Author's Note: This is Cerridwen's chapter, and she has alot to say, but she also shows us a completely private side of Sean. Well, maybe not so private...she does encourage him to go a little public.
Songs for this Chapter: Summertime Sadness by Megan Davies featuring Keelan Donovan. This is an acoustic cover on Spotify, not the original. This is the duet that Carrie and Sean sing in this chapter.
Don't You Cry For Me by Cobi.....if you listen to no other song I offer in this book, listen to this one because this is the song Sean sings on the wall at the end of the chapter. This is Sean's voice and Cobi is pretty much how I imagine Sean's sexwitch persona. This guy is incredible!
Cerridwen
I am the first to reach our Priestess after the Rites. I am so incredibly proud of her, I am afraid to hug her. My power has been...erratic lately, since Hearne and I burned our tie. I'm not one hundred percent confident in my control and I don't want to risk any supernatural power flowing out before the humans. I know Hearne wants this to be low-key, a comfortable insertion of pagan values into this festival. Revealing myself as a goddess would not be the way to help him achieve his goals.
I take her carefully by the hands. "You did so well, Alanna," I murmur. I look around. "Do you feel the energy you raised?" She follows my gaze to a group of children weaving in and out of the trees, each chasing the one before, a beautiful undulating chain of innocence and hope and pastel attire. "They feel it, and they won't forget. I won't forget. All my blessings, Child."
"Thank you, my Lady," Lana's face has changed. I see a new composure, and new gentleness. She tries to go to her knees again, but Hearne's clucking coming from behind me stops her.
"Nuh-uh. Rites are over. No bowing. No more Lord and Lady." Hearne has no qualms about his control, he picks her up in a giant hug. "You did great, Girl. I'm so proud. Aren't you, Carrie?" He turns his megawatt smile on me.
"Of course," I smile at him. I know what he's doing. He thinks we can make nice today, with our new Priestess as our substitute child. He hopes she can be our one success, after all the thousands of failed attempts to have a child together. I won't ruin this day, but I already know how this will end. I already told him. I will give her up for him, too.
I squeeze Alanna's hand again, and turn away from Hearne. I see Sean standing half the distance between Dru and I. Dru is talking with Grace and Susan, exclaiming over the ritual with them. I examine Dru carefully, wondering if Hearne is making love to her every night now. She certainly looks...more confident than she did when we came here, and Hearne's love is very...empowering. I wonder what would happen if I snatched her by her shiny caramel hair. Would she have power enough to retaliate?
I sigh. The truth is, I have no desire to snatch Dru by the hair. I can't seem to muster any animosity for this girl, which is insane, because Hearne and Sean are both in love with her. It's not like me, not to enforce my territory, whether or not I actually have a legitimate claim. Where's my fighting spirit?
Speaking of fighting, I can see Sean is at war with himself, wanting to go to her, but compelled by his beautiful decency and the magic we now share to come to me. I smile at him and wave him off, turning to walk downtown. I need to find James Finn and flay him, for abandoning Lana during an important day. I'm sure he's skulking around somewhere, getting drunk to allay his conflicted loyalties. A Roman godspawn, dating a Priestess of the defunct Celtic Pantheon. Ha, talk about a morality conflict.
I'm not surprised to feel Sean closing the distance between us. I should never have gotten torn up last night and spilled my sorrows as he carried me from the bar upstairs to my mattress. He might be my priest now, but he's not my confessor.
"Hey, Carrie," he calls to me several times, but I don't stop. "Cerridwen," his voice resonates with his unbelievable, unconscious witchtimbre. I see several women's heads turn at the sound. Stag, they'll be following him off the field if he uses that voice again.
I turn swiftly, scooping my arm beneath his. "Remember, Cutie...not in public." Sometimes, he forgets. We spend so much time together now, him exercising that voice and calling my true name. Fortunately, it doesn't have quite the same effect on me as it does mortal women, although I do find him adorably sexy when he's purring my name.
"I knew it would get you to turn around, Witch." he looks me up and down cockily, and his eyes are sparkling...the powerful green shining through the dappling of golds and browns in his eyes.
Shit. He's flipped his sexwitch switch.
It's not really as simple as a switch. He can't turn it on and off, and neither can I, at this point. One minute, he's the adorable, easy-going, decent Cutie, and then some external thing will happen at just the moment that he's left his magic and his thoughts unguarded, and he's done for. His sex magic strikes against his soul...like a match in the negative, a dark flame igniting in the midst of day.
It's the tree ceremony that set him off. I guess I shouldn't be surprised—there was a massive amount of energy flowing in that ritual, it was bound to effect him. Plus, it's stressful for him, me and Dru and Hearne all in one place. I know his sexual pendulum is in motion now, he'll have to swing to the apex of his rather intense flare before I can arrest his motion back down at the bottom of his range, where the adorable Cutie resides.
"Well now that you've got me, what do you imagine you could do with me, Lover?" I say patiently, and listen while he growls a few very filthy things in my ear. I perk, interested. His fantasies are highly inventive—magically speaking, but frankly some of them could be quite dangerous to any woman but a goddess, and even I feel slightly nervous about his power. That's why making magical love is off the table right now. I won't even let him use his magic on me while we make out.
I've been trying to teach him to separate the magic from the physical, that's the first step, before he can learn to combine them. So sometimes, I let him practice his witch voice on me—and just like now I let him give free reign to all his dark sexwitch words. Of course, he can't really compel me to do anything, like he might a mortal woman, but I have to admit, a couple of times he's nearly gotten me off with just his voice.
Other times, we make out the mortal way. But the magic and the making out are always separate at this point. Any time he raises his magic when he's touching me—whether with his voice or with his hands— we stop instantly.
We stop alot. So far, he hasn't been able to get past second base with me.
We keep walking, me leaning into his filthy, wicked lips. Eventually, the dirty proposals die out. He blinks, the intensity fades from his eyes, and he bites down on his lip hard, still slightly confused by this instinctual, aggressive part of himself that takes over when his sexwitch switch flips.
"Sorry," he says hoarsely.
I let loose a peal of laughter. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Cutie. I asked, didn't I?" This is how I bring him down. I let him talk it out. Eventually, if I really want to help him, I'll have to let him work it out, but he's not ready for that yet, and frankly neither am I.
But I know at some point, Sean must be taught. In the last few weeks, I've come to understand just how formidable his magic...and his sexual energy...is. I've never seen a witch like him...where the magic and the sex drive are so tightly twined. Every time he makes magic, he gets hot. And every time he gets hot, he wants to bring the magic. Now that he's unbound, I'm afraid Sean will spend all his life controlling his high sexwitch drive, and if he's not properly instructed, I'm afraid he could turn his control issues down dark paths. I wonder for a moment, if I can tame Sean, but I dismiss it. If I can't, then no one can, and the poor boy will have to be bound for life. That would be a shame. I won't let it happen, so failure is not an option.
"Well, I am sorry," he insists. "I came to check on you, not to rape you with my words," he mumbles.
"Actually, I was feeling a little sad, until you amused me just now," I kiss him on the cheek, relieved to have talked him down so quickly, but actually glad that he had this little episode. He should be good for the day now. "You know what triggered you this time?"
"Yeah," he nods, "The ritual. I've never felt that kind of power flowing through me." The one good thing is, Sean was raised by witches. He knows his sexwitchery is not a matter of morality—of him being bad or perverse. He does understand it's just a matter of power and proper expression.
"You've never been in direct divine presence on a Sabaat," I remind him. "If there's anyone to blame, it's me. I should have prepared you better." It's true...my fault for being self-absorbed in sorrow this past week.
He eyes me, hearing the sorrow in my voice. "Well, it's a tough day." He glances at Hearne and Dru, who are watching us. No shit, Sean. "Hey," he deliberately turns me away from Hearne. "I have some time before the bands start arriving. Do you want to head downtown and check out the vendors? Grab a turkey leg? Get your face painted like a fairy?" He smiles at me. "Or maybe dip you own candles?"
Hearne really has made this event a festival—he's recruited a streetful of Renaissance fair vendors to make this a true old-world fair. He's far more nostalgic than I.
I snort. "No thank you, I've probably spent more years than you've been alive dipping candles." I tap my chest. "Pre-electric, remember?"
"Come on, Carrie. You're telling me a goddess dipped her own candles?"
"Mmmmm, shocking, I realize, but true. Once upon a time, I, like all women, was required to attend to the domestic necessities."
This is only a half-truth.
In the spring and early summer, when I was full in the power of Cernunnos's love, mostly I made amusements. Candles weren't necessary. I would call the fireflies to dance through our treehouse high in the forest canopy, and I played instruments—whatever the instruments of the age—to charm squirrels to sweep the floors with their little tails. Since I always hated the washing of clothes, I would waste loads of energy instantly willing them clean.
I also magicked the cooking, but Hearne said it didn't taste as good without the actual mortal effort, so he preferred to cook the food he killed. The one mortal cooking task I always attended was the baking of the bread. Always. Hearne loved it cooked in the mortal way, too, but he was shit at that. He had no intuition for keeping the yeast brew that would make it rise, and not enough attention to keep the woodburning oven at the proper temperature. Over time, I learned to bake other things—honeycakes and little oat patties sweetened with nuts and molasses. Early cookies. I loved the way Cernunnos closed his eyes and smiled at the scents of baking.
So I baked a little, and I spent the warm sunny days making music and singing stories to Hearne while he skinned and cured and cooked. Later I read to him, once books came into fashion. While he was off hunting with the humans, I amused myself by magically decorating our house with vines and flowers and berries, and I was constantly dabbling with some magical home-brews that did various useful things—including enhancing our love-making. They always made our home smell wonderful. Hearne would shake his head at my constant magical putterings, but he loved the goddessing I lavished on our home.
The fall and winters were not filled with amusements. I had no power to spare for such things. In the falls, I followed him from field to field where the humans cut him. I would try to staunch the bleeding and heal him with magic and salves, while I scolded and pleaded with him to come home. He would not. We would argue, and eventually the wounds were...everywhere, and he got weary of admonishing me to care for myself and our unborn child, and he would explode and magically transport me home, where I would only stay for a few days, before coming around for another huge argument.
Until he couldn't argue anymore, and had no power left to send me away. Then he would plead with me to help him finish the task he started...one more time, baby, this is the last time, I promise. Please Cerridwen, they will all die without my blood. He was a god, and he would be on his knees begging for me to let him die for his humans. I would help him to the last field, let the hateful mortals have their sacrifice, and later, when their bonfires died, I would collect his cold, bloodless—often severed—body.
That was on Samhain—the mortals call it Halloween now. Modern people think Halloween is a child's play. In my day, it was a night of terror. Any mortal that crossed me that night met the most fearsome witch the world has ever seen. Over the years, I'm ashamed to say, a few paid with their lives—ones that were particularly brutal with Cernunnos's remains.
Everything I did in the falls of my life was hard work, just like the mortal women. Yes, I dipped candles, and fed chickens, and collected eggs, and dug potatoes, cooked over an iron cauldron, and worked magic over it as well. But I also sewed until my fingers bled, stitching a god's body back together. I gave birth unattended--as thousands of other women throughout history have, but there was no rest once the child was born, for I had not a moment to waste.
The babe never felt a thing, when I pumped out its godpower through the cord. So new to the world, it never missed the power we had blessed it with in creation, the power I took from it at birth. Some of the babes would cry, as my tears watered their perfect downy heads. Before Hearne's first resurrected breath, I was already swaddling the child for the mortal woman who had recently lost her own babe, and waited with empty arms to worship mine.
This was the worst hour of my year—over and over again—the time in which I forced the baby's godpower from it, and left my gasping, resurrected husband while I surrendered the babe before he had consciousness enough to try to convince me to keep our child. I could never keep the child...I never had the strength to care for them both. If I tried to keep them both, either Cernunnos would die or the babe would die. I could not make milk for the babe and magic for him through the long winter.
I tried...with our first frail, mortal child. I never made that mistake again.
So I would never burden Cernunnos with even the briefest sight of another child of his that we could not keep. With his first gasping breaths, I would leave him alive— always, always worrying this would be the year I would return from giving up the child to find he'd slipped away again. And as I left the child in its mother's arms and walked away, I worried more— always, always worrying that this would be the year I had chosen wrong for the babe, that the mortal parents would not love it, or be able to care for it properly. And always, always worrying that this would be the year Cernunnos would hate me for doing what I knew I must.
Funny how that year never came. But eventually, I came to hate myself and him too.
There was no time for self-loathing, during the long winters. There was too much to be done. I scrubbed Hearne's clothes and bedsheets that were always fouled with godblood seeping from slowly healing wounds. I spoon-fed him and bathed him and treated his wounds and milked the goat to put milk into his food. I nursed him in a thousand small ways—rubbing his legs to return the blood flow, and smoothing and twisting his hair, which he did not wear in small twisty braids then, but that hung matted in heavy dreads. I kissed his wounds with magic spells. For a few days after the baby was born I would have goddessmilk, and he never knew that I expressed it and put what little I had in his food. After the milk ran out, I cut myself and put the power of my blood into his cup, and he never knew that either.
Each year, I would return to him nearly all the power he had halved to make me. It's funny that, by the end of his convalescence, he never saw me as I was...a wizened crone, an aged witch. I guess he was just too delirious, too sick, and or too caught up in his own grief over the child to see me. When he was restored on Ostara, and I would collapse, and his one day of caresses and care was enough to restore my physical appearance. The rest of my power, he would return, as he loved me through the Spring and Summer, but each year, I felt the transfer of his strength a little less. I felt a little older, and a little colder.
Towards the end of our time, I made no spring and summer diversions to charm Hearne. I spent little time in our home. I was away, in Ireland, for much of spring and summer, raising a new subset of Celtic gods...the Tuatha de Danaan, or the Tribe of Danu, as they were called in English. They were revered as gods, but they were really a tribe of powerful witches, and together, we endeavored for many years to find a better magical solution for Cernunnos's return than sacrificing my children's godpower. But no matter what I did, I could never find a way to restore Cernunnos, preserve the child's godhood, and keep myself strong and healthy enough to risk keeping the child.
I will not tell Sean any of these details. What he gleened last night from my drunken ramblings was only the barest understanding of the dysfunctional cycle I lived for thousands of years. Not the details. Not the true sadness.
No, I will not make the mistake of deepening his vision. Sean has enough darkness shadowing his own sweet soul. Instead, I smile at him.
"Have you ever dipped a candle?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Well, it's a satisfying task the first ten thousand times, I suppose," I squint at him, and then pull him along. "Come on then, modern mortal, let us revisit the old ways."
We stroll downtown, and Sean and I dip candles, and he eats a turkey leg, but I notice that something is off with the crowd. Despite the roving minstrels and the light sunny day, the vibe is tense. There is constant muttering and discord in the growing crowd. Men shouldering against each other, women pulling their children close with tightened looks on their faces. Hunched shoulders, hushed voices. Not the free and easy spirit of the Imbolc festival. It only takes minutes for me to figure out why.
Everywhere I see a mutter of discontent, an angry word, or a posturing shoulder shove, I see Roman Godspawn. They are dressed like mountain folk, blending in, and sowing discord.
Fucking Mercury. I cannot believe I slept with that...Roman. I can't believe how bad he was in bed either, but that's not the point. The point is that Mercury is a horrible person. Why is he spoiling Ostara? Hearne has never opposed the Romans in any way. Hearne doesn't have a political bone in his body. The only thing he ever did was chop up one scummy Roman legionnaire that I lost my temper with, and he only did that because I refused to lift a finger to bury the man. I would have left his corpse to rot where it lay, but Hearne was afraid the body would be found and his precious mortal villagers blamed for it. But I doubt the Roman gods knew about that, or would care in the slightest if they did. The Romans gods came to power after the legionnaires had conquered our corner of the world anyway. After Hearne lost his horns.
Oh. Of course. That's what this is about. Mercury knows this festival is Hearne's project. They see it as an official Sabaat, and perhaps they are right. Perhaps any energy raised here will fuel the regrowth of Hearne's horns. Apparently the Romans are actually scared of Hearne making a comeback. I didn't believe Mercury when he said they were going to expand operations. The Romans haven't actively done anything in fifteen hundred years...they've only lived off the energy of civilization.
Godsdammit. Can't a girl catch a break? I have a tremendous hangover from last night's pity party. I just wanted to get through the ritual and go back to my sad sorry mattress and forget that today is the day I made the biggest mistake of my life.
I never meant to take his horns. I just needed...a break. I was so exhausted.
The memory of that last Ostara shifts my energy now. I was so weak that day, and I realize I am so much stronger now. Strong enough to deal with Minimus Mercury. I'm going to figure out what Mercury is planning and foil it before Hearne finds out, because I don't know what Hearne will do if he comes face to face with a Roman god who's fucking with him and who also was recently fucking me.
And he is nowhere near strong enough to battle a Roman god, not even Mercury. Civilization empowers a Roman god. Not that I'm strong enough either, for an all-out battle of god wills, but at least, I have my witchy ways.
Sean, finishing his turkey leg, is beginning to notice the disruptions in the crowd. He tosses the turkey bone in a trash bin, instinctively moving to break up a small shoving match that has started. I stop his motion, wave a hand at the two mortals, praying I have enough energy to erase the conflict from their minds. I do, but I feel my glamour waver as I release the power.
Sean notices. It's the first time he's seen it slip and his eyes widen. To my surprise, his face doesn't narrow into disgust, but he only looks thoughtful as he gazes between me and the two mortals I just magicked. He says nothing, but he's a witch, and I'm sure he realizes now, that my youth is just a glamour, and that its energy costs are high.
Someone jostles us, and he puts an arm around me and surveys the crowd, which is starting to roil in discontent. "What the hell is wrong with these people?" he mutters.
"They are Romans," I mutter.
"Romans?" he repeats. "Like from...Italy?"
I laugh. "No. The spawn of the Roman gods." I say distastefully. "Back in the hey-day of the Roman Empire, their gods were engendeared, and they had a bad habit of philandering all over the world. They made lots of little unplanned demi-gods, before modern women started taking reproduction into their own hands. Those demi-gods breed with humans and over time you have...watered-down godspawn." I gesture at various spots where godspawn are shoving, arguing, intimidating. "The Roman gods employ them as henchmen. They are trying to ruin the festival. They don't like Cernunnos."
Sean made a "Hmmpph," noise as if to agree with their sentiment.
Suddenly, for the first time, I am irritated with my adorable human.
"Hearne's been very tolerant with you, you know," I remind him. "I can't believe he hasn't moved against you, not one time. Not when you snarled at me in the coffee shop, not when you punched him, not when you called him out for what he really is, and not for sending Dru to him reeking of your scent, every time she walks in his door. Can you imagine how galling that is to the Lord of the Hunt—for his prey to be captured and pawed by another, and then released to him?"
"Can you imagine how galling it is to Dru to be thought of as prey?" he says sarcastically. "Or for that matter, how disturbing it is to me--to know that I put my life in your hands to protect me from the same god you divorced for treating you like shit, and now whose side you are suddenly and completely taking? What the hell, Goddess? Twelve hours ago you were crying to me that you hate him, that you would have rather died a mortal twelve thousand years ago than had the life you spent with him. "
Now I really want to smite Sean, for the first time. How dare he? I wave my hand in irritation. "Of course I didn't mean that...I was just drunk. You need to understand something, Sean Faraday. Hearne was a terrible husband, but he's a god and he made me immortal with his love, and for that I will always...honor him." I hissed. "I'm not on his side when it comes to you and Dru. But I've decided, I am on his side against the Romans. And we are getting off the point. The point is, we need to do some crowd control. This isn't just about Hearne, it's about all these mortals. You are my Priest, my Emissary to humanity, are you not? This is no time for you and I to be...divided."
I gesture to a little blonde boy, who is maybe three. I've been tracking him as he drifted away from his distracted father who is arguing with a Roman godspawn. I flick my hand, my glamour slips, but the little boy does not return to his father. Without thinking, I pull away from Sean, stride forward and intercept the child, just as I am about to lose sight of him in the crowd. To my surprise, he leaps into my arms. I'm momentarily stunned. I know how protective these mortals are of their offspring. If the father sees me holding the child, will he assume I mean the boy harm? Will he scare the boy in his attempt to intervene? I look into the child's round, blue eyes, and his little pink lip begins to tremble. He's going to cry. And if the child wails, I know I'm going to lose it. I promised myself I would not cry on Ostara, for the first time in twelve thousand years.
Not even over another lost child.
Not knowing what else to do, I look at Sean. Sean's irritation softens into a blank look as I silently plead for him to do something. Great, the terror is contagious. Sean is looking between me and the father of the child, who still hasn't noticed the boy in my arms, and then Sean's face resolves into determination and he is by us, patting the little boy on the back.
"Hey, little man. Let's find your dad, okay? I know him. Your daddy's name is Martin, right. Martin Buchanan?" The little boy's lip stops trembling and he nods. Sean is dragging me through the crowd by the sleeve while I carry the boy. "Do you have a big brother? Named Leander?" The blond head bobs. "I thought so."
Sean smiles at him "What's you name?"
"Calloway," the little boy mumbles in soft round syllables. I blink. Hard. I knew a family of Calloway's once. Kind, for mortals. Of course, I would only give my babes to the kind ones.
Sean looks from the boy to me. "It's okay," he says. I think he's talking to us both. Then he turns and calls to the dad. "Martin! Martin Buchanan!"
Martin turns, an angry scowl still on his face, but seeing Sean gesturing toward me and the boy, his face morphs to confusion and then relief as he understands we've found his son wandering off. As the Roman moves off, Martin practically snatches the boy from me, hugging him fiercely and admonishing him softly. "Cal! You have to hold Daddy's hand, 'member?"
He nods thanks to me, and looks at Sean.
"Sean Faraday? Leander said you were back," Martin looks wary of Sean, and I realize he knows Sean is a witch. This man is not.
"Well, I'm here at Sabit," Sean says neutrally.
"How's your daddy?" Martin's voice is thick with Southern accent.
Sean shrugs, and to my amusement, his accent thickens a little to match Martin's. "He's alright. Don't complain to me, at least."
"I hear ya," Martin says. "You been up the Mountain to see your mama?"
Sean shook his head, "Nooooo sir, can't say I have." Sean grins a little mischievously. "Can't say I plan to, neither."
Martin grins back. "You better, she might take a ride down here," he warns.
Sean laughs at that, but I see a little flare of nervousness in his aura as Martin thanks me again. "Ma'am, I appreciate your help with my boy."
Calloway gives me a solemn, round-eyed wave over Martin's shoulder. Then he smiles, and buries his face shyly in his father shoulder.
Martin strolls off. Sean looks embarrassed, but all of our irritation at each other is gone. I kiss him briefly on the lips. The buzz, as always, tickles. "Thank you. I didn't know what to do. I'm not...good with kids."
He smiles and shakes his head, "I think you did just fine." He leans close, using just the barest of witchtimbre, more comforting than sexual. "Leander and Calloway's mother is a Mystic Mountain Covener. Real nice witch, her name is Janet. Janet Calloway. That's why little Cal climbed into your arms...the boy knows a good witch when he sees one."
He wants to comfort me but I won't let him. Not today. I pinch his cheek. "I can't decide which aspect of Sean Faraday I like more. The Cutie, the Sexwitch, or this secret aspect...I believe that they call that the Good Ol' Boy?"
"Yeah well, you know what folks say around here," he plays up the accent, sounding very much like Lana when she's drunk . Except he adds a little more witchtimbre for my entertainment.
"What do they say?" I ask, my heart full of amusement at Sean's willingness to play. I guess he's comforting me after all.
"You can't escape your raisin'."
I nod sagely. That's the opening I need to redirect him. "No truer words, Witch. These mountain folk are your people," I wave at the crowd. "I know you don't always feel the connection, but they are, and things are about to turn bad for them," With my witch's intuition, I can tell the crowd will continue to roil, until it boils over, unless we do something to change the vibe. I don't know why I care about the mortals. For Hearne's sake, I guess. But I don't mention him, that's not the way to win Sean's help.
"Will you help me, please?" I ask him. I don't command him. I really would prefer his help, not his obedience.
His face softens. He knows damn well I could have commanded him, and I didn't. He turns my head toward him, and brushes a buzz against my lips. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I just want the day to go well for you. Of course, I'll help you, Carrie. What do you want to do?"
I gesture down the street to Malone's. "Will you bring the guitars, please?"
"Not your fiddle?" he asks. It does get people's attention, but I'm not planning on being the center of attention.
"No, I was thinking the acoustic duet?"
He smiles. We've been practicing. He's never sang in public, but he's very good. That voice will divert the energy in this crowd, if he channels it properly. Surely with his sexwitch switch flipped off for the day, he can manage to raise a happy vibe.
While Sean strides off to the room above Malone's, I find my other objective: James Finn.
He's skulking around one of the beer trucks, which is weird since they don't open until after the egg hunt. He's agitated, looking around in a paranoid kind of way as he slips through the crowd, but I learned a little something about stalking, in the ten thousand years I was married to the expert. I slip ahead of him. I'm waiting for him at the next bottleneck point in the crowd. He jumps as I slip my arm into his.
"Jupiter!" he hisses and then relaxes when he realizes its me. He offers me his flask. It has the Roman acronym SPQR inscribed. I hand it back without drinking.
"Careful, your filthy Roman tunic is showing. You wouldn't want Lana to see you in a dress, would you?" I tease.
He ignores that and instead asks, "Is she mad I missed the Rites?"
"She had higher priorities occupying her thoughts," I pull out my phone, and show him a picture I snapped of Lana while she was delivering the opening prayer. Finn takes the phone from me, and his face goes totally blank. He closes his eyes, and his face looks almost pained as he says, "She looks beautiful." He looks at the picture again, greedily. "She did well?"
"She is my Priestess. She did perfectly," I tell him. "She knows, by the way. About us. Not about you."
He pales. "Are you going to tell her what I am?"
"That depends on how the day goes, Finn. I mean, if your fellow Roman godspawn start a riot and Hearne ends up killing half of them, and we all end up in some kind of deja-vu Roman-Celtic clash, I suppose she'll need to know she's sleeping with the enemy."
"I am not her enemy," he says. "I am not your enemy. You can't help the family you are born into. Hell, I kept the knowledge of the Rites from Mercury, to make sure there was no trouble for Lana this morning. But I couldn't keep all this," Finn sweeps across the festival, "from him. Hearne's been marketing for weeks. All the Appalachians know about the new and improved Sabit Spring Festival."
"What is Mercury planning, James?"
James looks away. "Cerridwen, do you know what they do to traitorous Roman godspawn?"
I swallow. "They don't still...crucify?"
James shoots me a horrified look. "Gods, no. Worse. They freeze your assets. They ruin your credit, they ruin your reputation. They steal your identity and defraud you. They accuse you of terrorism, racism, sexism, agism all over social media—whatever will hurt you most depending on who you are, what you do, where you live. They absolutely ruin you."
I roll my eyes. "James, do you really want to work for gods like that?"
"No," he hissed, "but they are like the mafia. It's a family, you can't get out." He looks around the crowd, suddenly paranoid. "Look I can't be seen with you. Not today. I don't know everything Mercury is planning. But I just tested the beer to confirm my suspicion—the beer trucks are spoiled. I know they've planted some extra eggs for the egg hunt that might make people sick...just a little sick...you know, for bad press." He pulled one out of his pocket. "I saw Mercury give another godspawn two dozen tainted eggs. But I only managed to follow the guy that was hiding him and intercept the first one, before he started getting suspicious. And that's not all. I heard Mercury calling in a Royal Strike on the concert tonight."
Carries eyes widened. "You mean...Jupiter's attending to it personally?"
James nodded. "You should get out of here. Take Lana away, please."
"I can't do that, James. We stand with Cernunnos. Where's Mercury?" I need to get to him. Maybe I can reason with him. Or seduce him, whichever it takes.
"Not coming until the big finale. Right now I'm supposed to be sabatoging the vendor's tech, so they can't take payments. Mercury hates for anybody to make money, except him." Finn shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the two old ladies that ran the candle dipping kiosk. "But I already decided...fuck that. I'm not helping that Greedy Bastard bust the day for these people—this is their livelihood. Let's hope I just get demoted and not black-listed."
He tries to slip away, but I pull him back by the sleeve. "Wait! What are you going to do instead?"
He gestures to the crowd. "Try to stop some of my asshole distant cousins from making too much trouble."
"Nooooo, let me handle that," I say. "I need you to find Dru, figure out some way to let her know there's a problem with the egg hunt—she's in charge of that. Listen, do you have a credit card?"
"Sure," he shrugs. "Why?"
"Get ready to max it out. After you warn Dru, she'll figure that out...she's a smart girl. I need you to find Lana, grovel at her feet, and convince her to help you and Leander and Steven, too. And give them this one," I pull out my own credit card from my phone case. "Beer and wine...the four of you hit every store, bring as much as your trucks can hold, and then do it again. And again. If word gets out the festival doesn't have beer, then you know what will happen."
Finn nodds knowingly. He's a senior, and been in the mountains long enough to know. "Folks will bring the shine down for the concerts."
"Yes, and we don't need moonshine madness at this festival tonight. It's a full moon."
Finn hesitates. "I'm probably going to get terminated for this you know. Fuck it. I might as well quit and join your...organization."
I grab his arm. "Don't quit. We could use...a man on the inside. "
"You're asking me to assume alot of personal risk," Finn observes.
"You truly want to join us?"
I see it in his eyes, before he answers. He'll do anything for Lana. Even deny his own tiny stream of godspawn strength. Crazy, the love he has for her. He answers me in a low voice. "I want to be on Lana's side. Always."
"Then, this is your path to her Pantheon. It's not enough just to love her. She deserves to know she loves a brave man."
His eyes burn, and he nods tersely, pocketing the credit cards and striding away. I let out a sigh of relief. Money and booze. Yes, I can count on Finn to handle a task involving those two things. He'll manage it perfectly.
The crowd's temperature is rising. I hear several spots of angry voices, but no one seems to be overly concerned. I've stirred enough cauldrons to know that this is the kind of stew that will boil over all at once. I feel almost...desperate for Sean to return. I hop onto a cafe table at the end of Main Street looking for him. I see him coming, one guitar strapped on his back and one under his arm. He and Finn pass, exchange unpleasantries and separate, each stepping away from the other dissatisfied that no blows were exchanged.
Lana is going to have a time with those two, if Finn indeed survives the task I've set to him. I feel slightly guilty asking him to spy, but what's life without a little risk?
I hop down and meet Sean in the middle of the street, taking my guitar. We make a show of tuning them, and strumming up a little energy. I laugh and toss my hair, trying to attract attention. Sean looks slightly ill, he's never performed in public, but I put my hand on his heart.
"Misneach," I say. Courage. The first word I ever said to my adorable mortal.
He remembers. He smiles and takes the lead with an impressive yet seemingly effortless picking, while I strum the rhythm. He's an accomplished guitarist, but his voice is a thing of natural beauty. It rings out clear, the witchtimbre pitched to draw the attention of the crowd. His tone is perfect...resonant, but youthful, and his words slide to up and down the melody like he was born to sing for people. I join him at the chorus and he pitches up to the harmony, and suddenly the performer's attitude kicks in, and his whole presense is...mesmerizing.
Dammit, again? I thought I put that little sexwitch to bed today.
I strum and groove with him and watch the sexwitch rising again, and then thankfully it's my turn a take verse, so I put my magic in my voice, pushing an unspoken message to remind him to control his magic.
A little sexwitch for this is perfect, I'm singing to him with my melody, but not too much. Center yourself, Cutie.
He nods and smiles, and then we are at the chorus again, our voices rising above the crowd, weaving around each other's. I begin to stroll through the crowd and he follows, strumming and slapping the guitar, drawing the crowd's attention.
Everywhere, people stop, and begin to nod and sway. Petty arguments and grievances are forgotten. College kids who know the song begin to sing along. The mood in the crowd shifts, and even the Roman godspawn are forgetting their task of troublemaking. Our duet is so intoxicating even Sean and I don't want it to end. As if we practiced it a thousand times, we strum through the bridge and chorus twice more, improvising new harmonies. When we finish, the crowd doesn't clap or cheer.
They wait expectantly for another.
That's the only duet we've practiced together. Sean shrugs, winks, and takes the lead on a new but familiar song, and I find the harmony at the chorus. We are making musical magic now—people are following us. By the end of this song, Sean has made his way to the South Dorms and he leaps up on the wall that Hearne and I stood on the first time we saw him.
People sit on the grass to watch him as he starts up a third song. I don't know this one—but it's clear to me by now that this has been his show anyway. It's fitting that he's coming out as a musician on the Spring Equinox, because every single thing about his performance is like today, the perfect balance of light and depth. It all counterbalances...the youth and power of his voice, the casual but assured stance on the wall, his easy strumming rolling into a suddenly intricate picking, the messy hair and the determined mouth.
I watch his lips and his throat move as his eyes close, and for a moment, I forget that I am a twelve thousand year old goddess. For a moment, he is fucking undeniable. I am so happy he is mine.
I'm like the crowd.
Hooked on Sean Faraday.
A/N: Please consider voting for my Cutie/Sexwitch! I'm so hooked on him, just like Carrie, ha-ha! I know he's not a god---yet---but man, does he have potential!