Page 36 of The Bairwick Witches
Schuyler stood still, stunned. Did he want to go home? Did he want to Port Issac back to the Inn? He wanted to scream and throw hands, to curl up and cry.
“When were you going to tell me, Issac? Two nights from now, when it’s time to perform the spell? After? How about when the first man I ever loved is revived and staring me in the face?! Wouldthathave been the best time to tell me about this? Do you have any idea how fucked up this all sounds?”
“I do. I only came here to talk to him. That’s it. To say what I needed to. I didn’t expect anything else to happen. I didn’t know I’d have feelings for you. Please don’t leave like this.”
Issac reached to take Sky’s hand, but he snatched it away.
“Like what—betrayed?” Schuyler snapped loudly, which caught a few other customers’ attention. “You hurt me.”
“I didn’t mean to, I… I-—”
Schuyler scowled at Issac, who started crying, and without another word, Sky Ported himself away to Shipton Circle.
Schuyler sat on the outer edge of the benches that looked in on the large circular fountain. Around its base and the pavers which spread out fifteen feet were inscribed with the names of women falsely accused of witchcraft who’d been executed throughout the world.
The three Elders were carved into the wide column in the center of the fountain, each with their arms up, holding a large basin from which water poured. It symbolized eternal gratitude to the women who lost their lives in the wake of hatred. The fountain, a memorial, was a gathering place for many female-led covens during certain phases of the moon to honor the fallen women.
Schuyler focused only on the steady stream of water falling over the lowered portions of the basin and not on the witches milling around the fountain. Some were standing and talking, others sitting, some reading, some writing. None of them appeared to be reeling from recent revelations like he was.
How nice for them.
What the hell had happened? Had there been signs he’d missed? Or had he truly been blindsided? He didn’t know Dev had kept a journal. They were about to move in together when the accident happened; maybe he would have learned then?
Maybe I would have known about my potential nephew and not Analmanced him.
Now there was a chance to see Dev again, albeit briefly. But would that be worth the heartache? Reunited for an hour? Less? Not enough time to say everything needed.
And then I’d lose him all over again.
Dev wrote spells all the time, but why was there a spell in his journal about bringing someone back from the dead? Why had Dev’s mother, Adriana, never passed anything of Dev’s down tohim, despite him asking? Schuyler had some items stored away, things which were left in his room: underwear, socks, CDs. All these were thoughts he’d packed away long ago, and now they were everywhere.
I could see him again.
There were too many coincidences with the spell; timing which did not make sense, which Schuyler passed off as synchronicities—a sign he was on the right track before. If Issac had told him the truth up front, would he have agreed to help at all? Schuyler tried to think of what he would have done. One of the fundamentals was thatdead is dead. We move on, move forward, to what’s next.
But if the spell could work?
I don’t know.
Betrayal was all he could focus on. Issac knew who he was and what Dev meant to him, yet he continued being intimate with him without a word. Schuyler recognized that to Issac, Dev was simply words on a page, an echo of the past. Perhaps the situation wasn’t as odd for him. More like the thin plot of a porn video he’d seen and now got to live out.
Unsure if he was overthinking that part too, Schuyler didn’t know who Issac was related to either when they met. In another timeline he would have been his uncle, but that wasn’t the one they were in. Sure, the connection was interesting, but maybe he manufactured the weirdness.
What was he upset about? Being lied to? The facts withheld from him? He’d come this far not caring what the spell was about—why care about the details now? What was he even upset about? Because he cared for Issac? Maybe the connection explained the deep attraction he felt.
Bring my deceased boyfriend back?
The idea was incredulous. No matter the theory or conclusion he rested on, there was no altering how hurt he felt. He should have been told the truth from the start, been allowed to know all the details before agreeing to help Issac. Knowing those might have changed his mind, or at least he could have protected his heart, which broke easily and often. Sometimes at the slightest offense; Schuyler had learned early how to slap a bandage on and promise,next time will be better.
He deserved a choice to avoid what he was feeling now.
“Schuyler?”
He opened his eyes and saw Cal, stopped mid-walk and now approaching him, still in his suit from work. “Hello, Cal.”
Without being invited, he sat down next to Schuyler. “I was walking home. How are you?”
“Long, weird, fucked up day.” Schuyler quietly sank back into the bench.
