Page 1 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
CHAPTER 1
Lochlan
“IS IT NOW TABOO TO WEAR CLOTHING TO EQUINOX EVENTS?” —THE WEEKLY HEX
“The witches are already naked,” Lochlan groaned into his phone.
On the other end, Becket crashed to the floor with a grunt, probably tripping over his own feet in excitement. Naked anything tended to short-circuit his friend’s brain. Lochlan rolled his eyes and stepped behind a bush of honeysuckle to hide from the jiggling boobs and flopping dicks. The late-blooming flowers and their vivid orange colors did nothing to lessen his annoyance at having to attend a Mabon celebration alone.
“You’re shitting me. Isn’t the sun still out over there?” Becket asked. “Who’s naked?”
“Maybe if you didn’t miss your train you’d know.”
“How many witches are we talking about?”
“Beck,” Lochlan grumbled. A few of the blooms wilted with his mood. He took a breath and stroked the petals back to life. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew you weren’t going to be here.”
“Go home then,” Becket said over the sound of a suitcase zipping. “I’ll be there in five hours—we can have a nightcap.”
Lochlan should have known better than to trust his friend to catch his train back to Stella Rune, let alone make it to the celebration on time.
“I was going home, but Nancy from Magical Resources spotted me in the parking lot and she’s a gossip.” He glanced over his shoulder toward a middle-aged woman who was talking animatedly to Ben from accounting—who, like many of the witches, was already naked.
Lochlan tugged at his collar, feeling the gentle warmth of heating spells and the weight of glamours thick in the air. Most attendees had arrived preheated by liberal amounts of spiced mead consumed during private celebrations at home. Being naked wasn’t a strict requirement, but when you combined alcohol, tradition, and supernaturals’ love for anything fun and primal, clothes simply became optional.
Which was exactly why they gathered in a specific section of Stella Rune’s park. Regulars—non-magical humans—weren’t supposed to see magic, much less naked nymphs dancing. Most regs lived in blissful ignorance, and those in charge wanted to keep it that way for their safety. Allegedly. Only regs who married into a supernatural family were allowed to know the truth. It was a rule, and though Lochlan wasn’t sure he always agreed with it, he could see how it might keep everyone safer.
He turned his attention back to the honeysuckle, bringing a few more buds back to life while healing others caterpillars had chewed on.
“I hate coming to these parties.” He usually worked from home, but his boss had forced him to attend to network. He was the lone archivist of the Videt; there was no need to make connections over drinks and nudity. And if he did, no one would remember a thing by morning anyway.
“I know, I’ll make it up to you,” Becket said, breaking him from his thoughts.
“If you don’t, I’ll hide leadwort in your bed and underwear drawer.”
Becket’s deep laugh brought him a little comfort. “I’m guessing that’s some kind of plant that makes you itchy?”
“It’s a Plumbaginaceae.”
“I deal with stars Lochlan, I have no idea what a plumbie-whatever is.”
“We’ve been friends for almost eight years.” Lochlan sighed, realizing how often he’d listened patiently while Becket talked endlessly about stars, planets, and constellations. Clearly, plants hadn’t quite made the same impression in return. “It’s a blueish-purple flower. The oil from it can cause blisters. Or vomiting, if ingested.”
“Lovely. So much for being friends for almost eight years then.”
“Yeah, yeah. How’s your mom doing?” He had wanted to go with Becket, to sit with her, cook, fold laundry, do anything at all. Just like she’d done for him since his freshman year of college. But work had gotten in the way.
“She tripped my stepfather with her crutches this morning. I’m still not sure if it was an accident or not. Probably not, considering he said he was thinking about trading her in for a model that ran better.”
“That’s not very funny.”
“Mom didn’t think so either. But she’s good other than that.” Doors slammed in the background. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t make my train. I’m leaving for the station now and I don’t have any clients in the morning, so you have me all to yourself. Go make some rounds for the lords in power and head home. I’ll call you when I get in. We can go from there.”
“I’m expecting top shelf bourbon.”
“Only the best for you.”
They said their goodbyes and hung up.
