Page 19 of Wooing the Wiccan
May the waxing strength of your moon
inform the growth of new skills and new love.”
A breath catches in my throat, though thankfully he doesn’t seem to hear it. I was right to come tonight. I was right to decide that I’d give things a chance between us. I was right. Surely this, plus the life force’s fondness for Jared, are signs that he would accept who I am and the secrets I’m currently keeping from him?
I’ll have to wait to find out. Even I know it would be foolhardy to disclose everything now. This first rush of attraction and lust may fade.
Jared sits meditatively for a few more minutes, then murmurs thanks to his goddess and god. His eyes narrow in concentration, drawing on the life force. A moment later, both candles go out.
A delighted grin spreads across my face. I helped him learn that! And he’s been practicing, to be able to coordinate in two directions without a spell or anything.
He lifts his hand and gestures in a counterclockwise direction, and the circle dissipates, the energy absorbed back into nature. I stand, and Marge must decide she’s had enough of me, because she stretches and jumps down from my arms, heading to the house.
Jared turns his head toward me. “I hope you weren’t too bored,” he says tentatively, and I shake my head.
“I wasn’t bored at all. Aside from the pleasure of watching you use magic so competently and elegantly, I found the ritual itself fascinating. Is it okay for me to come there? I have some questions.”
His face lights up, though he keeps his smile small. “Of course. Or we can go inside—it’s always warmer in the circle, but you’ve been sitting in the cold.”
I step inside the sage border and kneel on the clover beside him. “Let’s do both. I’d like to know what all these things are for, please, and I can help you put them away while you explain. If that’s okay,” I add, belatedly realizing there might be a rule about other people touching some of the items.
“It’s fine,” he assures me, “though it’s not really something that needs two people. I tend to prefer a simple altar, though there are times I feel the need for more ceremony. This,” he touches a finger to the shallow bowl with the fruit in it, “is myoffering to the god and goddess. It’s customary to return it to the earth once the ritual is done. Some people prefer to bury it, but I think scattering it in the garden meets the same purpose.” He stands gracefully, lifting the bowl, and disperses the contents under the tree. When he returns, the bowl is set aside.
“The incense is supposed to burn until it’s finished,” he explains, gesturing to the simple metal holder the stick is standing in. “Which is why for outdoor rituals, I cut the sticks if I think it’s not going to be a long one. I don’t want to be responsible for an accidental fire or for some curious animal getting burned.”
“I did wonder why the stick was so short,” I admit, impressed by his forethought. “That’s clever. How much longer do you th—” I stop when the last remnant of the incense goes out, the rising smoke thinning to wisps and then nothing. “Nicely played.”
He chuckles. “Do this enough times, and you get to be an expert. I figured I’d need about thirty minutes, and I was right.”
I reach out and let my hand hover over the small piece of bamboo remaining in the holder. “May I?”
“Yeah, sure. The stick will be hot, though, so don’t touch it. I’ll run it in water before I recycle it.”
He’s so thoughtful. Carefully, I lift the holder off his altar and place it beside the bowl. “What are the crystals for?”
Jared names each one as he picks it up. “Quartz, moonstone, aventurine, amethyst. All stones that would boost my purpose tonight. I don’t always use crystals in my rituals, but sometimes they help to give me focus.”
That makes sense on several levels—crystals come from the earth, and since, unlike plants, they don’t die when cut from their source, they retain a connection. I don’t say that, though. It would be too easy to accidentally give too much away.
“That just leaves the candles and the cloth.”
“Heh, the cloth isn’t important. I use it because I like it. But the candles represent the god,” he points to the one on the right, then to the left and adds, “and the goddess. Or not represents them, exactly, but pays tribute to them.” He adds them to the other items on the grass, then whisks away the cloth. “And as you can see, my altar when I’m out here is this very handy container that doubles as storage.”
“Practical,” I agree, helping as he begins packing things inside the tub. “I like that you can set your altar up anywhere. That seems far more sensible than those religions that require worship to take place in limited spaces.”
“I’ve always liked it,” he admits. “The god and goddess—the world, nature, everything—are all around us. Why should our reverence for them be restricted?”
I clamber to my feet and bend to pick up the container. “May I carry this for you?”
He smiles shyly as he rises also. “Thank you. That’s kind.”
We turn toward the house, and I ask, “You said earlier that the container is your altar when you’re out here. Do you have a different one inside?”
He nods, leading the way past the healthy herb beds. He has an excellent late-winter crop, and I hope he’ll invite me over to garden with him one day.
And that I can return the invitation. My rooftop garden might not be the one I had to leave behind on my homeworld, but it’s still important to me.
“Yes, I have a permanent altar in the second bedroom. Well, semi-permanent. It’s a beautiful hand-crafted wood and resin tray. It lives on top of my bookcase, and I move it around when I want to use it. I thought about buying a table and doing something actually permanent, but that would be harder to move around the house, and sometimes I want to use different rooms.” He holds the door open for me, and I enter the warmkitchen. Marge is curled up on the table, watching us with unblinking eyes.
