Page 4 of Wooing the Wiccan
She shakes her head. “It’s not a disaster. Pete, the human who’s been teaching some of our classes, has this month off because his wife just had their first child. She’s the cutest little thing—did you know baby vampires are born with fangs? They’re retracted and don’t descend until they’re older, but you can see the little teeth through their gums.”
“Aww,” Caolan says, and we all smile at each other, possibly looking foolish, but tiny babies who belong to other people are worth cooing over.
“Anyway,” Caoimhe says, “we’ve been covering his classes, but someone called in sick today, and I can’t find anyone who can help. It has to be a magic-capable human, sorcerer, elf, or dragon—someone who can see at least some of what’s being done and step in to avert any disasters.”
“Hmm,” Caolan muses. “Maybe one of us could slip out of the meeting to take the class?”
Eoin looks at him incredulously. “Do you want to be the one to tell Steffen that there’s an unexpected situation wheresomeone called in sick and now one of us needs to supervise humans using magic?”
Caoimhe grimaces. “Please don’t. I don’t have time to deal with an interrogation today.”
“I can do it.” I hear the words, but it takes me a moment to realize that I said them. I wasthinkingit was something I could probably handle, but I didn’t exactly plan to volunteer.
The three surprised faces I get are a little annoying, though.
“You can, sir?” Caoimhe asks, then coughs. “I mean, we couldn’t possibly bother you with this. I’ll just send the students a message that today’s class is cancelled.”
My hackles rise. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ve been spellcasting for a long time, I’m free at five, and I’m perfectly capable of intervening if it seems like a human is going to set something on fire. Do I need to teach them anything in particular?” Human magic is slightly different from ours, so I’m not sure how effective I’d be at that.
She slowly shakes her head. “No-o… this group has been learning for a while, and mostly Pete just supervises them and encourages them to try something new. Noah put together a list of things they can experiment with that aren’t dangerous, and once each class masters the basic skills, they work through those.” She hesitates. “Are you sure…?”
“Absolutely,” I declare. “After all, it will affect me just as much as anyone if humans fail to use magic. Leave it with me.” If nothing else, it’s another hour where I can feel a little less lonely.
CHAPTER THREE
Jared
If somebody had askedme last year—just two months ago—if I’d be attending regular workshops on using magic, I would have laughed hard enough to end up with a pinched nerve (that’s actually something that happens when you’re in your forties, as I discovered the hard way). After all, magic is personal. It’s ritual, a communication with nature and the god and goddess. It’s not something you can learn in a classroom.
Yet here I am, fully willing to admit how wrong I was. I might have been skeptical at that first session, but I can’t deny that the last couple of months have put me closer in contact with my own spirituality and the essence of the world than I’ve ever been. Pete, our guide—it seems foolish to call him a teacher when he insisted from the beginning that he’s just here to give us more confidence as we learn—has been very open about using magic to feel more connected to the world and wanting to help others do the same. During the information session, he spoke in detail about how, while our inner magic can’t be used to actively harm, it can be manipulated to do so indirectly. He didn’t outright say it, but I inferred that was why he and his fellow volunteers only contact people who’ve been personally referred to them, rather than advertising on a wider scale. Do no harm is one of the edictsI live my life by, but not everyone in the world feels the same, and given what I’ve learned to use magic to do, I can see how it would be easy for someone to weaponize it. I use magic fire to light candles, but someone else might use it to start a forest fire—or set a building alight.
I stroll into the room at the community center where our weekly sessions are held and glance toward the front to say hi to whoever’s filling in for Pete tonight. They’ve all been great, and I’m glad Pete’s spending time with his newborn, but I’ll be…
…
…huh.
I trip over my own feet and grab the nearest table to save myself from ending up on the floor.
“Whoa! You okay, Jared?” Lynn, one of the other attendees, asks, and heat floods my cheeks.
“Yes, fine. I’m so sorry. I put my foot down wrong.” It’s partly true, but I’m not going to say the rest out loud. I’m embarrassed enough without adding,“Because I want to lick that man all over. Our teacher for today? He can teach me anything he wants.”No. Nope.
But damn, I’d forgotten how long it’s been since I had sex, and one look at the man leaning against the table up the front has brought all my needs and urges to the fore.
Gathering what’s left of my pride, I slide into my usual seat before looking back toward the man who’s definitely going to be the star of all my future fantasies. “Hi. I’m Jared.”
His mouth is curved into a smile, but somehow I know he’s not laughing at me. Taking a moment to actually absorb the details of his face, I concede that he’s never going to get work as a model. He’s not classically attractive—his lips are too thin, his nose a little larger than what most consider aesthetically pleasing. His hair is dark blond and long enough to be pulled into a braid that’s hanging over one shoulder. The neat, silky-looking beard that hugs his jaw is a shade darker, and his eyes are a warm gray. He seems older than he looks, though I can’t say why. Overall, I’m not sure what it is about him that makes me want to beg him to take me home and keep me, but my instincts are only saying good things about him.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jared,” he says, and of course he has to have a nice voice too, and a sexy accent, because the goddess didn’t already bless him with enough. “I’m Raðulfr.”
Welp, I found a problem with my plan for us to spend eternity together. I can’t pronounce his name.
I sometimes run into this issue with my students, but usually I have the class list ahead of time and can google how to pronounce unfamiliar names, so that on the first day, I at least have a shot at getting it close. That’s not an option here—my ears heard what he said, but my brain doesn’t know how to process it.
“I’m so sorry, I’m not familiar with that name and I really want to get it right. Could you say it again, more slowly?”
His smile doesn’t change, and I hope that means I haven’t offended him. “Of course. Thank you for asking. It’s Raðulfr.” He slows it down, but I still don’t quite catch it, and I’m wondering if I dare ask again when he breaks it into syllables, “Roh-low-lish.”
