Page 18 of The Bairwick Witches
And this time it’s not caused by poppers.
Still reeling a bit from the experience, he smiled at everyone he passed on his walk back. Was Issac hard to read or was Schuyler out of practice? A question which puzzled him until he reached the shop, where he realized he’d forgotten Beau’s candy.
Chapter Eight
In the rear of Yen Garden, in the burgundy-colored booths which circled a trickling fountain was in the dimmest of the popular Chinese restaurant’s lighting, Schuyler mindlessly pushed his pork fried rice around on his plate. Cal discussed the bullet points of his day; meetings this, reports that, someone in some department somewhere did something.
Sky’s mind tapped out after ten minutes and raced ahead to the future. Issac had texted as he was getting ready to meet Cal, confirming they were still on for later and to meet at the pub next to the inn.
He kissed me on the cheek. Was he just being nice?
The pub meant a drink, but what after? Walking around downtown? Hanging out in his room? Seeing a late-night adult puppet show? Schuyler preferred deets as they eased his frazzled mind, but until then he remained happy, stewing in anticipation for the chance to spend time with Issac. Envisioning possibilities and the conversation they’d have.
“So…” Cal said, raising his voice and signaling his awareness of Schuyler’s distraction. “You said you were doing healings all day since Beau didn’t get his candy. How do they work?”
Schuyler took a second to readjust his focus to the present conversation and not the imaginary one. “Sorry, zoned out for a moment. What was that about healing?”
“Yousaid you were doing them all day.” Cal appeared annoyed as he bit into his sesame chicken. “You never change, mind still drifting off somewhere else.”
“Yes—normally to naked, dancing men. It’s the gAy-D-HD, my apologies. Healings are the Croy family business. Passed down through the generations. A blend of potions and spellwork which help clear the pathways from the genitals to the heart to the brain. Some spells silence the cerebral noise; others open and strengthen blood vessels. Some allow those an easier path to orgasm. A couple even amplify confidence, bringing forth more of their authentic self, whether they’re trying to be a better lover or a better gooner. Spoiler alert: everyone is freaky in some way—they’re merely hiding it.”
Cal appeared interested, sitting up, ignoring his fork full of food. As most were once Schuyler explained the spells and what they did. “Maybe I should get one?”
“Are you sure I didn’t treat you to the experience? Feels like I would have before we went out partying. I highly recommend one. The potion is basically herbal MDMA, helps them relax into an open minded, euphoric state. I swoop in, give them a little of the ol’ razzle dazzle noodle fingers.”
Schuyler held his hands out and wiggled his fingers, letting the magenta energy flow from them in slender noodle-shaped streams. “These clear the brain, potion clears the heart, and the client brings themselves to orgasm, clearing the genitals. Theorgasm is important because that potent energy from the full-bodied release fuses the spell, setting it in place.”
“Isn’t that a little awkward?” Cal questioned, though Schuyler saw the hint of a smirk appearing.
“Not at all, it’s a sacred blissful moment. One of the only ones we’re capable of conjuring for ourselves in physical form. It’s an honor to be present and witness, unattached from the responsibility of its arrival. I’m simply behind them, clearing away their messy neural network with ancient hand-me-down incantations, and keeping an eye on the clock, hoping there’s not too much mess for me to clean up when they’ve finished.” He laughed a bit to himself as he sipped his soda, thinking of all the bitching that’s gone down over the years about cleanup.
“You are seeing the peace and bliss the moment carries with it,” Schuyler added, reaching for an eggroll. “Pure natural magic at its most primitive and powerful—especially when the mind and heart are unburdened. I’m grateful to have a hand in bringing that level of peace. And really, I’ve been doing this since I was eighteen, so it’s all clinical for me at this point.Oh, another labia. Oh yes, another penis, huzzah, my day is made.”
“Then you’re a Healer?”
“Oh no, that’s Beau and Marshall. I’m simply a practitioner under them. Not a full Healer. I’m a writer—who doesn’t write anymore.”
“Why not? What happened?”
Schuyler was grateful he was mid-chew with his eggroll, which he took his time finishing. He silently chastised himself for bringing the topic up. “No one wanted them,” he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “My publisher certainly didn’t. But,” he added, raising his half-finished Coke Zero, “Angelique Spicer lives on in the bargain bin of every used bookstore acrossthis great land. Cheers.” Schuyler’s tone was self-mocking. He swigged his soda like booze. Like the drink he would have later, with Issac.
Not to be rude, but can we get to that already?
Cal’s eyes dropped, saddened by the finality in Schuyler’s voice, the self-deprecating “cheers” comment. He offered a quiet, “Sorry to hear that.”
“‘Tis okay my friend. It was a nice run. A lot of baby witches got a better head start because ofher.”
“Her? You mean you.”
“No one knows who I am. They know Angelique, the old lady who wrote books in her country kitchen and taught them folk remedies and nature magic. They wanted her, until they didn’t, but never did they want me.
“And I’ve no clue what to write now.” And there they were, the words he’d avoided vocalizing. The nagging thought which haunted most of his waking hours. One he constantly hid from. Thats why working in the shop, dating, and this newfound crush on Issac were such welcome distractions. Writing was his first passion, his one true love, but lately the feeling was that writing had divorced him too.
“Can’t you attach her name to something else? I mean she’s essentially an IP, right? She’d have a couple decades worth of a fanbase, some type of social network following. I’m sure there’s avenues to explore.”
Schuyler’s agent had sent feelers out to other publishers about Angelique finding a new home. The response was lukewarm. “I’m not really on social media, Cal. It steals time from writing. And listen, maybe there are others, but the only avenues I take lead me to the library for research and back to my desk to write.
“Or used to anyway.”
