked my dad.
He shook his head. “Can I sit?”
I nodded my head.
He sat.
Okay, I mean…
Well, hell.
This was weird.
“I received another call,” he shared. “They’re sending in the A Team.”
“Well, you know, I do have other things to do,” I reminded him. “A war to plan. Yule presents to buy. Christmas parties to attend. Broomstick maneuvers to master. I can’t be flying back and forth to Washington at the whim of the powers that be. And I shouldn’t have to, considering I am the power that is.”
All right.
So I was being snippy and diva-esque.
Sue me.
Did I want peace?
Yes. I absolutely wanted peace.
Everyone wants peace.
But money didn’t grow on trees.
Without Bewitched in full swing, how was I going to afford another killer professional-but-still-chic-and-hot business suit and Yule presents and get my magickal larder up to snuff?
It took me a whole year to do that last back in England.
And speaking of England, I missed it.
And that was just the way, and I was learning I didn’t like a lot of ways in life, including that way.
When I was in England, I missed America.
Now that I was in America, I missed England.
Bah!
“I know,” Dad said. “I told them if they wanted to meet, they would have to come here.”
“Fine,” I muttered.
Dad hesitated a second before he asked, “Do you have something on your mind?”
I looked right in his eyes. “Which of the seven thousand, six hundred and twenty-three priority somethings would you like me to talk about? And, mind, those are the priority somethings. I have another eighteen thousand, two hundred and ninety-four secondary somethings up there too.”
“Whatever you want to talk about,” he offered.
I looked out the window and took a sip of coffee.
“Matty—”
“You love each other,” I said to the window.
“Sorry?” he asked me.
I looked to him again. “You and Mom. You love each other. Like a lot.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“How did you do it?”
“My sweet girl,” he whispered.
Here’s the thing.
I tried to swear off crying.
Life was super-freaking-crazy and there were a lot of times when I could lose it.
But it didn’t do anything but exhaust me, and as you know, I have no room to get exhausted.
I had shit to do!
But my dad calling me “my sweet girl.”
The dad I always wanted (okay, so maybe I’d want him to be a silver fox instead of looking like someone I could date, but still, it had not been lost on me in the last few months that I knew he was my dad, and even before, when I just thought he was Senator Addison and he’d always acted like he was super honored to be in my presence, that he loved me…a whole lot) calling me “my sweet girl.”
Damn.
He said that.
I started crying.
Then my coffee mug was on a table and I was in his arms.
Man, oh man.
My dad holding me.
My dad was holding me!
Wow.
That felt so freaking nice.
So much so, to keep feeling it and not get lost in other emotion, it was quiet weeping, not the loud and snotty sobs I usually dissolved into (thank Goddess), so Dad talked to me through them.
“It wasn’t easy.”
“I bet.”
“We found our times to be together.”
“Good.”
“We talked to each other every day.”
“How sweet.”
“She sent me thousands of pictures of you girls.”
I hiccupped and put more effort into not getting loud and snotty.
“And she spent as much time with Gabriel as she could.”
I believed this because Mom and Gabe seemed cool with each other, totally tight.
“I’m glad.”
“You’re worried that will happen to you and Ash,” he surmised.
Hmm.
“I’m also worried about Aidan,” I told him.
“Why?” he asked.
Uh…
Wha’?
I pulled away from him and looked up at his face.
You see, this was the thing.
Dad and Gabe were Le Société, so I knew they were on Ash’s side.
But still, he was my dad, so even though I didn’t have a lot of experience having a dad (huh), I did have a lot of experience thinking if I had one, he should treat me like his little princess, so thought he should be on my side.
One could say he noted my disappointment in him and he wasn’t a big fan.
“I can imagine that the change in circumstances would be confusing, and I think everyone involved is handling you with a great deal of patience, but Matty, my beautiful girl, you’re eventually going to have to come to terms with how it is,” he said.
“How what is?”
“How…?”
He stopped.
He stared at me.
I didn’t say anything, just stared at him.
Then he said, “Matty, Ash died for you.”
I absolutely one hundred percent did not need that reminder.
“Yeah, I was there.”
“Matty. The prophesy said that the man who loves you will wed you and give you three children and he will die for you. Ash already did that last part. He died for you.”
“The prophesy said one would wed me and one would die for me.”
“Yes, we, all of us misinterpreted it as that considering a man who dies is not a man who can go on to wed you and build a family with you. But no one could foresee your faerie bringing him back to life as the Elfin Lament has not been performed for centuries. Now, we see it as it is. Sebastian sees it as it is.” I bet he did. “Aidan sees it as it is.” He did?! “You’re the only one who hasn’t put it together.”
Say…
What?!
“But they’ve been—”
“Waiting for you to put it together,” Dad cut me off to say. “They both know you care deeply for them and neither of them wanted you hurt. What they did want was you protected, even when Ash was not at his best. However, now that Ash has returned, and he’s fit, Aidan shared that he felt his continued presence here was confusing you and he was not at one with keeping up the charade. Most especially after you said something that concerned him greatly prior to his departure.”
Yeah.
That something I said was that I loved him.
“He doesn’t need to be in England, Matty,” Dad went on. “He’s staying away so you’ll move on.”
Right, I’d been crying.
Now I was pretty certain I was going to throw up.
Or throw a temper tantrum.
Or both.
(Though, temper tantrum was winning.)
“Are you serious?” I whispered.
“Sadly, if I’m reading your reaction correctly, yes,” he answered.
“You’re not just saying that because you want Ash to win?” I pressed.
“No, because, if you think about it, honey, he already has.”
Ash had.
I loved him.
He died for me.
I was sleeping by his side every night.
I’d seen Aidan’s face when Ash came to Denver and again when Aidan left.
Aidan wasn’t giving up.
He just wasn’t “the one.”
And he knew it.
In fact, he knew it—they both knew it—since BecBec had brought Ash back to life.
And they kept up the charade, pulling me back and forth, evening things out, and…
A…
Bloody…
Gain...
NOT BEING HONEST WITH ME!
(I mean, seriously, if there was a shouty-caps moment, this was it.)
“You know, they could have just fucking said something,” I snapped.
“If you cared for a woman, and lived your whole life thinking you’d spend your life with her, or die to protect her, and then you found out that was true, but it also wasn’t, but you knew she’d fallen in love with you, not to mention she had twenty-five thousand, nine hundred and seventeen priority and secondary things on her mind, what would you do?”
Yeesh.
He was good at math.
“You know, I act like a ditz but I’m not really a ditz,” I declared.
“I know that,” he said sharply.
I could not get bogged down in how affronted he sounded that I’d think that he’d think I was a ditz, like any dad who thought his daughter was his little princess should.
“Well, they obviously don’t. I don’t think I’ll share with my dad the games they’ve been playing to keep up this charade,” I announced. “But we’ll just say they were not cool.”
He took a beat before he suggested, “Maybe I should leave you to work things through.”
That was so totally not a good idea considering, if I had a moment with my thoughts, it would be figuring out how I could murder a couple hot guys and get away with it.
“That’d be awesome,” I replied.
He appeared amused (I was noting that vampires tend to be in good moods a lot of the time—but, see, if you arrested at an age when you looked awesome, you never aged another day, remained healthy with a spring in your step until you eventually just turned to dust 250 to 300 years after becoming a vampire, you would too).
Then he kissed my temple and got out of the couch.
At the door, though, he turned to me and said, “Remember, Matty. They both fell in love with you too. So what you just learned did not make you happy. Consider how it felt for Aidan this past month. Not to mention Ash.”
Grr.
“More reason for them just to tell me.”
“Aidan was a man who watched the woman he loved hold the man she loved in her arms while he was dying. And then he died. A woman who has the onus of the peace and stability of the world on her shoulders. I know you have a big heart, honey. Listen to it.”
With that, he left.
And so wenteth my first one-on-one with Dad.
Ack.
Not long after that, Ash came home from his run.
As the bathroom was through the bedroom, he found me, seeing as I had retreated to my princess fortress in order to focus on strategy to find some way to buy a new kickass outfit to sit down and negotiate peace between the supernatural world and the normal world and not form strategy to commit hot-guy-icide (x2).
As a reminder, my princess fortress was what I made up when I was a child where I lay on my back in my bed on pillows behind my head with pillows down either side on which to rest my precious princess arms.
I retreated to my princess fortress when things got super intense.
Including now.
When I was no longer a child.
No one in the world knew about my princess fortress.
Except Sir Sebastian Quincy Wilding.
Thus, when he returned after his run, I saw him standing at the foot of the bed, sweaty (mm) with lips twitching (gluh), staring down at me.
“You’re moving back to the big house,” I shared.
“I am?” he asked.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I said.
“What happened between me leaving you sleeping off the orgasm I gave you and coming back after a run?”
“The jig went up,” I shared. “The thing is, you died for me, so you won. But then you and Aidan played me, and you played me the way you played me, so I don’t want either of you anymore.”
He did not give me his clotted-cream look that said he was the victor and he intended to enjoy his spoils by devouring me in fantabulous ways.
He did not give me his determined look that said he was going to get what he wanted regardless of how I felt about it.
And he did not give me one of his cross or impatient looks that said I was working his nerves.
He didn’t even give me one of his broody looks that gave nothing away about his thoughts at all (except the fact he was broody).
He gave me a look I’d never seen on him before.
A remorseful one.
He then did what he did the last time I retreated to my princess fortress.
He breached the fortress.
This time he did it by pulling the pillow out from under one of my arms, tossing it to the end of the bed, sitting on the bed by my hip, and then leaning over me, weight in one hand he’d put in the bed on the other side of my body.
I wanted to stare at the ceiling, but since Ash’s face was in mine, I didn’t have that choice.
I wasn’t going to appear weak by closing my eyes.
So I glared at him.
“He’s in love with you too, you know,” he said softly.
Ouch x7.
Aidan was in love with me.
I was in love with Aidan.
I was also in love with Ash.
Ash had not shared he was in love with me (to be fair, I hadn’t told him I was in love with him either…and now I thank the Goddess I had not).
Aidan told Ash I told him that.
Ash and Aidan had played me.
I had been in some rather significant (understatement) mental stress about this whole two-loves-of-my-life, one-to-be-husband, one-to-be-sacrifice for months and months and months, and now that it was over, I wasn’t a victor enjoying her spoils. I was furious at both of them and wanted nothing to do with either of them anymore.
“More reason not to use my body and play with my mind,” I retorted.
His eyes roamed my face before he murmured, “Christ, you don’t remember.”
“I remember everything.”
I saw his hand come toward me in my peripheral vision as he began, “Matty—”
“Do not fucking touch me.”
The remorse came back, it pricked me deep, but the determined was behind it and his hand dropped away.
“Sweetheart, you came undone in the hospital,” he whispered.
I stared up at him.
“Minerva had to spell you. You were doing harm to humans.”
I blinked up at him.
“It tore Seymour apart.”
I swallowed.
“It was his idea. I agreed. We decided we would keep things as we were until you figured it out and then you could be the one to let him down.”
Holy crap!
That had to…
To…
Well, kill.
And Aidan did that…
For me?
“He just…” Ash did a short shake of his head. “He was in love with you and it was too much. So we figured out a way to get him home so it could be done for him and then you and I could work it out and it would just be done. For all of us. Because, I think it goes without saying, this hasn’t been all that fun for me either.”
Okay…
Um…
Well…
Boo fucking hoo.
Because, yeah, that had to be hard, for both of them.
And yeah, in a messed-up, totally man way, it seemed logical, the decision they made on their course of action.
Also yeah, I do not remember coming undone in the hospital.
Truth be told, I hadn’t thought about it (because, duh! I didn’t want to, Ash died in my arms after taking a bullet for me).
But I didn’t remember anything between BecBec singing her song with the gossamer coming off her wings floating all around me and the dead body of Ash in my arms in the back of Aidan’s Mercedes and then waking up the next morning in my bed with my head in my mother’s lap and Mom sharing Ash had made it. He was going to be alright.
Though, thinking about it right then, I remember snippets of having my wand, being in a hospital ward, and a lot of my electric blue magic flashing about with people screaming.
And one of those people was me.
So I quit thinking about it.
But the bottom line was, they made a decision that involved me without me involved in the decision-making part of that scenario.
They decided what was good for me.
And what they decided was what they’d decided Hallowe’en night when they kept the big plot from me, and it all happened to me, not with me being a part of the process, the planning, as well as the undertaking.
In other words, they decided that I was weak.
I needed to be lied to and manipulated into a situation where I thought I was the one who was making my own decisions.
So, in the end, they made it harder on themselves and me.
Just like Hallowe’en night.
“You know, things are going to get worse,” I told him.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“With all that’s going down. It’s only going to get worse.”
“Mathilda—”
“And somewhere along that line, you’re going to have to learn to trust me.”
Ash’s face went broody.
“Last night, you made me promise to trust you and Aidan when you were lying to me,” I carried on. “Now, although you made it very clear you believed in me, if you look at your own behaviors, you so do not.”
I almost couldn’t credit it, but I could swear he appeared startled.
I didn’t linger on that.
I kept talking. “Ash, you’re going to have to trust me to be mature, to be an adult, to be strong, to have my shit together, because no matter what you think, I actually do. I might not be perfect, but I’m no ignoramus either—”
“Of course you’re not,” he growled.
I again ignored how affronted Ash sounded at the thought that I thought he thought I was an ignoramus.
“And, you know, I made this huge-ass speech to the gathering about being with me or against me and I never would have thought in my wildest imaginings that I’d have to tell the people closest to me that they needed to sort their own shit and make that same decision.”
“Mathilda, I have lived my entire life knowing I’d stand by your side, walk by your side, parent by your side, live by your side and fight by your side,” he rumbled, no longer remorseful or broody and definitely not startled.
He was pissed.
“And that I also might die at your side,” he concluded.
“Well, bud, now you’ve made it so you’re going to have to earn your place by my side,” I returned.
He scowled down at me.
I glared up at him.
He broke our staring contest by reminding me, “I took a bullet for you, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, and then you betrayed me, baby.”
He looked like he’d happily strangle me.
I hoped I kinda looked the same, but I figured I didn’t because I wasn’t quite at one with my inner badass.
Not yet.
But I was going to get there.
(Though, one could say to get there, I’d have to climb out of my princess fortress…but whatever.)
“And my suggestion is you meditate on how you do that somewhere else,” I went on. “If you want me to help you pack, I’ll take care of that chore while you shower.”
“You’re not here by yourself at night.”
“It’s protected.”
“You’re not here by yourself at night.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You’re not here by yourself at night.”
Gah!
I switched tactics.
“You’re not sleeping in my bed.”
“Then I’ll be on the couch. That is, until you beg me to come back to your bed.”
“Don’t hold your breath for that, Sir Sebastian.”
He dipped so his face was a breath from mine.
“It won’t be me holding my breath, darling,” he said silkily.
Then he pushed away, got off the bed, stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door.
I sat up, grabbed my pillow, and restored my princess fortress.
Seriously.
Seriously!
Men!
By the by, Ash didn’t delay in sharing the jig was up with Aidan.
Fortunately, Aidan was four thousand, six hundred and sixty-two (give or take a few, and yes, I looked it up) miles away from me.
So it was easy to decline his phone calls.
Well, not easy emotionally.
But at least physically, it was only a press on a touch screen.
Since there’s so much that happened the rest of December, I’ll sum up:
In full Chosen One, Prophesied to Save the World Snit, I informed Dad that I would not be sitting down to peace talks with the A Team until the New Year.
I had things to do.
Holidays to celebrate.
Grudges to hold.
Shops to refurbish.
Killer outfits to find.
Dad did not hide he found this amusing.
My financial worries disappeared when the people that had approached Lucy and me about our cookbook and our cookery program pushed it, we found an agent, and they offered a staggering advance that blew both Lucy and my minds.
We accepted.
That deal included a marketing plan that heralded world (cookery) domination which included more cookbooks (we contracted for three of them), the aforementioned cookery program filmed at The Witches Dozen back in Clevedon and bakeware, cookware, stoneware and utensil lines.
For starters.
We immediately holed up with Mack (who I didn’t make a general of anything (yet), except general in charge of designing our “brand” seeing as he was an artist, the classes he taught at his school were graphic design, including three about using design and art in advertising, promotion, marketing and branding) and Su and some geeky friend of Su’s who programmed websites.
And after a forty-eight-hour marathon session, we launched it and all our social media platforms in a haze of Cheetos dust (created by Su and her geek friend) and piles of dirty coffee mugs (created by Lucy and me).
I returned from this session to the Cottage only to find Ash standing in the middle of the living room.
When I closed the door, four (more) Post-its fell off the wall.
Hmm.
“You forget something?” he asked, gesturing with a sweep of his hand to my Post-it strategy that was now mostly bits of paper lying on the floor.
I rolled my eyes and stomped to my bedroom.
My magickal larder issue was eradicated when, for Yule, I received five very large (and insanely expensive to ship) boxes that contained what appeared to be every bit and bob from my magic room in England, save the furniture.
It was Aidan who sent them.
In them, however, was something that was not in my magic room.
A framed photo of Clevedon Pier, the site where Aidan had asked me out on our first date, on the back of which, it said,
You’ll always be my first love. Aidan
This infuriated me because a) I didn’t know I was his first love (and I didn’t need that guilt trip) and b) I hadn’t forgiven him yet (so I didn’t need that guilt trip either) and c) I hadn’t gotten him anything for Yule (and I didn’t need that guilt trip) and last d) I was telling myself I was feeling one doozy of a guilt trip when in reality my heart was bleeding.
Ash, by the way, for Yule left a small, beautifully wrapped box on my pillow.
Of course, I opened it.
In it was a Cartier box and in that Cartier box was an exquisite diamond bracelet.
We were mind-melded, of course (mental note: find time to continue research on how to break magical mind-meld Mavis saddled me with), so it was no surprise that, even though I had been alone when I’d arrived in my bedroom to find the box, after I opened it, he spoke from the doorway.
“Wilding women wear their men’s regard.”
Oh boy.
He kept going. “A great deal of it.”
I was getting that, considering I was holding a small fortune of diamonds in my hand.
“And I mean quality and quantity,” he finished.
Yikes.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I sniffed, hoping to give him the impression that was because I was still magnificently pissed at him, because it was.
“You never have to give me anything, Mathilda.”
“Well, that’s good, considering the last gift I gave you, you wore when you fake-betrayed me, that being before you real-betrayed me.”
“Which was after it got ruined when I took a bullet for you, but I wore it so you’d clue the fuck in that I actually wasn’t betraying you and you could relax and trust that I had your safety in hand. Something you did not do.”
So that was why he wore that shirt that night.
Okay, maybe I was part ignoramus.
I wasn’t going to admit that to Ash.
I also wasn’t going to share that the best way for me to know he wasn’t betraying me was to tell me the plan that made it seem like he was going to betray me.
“And you replaced it with three more shirts the minute I hit Denver,” he reminded me.
I forgot about that.
I just rolled my eyes again.
“You know you do that when you come,” he stated conversationally. “Roll your eyes like that.”
Argh!
I dangled the bracelet at him and said words that very nearly killed me.
“You can take this back.”
“Sweetheart, no way in fuck I’m taking that back. You’re wearing that when you walk down the aisle on your way to marrying me.”
“I’m never marrying you.”
“We’ll see.”
He then left.
He, obviously, didn’t take the bracelet back.
I, regrettably, didn’t wear it.
Okay, so maybe I tried it on a time or two (or twelve).
But I didn’t wear it out of my bedroom.
Bewitched slowly but surely got put to rights.
My Nantucket vision of whitewashed walls and floors and big Edison bulbs covered with massive globes coming from the ceiling and cream or blond-wood tables cabinets and display shelves that looked beachy and weather-beaten (but awesome!) came into being in the perfect season where I could (as self-proclaimed Head Buyer) fill it with glittery, silvery, delicious Christmas wares that walked out the door almost faster than we could put them on shelves.
It wasn’t that I was just really good at this owning-your-own-small-business thing.
I mean, I had worked in retail for years.
This time, I’d done the training.
Mom, Dad, Viv, Su, Gabe, Josie, Rory, Lucy and Mack all wanted to hold a big New Year’s Eve party.
So they did.
I abstained, holed in my bedroom (with the door locked and with my familiar Daphne curled into me), reading Karen Marie Moning’s Darkfever (and perving on Jericho Barrons), doing this wearing Ash’s bracelet, because, like I said, I only allowed myself to wear it while I was alone in my bedroom.
I might be ringing in the New Year with MacKayla, Jericho and a fictional Dublin that was lousy with Faeries (how close to the truth that was made me wonder if Moning had a little magic herself) alone in my bed.
But I was doing it wearing diamonds.
I woke hearing fireworks and feeling something soft sweeping along my wrist.
I opened my eyes about a nanosecond before Ash started kissing me.
I would have pulled away, but I couldn’t because my wrist was seized, pressed to the headboard above my head, and my mouth was seized, pressed into compliance by his demanding, talented tongue.
He let my mouth go, swept his thumb along the platinum and diamonds at my wrist, and whispered, “Happy New Year, Matty.”
Then he walked out of my room.
So yeah.
The holidays are over.
It hadn’t been a lot of fun.
Now I had a shop to run, recipes to decide on for Lucy and my cookbook, snappy introductions to write for them that included witty repartee with Lucy (when I was feeling far from witty), a social media empire to build which included copious postings and photos and me learning how to be a decent photographer (which was not my thing), a new dad I was getting to know, a new brother I was getting to know, but now only one love of my life, and he slept on my couch.
And war was on the horizon.
Yeah.
Happy Fucking New Year.
Huh.
January 13
Peace talks sucked.
I had new respect for my dad.
Sadly, he was now back in Washington because he had a job to do, being a Senator and all, and since Gabe was his top aide, my brother was gone too.
No more getting-to-know-you family dinners which were only slightly (okay, hugely) uncomfortable because Mom always sat Ash beside me (he wasn’t family!).
And Ash, having a penis (not that I’d ever seen it, and okay, so he was also a big guy, so what?), needed to invade as much space as possible which meant he spent a good deal of time with his arm draped on the back of my chair (gah!).
No more Sunday brunches (which were mostly the same, but we didn’t eat in the dining room, we ate in the kitchen).
No more watching a happy mom and dad, basking in the glow of their family united for the first time ever.
And no more drunken nights of a game we called “You Go.”
Just to say, the only people allowed to play You Go were Viv, Su, Gabe and me, and that wasn’t me wishing to exclude Ash.
That was how it was supposed to be.
We each had our own bottle (me: vodka, Viv: gin, Su: tequila, Gabe: whiskey) and when one of us was done talking, we took a shot, randomly looked at another one and said, “You Go.”
That person then had to tell a story about their life before they drank and told someone else to go.
We got shitfaced, which of course meant the stories got deeper, or more hilarious, or longer, or whatever.
I learned a lot about my brother, who I did not know at all, but now I did.
And my sisters, who I realized I didn’t know as well as I thought.
This was, by the by, the only fun I had since finding out The Big Betrayal after Aidan left.
And I fell in love again.
Because my brother had been a lot of places, seen a lot of things, met a lot of people, and was uber interesting.
He was also funny.
Last, he was mega sweet.
And one of the first things he shared when it was His Go was that he knew of our existence from the time each one of us was born, and he’d been waiting thirty-six years to sit at a table with us and drink.
Thus he’d never been happier in all his life.
So…totally…in love with Gabriel Addison.
But before they left for the Capitol, Dad, Marcus, Ash and I all sat down with a variety of factions who had a stake in the future of the supernatural and natural worlds to try to hammer out some way to live in harmony that everyone could live with—the Modernists, the Traditionalists and the humans.
I’ll tell you right now, I thought this would be easy.
I mean, you live your life your way, I’ll live my life mine.
You don’t interfere with how I live my life, all’s good.
I won’t interfere with how you live yours, awesome.
Simple.
Done.
It does not work like that.
First, the people who think they can tell you how to live your life are not easily dissuaded from the idea that how you live your life has not one fucking thing to do with them.
Wait that wasn’t “first.”
That was first, last and the end.
Okay, so I’m dancing around the fact that the first peace talks didn’t start because Marcus, Dad and Ash were angry they dissed me by sending their second string.
And the second peace talks broke down because I lost my temper, got up when some white dude who had been the senator of some state for the last seven thousand years (exaggeration) was telling me how all witches, warlocks, sorcerers, sorceresses, vampires (etcetera) would behave in “his country” (like it wasn’t mine too, asshole), and I walked out.
Totally a waste of the money I spent on another chic, awesome business suit (this one a pantsuit, red, and I wore purple pumps with it and a pink blouse, it was rad).
Marcus, Dad and Ash had no choice but to walk out with me.
In the back of the limo, after we were on our way, Dad muttered, “No worries. It usually takes a few tries, boundaries established, philosophies explained, histories understood, personalities presented, to get things going.”
I looked right at my dad who was sitting in front of me in the limo (Ash and I were riding backwards—yes, of course, as usual, the man was right by my side, bah!).
“That man did not care about my history or philosophy. He’d already made his decision like men like him have made their decisions for millennia. Out of fear of what he doesn’t understand, greed for power, and the only religion he holds devout, making sure he doesn’t lose any of that power.”
Dad’s eyes twinkled with pride.
One could say I seriously liked making my dad proud, but a little advice wouldn’t be remiss.
It was not forthcoming.
The rest of the ride back to The Acre was silent.
However, Ash followed me to my room.
He didn’t enter it.
He stopped at the door and leaned against the jamb.
In fact, except for kissing me happy New Year, he had not walked into my room at all when I was in it.
I knew he used the shower (because he hung his towel beside mine, something I ignored, not only because of the intimacy it invoked, but due to the freakishness of having a boyfriend/not boyfriend who did something as awesome as hanging his own damned towel instead of throwing it, wet, on the floor, counter or bed).
But if I was around, the closest he came was to stand in the door.
“You have something to say?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Well, if you wish to share that you think I shouldn’t have walked out in a snit, save it. That farce didn’t deserve more of my time.”
“I, personally, wouldn’t have walked in and given that man my time in the first place.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Mathilda, you don’t negotiate with your inferiors.”
My mouth fell open.
I closed it and told him, “Thinking humans are our inferiors is not going to get us harmony amongst peoples, Ash.”
“I didn’t say humans are. I said that man was. The rest,” he shrugged, “it remains to be seen.”
And as Ash was getting in the habit of doing, he left me standing alone in my bedroom.
January 16
It’s official.
Year not starting great.
Only good thing happening is Lucy and I are totally simpatico about the recipes we want in our cookbook.
But our editor is not of the same mind and keeps insinuating himself into the process.
The man has never even been to the Witches Dozen!
I mean, he’s American!
He’s never even been to England!!!!!
One of his notes was, “Americans don’t know what custard is unless it’s frozen. Include recipe for frozen custard, not some syrup you pour on cake.”
Unbelievable!
Syrup you pour on cake?
Blasphemy!
How is this man a cookbook editor?
Then, last night, when we were all settling in, waiting for Chinese delivery in order to start movie night (double bill of Guardians of the Galaxy, which meant a double bill of Chris Pratt and Dave Bautista’s chest), Josie walks in and she’s all, “Why aren’t you talking to Aidan?”
I was surprised because she knew why I wasn’t talking to Aidan.
They all knew.
So I was all, “Do I really have to answer that question?”
Then she was all, “You know, you were totally flipped out at the hospital. I wasn’t there, but I heard about it.”
“And that gives him the right to pretend to be my boyfriend?”
Josie looked to Viv, Su and Lucy.
I looked to Viv, Su and Lucy.
“Don’t look at me, mate,” Lucy said. “I wasn’t there either.”
So I looked to Viv and Su.
“Okay, so, yeah. You were in a bit of a state,” Viv mumbled.
Su actually snorted before she said, “You were totally unhinged, man.”
More repressed memories assailed me, and they were not the catatonic elegance of Jaqueline Kennedy in her blood-spattered pink Chanel on November 22, 1963.
They were of a madwoman on a rampage, shouting about fate, prophesies, her regret at never sharing her love verbally or physically with the man of her dreams, that woman also covered in blood and flinging a wand around on October 31 of last year.
That woman being me.
I quickly re-repressed the memories but did it while Su was saying, “Mom and Mavis had to zap about fifty hospital staff and civilians’ memories.”
Eek!
“Though, fortunately, you didn’t do any lasting damage, to anyone or the hospital,” Viv added.
Well, that was good.
“However, cleanup was still a bitch,” Su muttered.
“So, all right, maybe Aidan and Sebastian took extreme measures to shore up your sanity after that incident, considering it wasn’t only the fact that Ash died that you were reacting to. It was a tough night all around for you,” Josie allowed. “But, Matty, you were a mess. And Aidan was there for you before and after all that. Really there for you. Now you’ve cut him out and he’s really hurt.”
ACK!
Killer guilt trip!
The worst!
I got up, announcing, “I’m not feeling like watching a movie anymore.”
And that was a big sacrifice because Chris Pratt and Dave Bautista’s chest.
Before anyone could say anything (or the delights of CP’s or DB’s chest could entice me to change my mind), I flounced out.
I did not go to the Cottage (Ash was probably there).
I did not go to my mother (she would probably tell me to forgive Aidan, she was the forgiving kind).
I did not go to my grandmother (because she’d taken off again when she got a lead on the whereabouts of my arch-nemesis, Agatha Darling).
I went to Rory.
He was playing a videogame.
I stretched out on his bed and zoned out watching as he raced graphic streets in Monaco (or somewhere).
After a while, he asked, “Do you want to play?”
“No.”
“Okay, so why are you in here?”
“You’re the only boy I like being around.”
He sniggered.
Then he asked, “Are you gonna marry Ash soon?”
Hell no.
“No.”
“Is that why he didn’t buy you a ring for Christmas? Everyone thought he’d get you a ring for Christmas.”
Huh.
“I don’t know why he didn’t get me a ring for Christmas. I don’t know how men’s minds work.”
“I get that. I don’t know how girls’ minds work either. They’re, like, a total mystery. They act one way and you think they like you and then stuff comes out of their mouths that’s totally crazy.”
Hmm.
He paused the game and looked over his shoulder from where he was in a bean bag in front of his telly which was at the foot of the bed, aiming his eyes at me.
“When you get married, I don’t want to be a ring bearer. I’m way too old to be a ring bearer. I wanna be a proper usher.”
“I’ll tell my future husband that, whoever he might be.”
Rory sniggered again then unpaused the game and kept racing the streets of Monaco.
After a while, Rory’s dog Cosmo got sick of watching Rory race the streets of Monaco and he did this with good-dog timing, which meant around the time I got sick of it.
So Cosmo jumped up on the bed and I cuddled up with the only male I wanted in bed with me.
And we both fell asleep.
I woke to Rory whispering, “You can tell she’s a witch because she sleeps with her mouth open, but she doesn’t drool.”
Then I heard Ash chuckle at the same time I felt him pick me up off the bed.
I faked continuing to sleep.
We were down the stairs and heading toward the back door when he said, “I know you’re faking.”
Quandary.
Keep faking to try to convince him he was wrong or give it up and then maybe he’d put me down when I was way too tired to walk on my own two feet back to the Cottage?
I lifted my head off his shoulder and demanded, “Put me down.”
Apparently, there was another choice.
Me telling Ash to put me down and him ignoring me until he was in my room, setting me on my feet beside my bed.
I immediately tried to step away from him.
Ash immediately stopped this by putting his hands to my hips.
I looked up at him.
“How long are you going to milk this grudge?” he asked.
Well!
“We have babies to make, Matty, three of them, and you aren’t getting any younger.”
Well!
“It’s my understanding I can change the prophesies however I see fit by doing whatever I want,” I said. “And I’m kinda fancying Mack.”
“You touch another man, I’ll chain you to the bed first before I find him and break his neck.”
This was said matter-of-factly.
“You’re like a throwback to another age.”
“No, I’m not. I’m flesh and blood, right here, right now, you want me as much as I want you and I’m very much tiring of the couch.”
“You should have thought of that before you tinkered with my heart.”
“Trust me, Mathilda,” he said in a chilly voice. “Seymour and I thought about nothing but your heart when we decided to tinker with it.”
And yep.
You guessed it.
With that, he strolled out.
January 20
It came today.
The summons from the Imperial Order of the Elves to go to BecBec’s trial.
And get this:
It was being held on Valentine’s Day, and not only was Ash also summoned, so was Aidan.
Terrific.
So yeah.
Totally.
It was official.
So far, this year sucked.
And it didn’t seem like it was going to get any better.
January 29
There has never, in my life, been a more dramatic wardrobe crisis than I had in packing to go back to England in order to meet with the BBC about my cookery program, meet with the Institute to take charge of my army, meet with Le Société to try to convince them to go Modernist, and hit the Faerie Realm for the trial of BecBec’s life.
Gah!