Page 3 of The Bairwick Witches
Schuyler adored his uncle Marshall, who,despite the 250lb of imposing ebony muscle would suggest, was the softest, kindest human being. Soft-spoken and of few words, he was the most grounded of the three and a rock for Schuyler whenever he needed one,compared to the overly excitable Beau.
“I’m coven-less, man-less, no career—no prospects, no casual love interests—no prospects. No sex life—no prospects. No visible future past undeniable spinsterhood. I’m going to need sisters. Can I rent them? And, a final insult; no emotional support nuggets to get me through tonight, because you two wanted pizza—before anorgy?”
Beau feigned offense, clutching an imaginary up-do, “are you suggestin’ we don’t have orgy ready bodies? Or is it that I cannot digest dairy as I used to? ‘Cause I assure you I can. And you have prospects; you’ve been hiding from them.”
“And good reason, I’m a forty-year-old loser whousedto. Used to have a career, used to have a husband, used to have a coven.” Schuyler sighed, taking another hit.
“You still got your hair though,” Beau’s syrupy sweet southern accent broke the silence, “and now you can add dad bod to your profile. I think a lot of men are into that right now.”
“Was that a read?” Schuyler asked defensively.
“Nev-ah,” Beau said with a drawl that suggested otherwise as he scooped up the bong and hit it again.
“You are not a loser,” Marshall announced loudly, unhappy with Schuyler’s self-deprecation. “This is just a blip.”
Beau agreed, “you do get the dramatic flair from me though. We are always one Joan Crawford movie marathon away from going over the edge. You’re a diva, be proud,” Beau took another hit. “A diva with a beard that could stand a trimy-trim and your eyebrows.”
Marshall cleared his throat twice, which, in the language of their marriage, signaled Beau to kindly shut up. “Life happens, son, the Goddesses move things, the universe shifts, we deal.”
“You should join us tonight,” Beau added. “There’s always a circle for those without a coven and those who don’t orgy after the ritual—waste of all that full moon energy,though.”
“An orgy is supposed to help me? Why can’t it ever be something like, ‘there’s plenty of fish in the sea’ or, ‘I’ll get the next one,’ something normal like that?”
Beau scoffed, “What an offensive word. And, you know what else is in the sea, kiddo? A pile of garbage the size of New Jersey. So yeah, I’m justified in telling my son a nice tight piece of ass might solve a couple of your problems or ‘least have you forgettin’ them. You haven’t met up with anyone since you’ve been home. Haven’t so much had dinner with a friend. So, come, find you some moon-soaked boo-boo honey all whipped up intoasexual frenzy, and reignite your power.”
“How much weed have you smoked today?” Schuyler questionedas he also took another hit to get through the conversation. “And I’m not going.”
“It’s an orgy. You’ll commune with the moon and get laid. What’s not to like? I know what this is about, don’t think Ihaven’t noticed that not only have younotbeen social lately, but you’venotused any magic since you’ve been home. Not one conjuration. You were hand washing dishes the other night.Hand washing,in this house? You were raised better. A lot of these troubles could be mended with a flick!”
Beau swished his wrist, allowing magenta streams of energy to vibrate off his fingers, lingering for a few moments before fizzling out.
“I haven’t used magic lately; it’s not a big deal.”
“Well,look at your ass—and everything youdon’tknow,” Beau snapped. “It is a big deal, you dumbed your abilities down for those Bay leaf-burning TikTok wannabe witch bitches. Did none of them connect that once you were in the mix their spells worked with more potency?
“That coven chose a loser over you because you never showed them the full extent of your power, did you? We’re Natural Witches, the ones with the deepest connection to the source. Other witches should bow to us, but we don’t have bullshit thinking like that in our community,thankfully. But you amplified them to a level beyond their station simply by being there, practicing with them. Trust me, if they haven’t noticed the difference yet with your absence, they will.
“I love you, but damn, I’m annoyed with you, Monkey. You’re off living out some fantasy life in the windy city, and now you don’t use magic at all? Did magic hurt you, son? Did it touch you when you were drunk at a party on too many wine spritzers? You’re a witch; act like one.”
“There is so much wrong with what you just said,” Schuyler gave up and used the only excuse he could vocalize, “I don’t feel compelled to cast a spell right now.” He didn’t want to tell thetruth, that he’d grown tired of it. That it hadn’t brought him anything but trouble.
“You can’t break up with it; it’s in your very being. You’ve used it so many times today without realizing, or did you walk all the wayaroundMain Street as opposed to the pathway doors?”
Marshall cleared his throat twice. “Beau, leave him be. Magic isn’t the answer to everything, all the time. You’re harping on him for no reason when this isn’t your concern.”
“Notmyconcern, I beg to differ, this is our son.”
“Look,” Schuyler interjected, “it’s just a thought that got into my head, and I’m seeing it through. Magic hasn’t always helped me; sometimes it’s made things harder. I’m just going about lifenotturning to it for everything.”
“It’s odd coming from you, the person who wro—”
“—I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Beau. If I concede and go to the ritual tonight, can we agree to drop this subject altogether, for good?”
“Agreed.” Beau reached for a second piece of pizza but thought against it. “And you’ll stay for the orgy.”
“Beau,” Marshall grumbled.
“What? The boy needs ass, Marshall!”
