I arch a brow, trying to hold back my frustration. “You thought I wouldn’t worry, then? My aunt falls over from a curse, and I wouldn’t worry? Her familiars all get hit with curses, and you think I’m not going to fucking worry?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound rather optimistic, doesn’t it?”
“No, why would you?” I snap, and all the pent-up fear and frustration spills out of me. “All you think about is yourself. Do you have any idea of how much danger Reggie was in while you were unconscious? I was worried I’d lose you both—” I stop abruptly, because it feels too vulnerable to say it aloud.
Aunt Dru’s look is soft. She pads forward, her slippers scuffing on the ground. “Oh, Caliban. I really, truly am sorry.”
“Was there ever a curse on your familiars? Or was that just more bullshit you were selling to make Reggie think she was in danger?”
Aunt Dru pauses. “Well, yes and no.” At my glare, she continues. “You know as well as I do that most people only get cursed because they’ve done something obnoxious. Maurice got turned into a cat because he can’t keep his willy in his pants.” She taps her chin. “Though I really should work harder at finding that poor man’s tablet—”
“Don’t bother. Apparently he likes being a cat.”
“Oh? Well, that’s lovely.” She smiles. “Solves all kinds of problems. As for the others, Gwen ended up sleeping with the wrong man. You know how that sort of thing is.”
I don’t, actually, since I’ve never been in that particular situation. Most of my relationships have been . . . particularly detached before Reggie, and I don’t plan on there being an “after Reggie.” She’s it for me.
“And Lisa, well, I’m afraid that was all me, but it was really just a harmless little curse. Doors are a simple enough thing to get around. I truly didn’t mean to scare you so badly, though.” She approaches me and puts her hand on my sleeve. “I’m sorry, Caliban. I never had children, so I guess I don’t stop to think about how my actions affect others. I’ve always been a solo operator, much like yourself.”
She doesn’t get it. I shake my head. “I don’t care if you weren’t my real parent, Aunt Dru. You were the one that taught me magic. You were the one I went to when I was sad or afraid. You were the one that looked after me, the one that sent presents on holidays. My real parents were never there for me, but I could always count on you.” My voice grows ragged. “I didn’t like the thought of you being hurt . . . or gone.”
“Oh, Caliban.” Aunt Dru sniffs and then flings her arms around me. “My sweet little boy.”
Ugh. “Ben, Aunt Dru. It’s been Ben for forever and a day.”
“You’re always going to be my sweet little Caliban with the runny nose and running around naked in the gardens with your winky hanging out.” She sniffs. “You really were the cutest little thing.”
Great. Now she’s talking about my winky and how cute and small I was. I really hope Reggie isn’t listening in on this part of the conversation. I pat Aunt Dru’s back awkwardly. “It’s forgiven.”
She looks up at me, her expression sly once more. “But I did pretty good bringing Reggie to you, didn’t I—”
I scowl. “Don’t push it.”
She giggles, all mischief once more, and I know my aunt has learned nothing from this. She’s had two thousand years to become set in her ways. She’ll never, ever change.
I hug her anyhow, because we’re family.
* * *
A FEW HOURS later, I’m alone in the house with Reggie.
Lisa and her husband, Jim, are off for a doctor’s appointment, and they’re not coming back until tomorrow. Aunt Dru insisted on meeting up with Livia, who she hasn’t seen “in positively ages,” so they can go to bingo together. I think Reggie would have gone, too, just to fuss over Dru, but my aunt insisted she stay home and rest after all her “trials.”
And then Dru gave me an obvious, obvious wink, which means our alone time is more of my aunt’s machinations.
I’m not all that upset about it, either. The last time I was alone in a room with Reggie, we were in the hotel together, and I was mourning the lack of a condom. I have some upstairs, though I admit the ones I had were expired by about a decade. Luckily, Nick’s boyfriend, Diego, came to my rescue. As Reggie clung to me back at Nick’s apartment, Diego walked up to me, slapped me on the shoulder, and then shoved a fistful of condoms into my other hand.
I don’t think Reggie noticed.
But now I’m alone with her again, and the condoms are burning a hole in my pocket. I’m exhausted—we both are—but I’m not ready to lie down and go to sleep. I want to touch her. Gods, do I want to touch her. My hands itch with the need to caress her skin, to hear the little gasps she makes when she’s being pleasured. My cock tightens in my pants, and my favorite heavy black sweater becomes too hot, too itchy, and I’m tempted to take it off and see if Reggie runs her hands over my chest like she did earlier.
That might be too obvious, though.
I saunter into the kitchen, where Reggie is seated atop the counter next to the coffeepot. She yawns, and her hair has strayed out of the tight bun from the party and straggles all over her neck and sticks up in random brown tufts. Her eyes are still red and swollen, and her makeup has gathered in the corners of her eyes.
She’s damned beautiful.
Reggie looks up and tilts her head toward the coffee maker, which is brewing a fresh cup. “You want some? I’m going to need some major caffeine to prop me up if I’m going to make it through the night.”
“Why do you need to make it through the night?” I ask, all casual. I should have definitely taken off my sweater, I decide. Reggie’s texting on her phone, her thumbs flying over the screen’s keyboard, and she has a look of concentration on her face.
She doesn’t look up as she types. “Because we’ll want to check on Dru when she gets home, just in case. Don’t you think?”
“Of course.” I lean over the counter, watching her. I don’t have to rush things, I remind myself. I want Reggie to feel comfortable being with me, and we’ve had a tumultuous last few days. The last thing I need is to push her into something she’s not ready for. I’m five hundred years old. I can wait a few months. Or a few weeks. Or . . . days. Or whatever she needs.
“You look really tired,” I point out. “Who are you texting?” Fuck, I feel obvious.
“Nick,” Reggie says, yawning. “And Penny. It’s a group chat. You want to be in on it? Penny wants to learn how to play Spellcraft, and I just talked you up.” She glances up at me, mischievous. “I told them your technomancer deck is impossible to beat, and Nick says that’s bullshit and to bring it next Friday.” She pauses. “I might have said I was bringing you over to Nick’s for Friday-night cards next time.”
“Ah.” I’m actually rather pleased that she’s being so commandeering of my time. I like that she wants to monopolize me. “That’s fine.” I lean against her side, watching her text, and when she continues, I slip one of her shoes off. “Want a foot rub?”
She obligingly sticks one foot out and keeps typing. “Everyone wanted to know how things ended up with Dru, also, so I’m updating them. I’m also telling Penny that Nick doesn’t know magic is real, so there’s a lot of back-and-forth.” She makes a face that I find utterly enchanting. “I can already tell this is going to get wildly complicated.”
“It’ll be fine.” I rub her toes, massaging, and I can’t help but notice that she’s still wearing my bracelet. I haven’t asked her to take it off yet, and I don’t know how I’m going to handle that. I kind of want her to wear it forever. Well, maybe not forever. Just until she becomes a full-fledged witch in her own right. I like the thought of that almost as much as I like her wearing my familiar bracelet.
Reggie whimpers as I rub her arch, and she leans back against the cabinets, eyes closed. “Oh, fuck.”
“Ticklish?”
She makes a little sound in her throat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were trying to get laid.”
“Mmm.”