Page 19 of The Bairwick Witches
People’s unsolicited career advice made him uncomfortable, which is why he hadn’t brought the issue up during any of the Wednesday Night Check-ins—especially from non-creatives who’d reduced his literary efforts to some intellectual property ready to be milked. If her time was over, he accepted that. Angelique had done well for him, but she left him unsure what to do next. More so, he wanted the conversation to end, wanted Cal to go back to droning on about QED reports, and wanted to get to the drinks with Issac.
Issac.
“You’re a great writer. You’ll figure it out.”
The platitude, while appreciated, was annoying. The sentiment was genuine however, and he thanked him for it. He’d yet to figure anything out and felt no closer with Cal’s vote of confidence.
The pub sign for the Bairwick Tavern swung with a creek above the door, despite there not being any breeze. Schuyler’s eyes brightened at the black cat with a splotch of white on its chest, seated in a stylish, yet crooked, pointed hat, batting an orange ball of yarn. He’d loved the sign since he was a kid, finding it whimsical with the little bubbles coming up from the smiling kitty. He realized far later than he cared to admit that those were boozy bubbles, and the cat was clearly drunk.
While most of Bairwick had grown, remodeled, and changed with the times, the tavern had been enchanted to remain as it was since 1837. He knew Issac would be geeking out over the way the main room was illuminated only by floating candles and filled with witches in their robes, or their full gothic regalia. Allthe genuine mysterious witchy vibes he knew Issac looked for on Main Street.
Schuyler hesitated to enter, remaining fixated by the creaking sign and lingering in the delayed gratification. Once inside, his fantasy Issac would cease to be. The reality of the handsome young man would slide firmly into its place, and the truth could be kind and wonderful, or harsh enough to ruin any imagined future fantasy. Once upon a time, he’d have no problem swooping inside, ordering a strong drink, and wooing the beau of his choice. He questioned wherethatSchuyler had vanished too? Was it age or recent circumstance that unnerved him?
The kitty smiled at him from the sign.
Schuyler’s feet refused to move toward the door. Numerous bad dates had not assisted in rebuilding any of his lost confidence, pushing aside the lustful desires he harbored. He was only there to assist with a spell, he reminded himself, nothing more. Helping witches with magic had been his gig since he was a teenager.
But I want to kiss him. Feel his soft skin under my fingers.
He cycled through reasons not to go in—like their age gap. The sign creaked again. Schuyler raised an eyebrow; a slight shift in the cat’s expressive eyes and mouth made him feel like the animal was giving him a firm, “Girrrl, please.”
“Excuse me, I won’t be sassed by a sign,” he said, shooting the cartoon cat some side eye. There was a sharp, quick slap against his cheek, not from a hand but from a small paw. Still surprised by the quickness of the assault, he rubbed his stinging face and looked at the sign. The cat’s expression now cockier, as if saying,Annnd?
Schuyler put his hands up, admitting defeat. “I’m going, I’m going.” The sign creaked in satisfaction, as he hurried into the tavern.
He found Issac quickly, tucked away at a table in the corner in a light pink striped shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of black and grey attire. He brightened up at seeing Schuyler approaching the table.
“Hi,” Issac chirped warmly as Schuyler sat down. As predicted the young man was overjoyed at his surroundings. “It’s so amazing in here. So real.”
“I knew you’d like it.”
“I’ve had two witchy beers,” he announced with a slight giggle. Schuyler looked at the half-finished glass. It was Bud Light, but he didn’t have the heart to dispel the fantasy.
“And I saw two rowdy witches get, like, zapped out of here by the bartender. She doesn’t seem to put up with any shit.”
“They werePorted,” Schuyler explained. “Transmutation, the quickest way to get rid of annoyance.” He feared for a minute that he’d overstepped by correcting Issac, but he was thrilled to learn the terminology.
“And you can do that?”
Schuyler smiled as he raised his right hand, his middle finger moving rapidly. “Micati” he said. Issac disappeared in a flash of green energy. Schuyler waited a moment, then, moving his right hand and middle finger in reverse, Issac reappeared.
“I was at the beach!” He said excitedly, his smile’s energy spread throughout his handsome face. “Incredible.”
“Thanks, it’s a basic spell, but hard to get pinpoint accuracy unless you’re really clear in your mind.” Without asking, a tray traveled by itself to the table with a gin and tonic sitting on it.Schuyler thanked the tray, nodded at Piper, the bar mistress, and asked that Issac’s and his drinks be placed on Beau’s tab.
“Some of this witch stuff is so cool.” Issac watched the tray float back and rest on the bar until needed again. “Spell! Yes, oh-my-god, I have to thank you. The library helped so much. It took, like, all day, but you were right—those librarians handle business.” Issac launched into the research he tried on his own until he finally relented and asked for help. “They took one look at it and realized it was written in some cipher known as Veilcrix.”
“Veilcrix, wow. I thought the words looked familiar but couldn’t place them. I’ve not written in Veilcrix since high school, and it was considered old back then, but it was effective.”
“That’s what Prudence said too,” Issac recalled. “She said, ‘my uncle wanted to put someone through it’ to figure out this spell.”
Schuyler wanted to know about the spell but prying into someone else’s conjurations was considered rude. If they didn’t offer up the information for the spell they were working on, you didn’t ask.
You judged them later on when it failed though.
“And I found out which components I needed. She said I could get all of this in Bairwick, and I was wondering if you’d help me track these down?” His bright, large eyes fixed on Schuyler’s, who melted when they did. He patted his shorts, searching for something. “It has to be performed on the first night of the full moon, so we have little less than a week and a couple days.”
We?
