The Amber Lee Boxed Set

  “I noticed the Triquetra around your neck and… you used the word Mabon in your notebook,” said Damien.

  “So you know what a Triquetra is?” I asked, “More importantly, you recognized Mabon?”

  Damien nodded. “The pendant is also called the trinity knot. Christians use it to represent the trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. I may have thought you Christian, but when I saw Mabon in your book—and the many pentagrams you enjoy drawing—I knew you were Wiccan.”

  “You’ve basically been spying on me,” I joked.

  “You sit next to me. It’s difficult not to notice what you’re doing.”

  He found me interesting enough to notice, and not in a bad way. Beaming again.

  “And what religion do you hail to, if you don’t mind my asking?” I asked, resuming the conversation which had fallen into a silent but comfortable lull.

  Damien smiled. “I’m Wiccan too.”

  My eyebrow involuntarily arched. “Is that true?”

  “Bide the Wiccan Law ye must, in perfect love, in perfect trust.”

  My lips curled into a grin. “Go on,” I said, testing him.

  “Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill: and ye harm none, do what ye will. What ye sends forth comes back to thee, and ever mind the rule of three—”

  “Follow this with mind and heart, and merry ye meet and merry ye part.” I felt obliged to finish the creed with him, our voices speaking in unison. “I’ve never met a non-Wiccan who knows our creed, so you must be the real deal.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s pretty long.”

  My heart revved into a steady but heavy lub-dub. The words Damien so perfectly said formed the Wiccan’s code of ethics. The creed can easily be found online, but the ability to call it on cue meant Damien was legit.

  “So if you’re Wiccan too, where’s your Coven?” I asked.

  Damien shook his head. “I don’t have a Coven right now, not here. To be honest I hadn’t thought about needing one before moving out here. I’m happy to do my own thing when I have to.”

  “But that’s no fun, and it isn’t as the Goddess intended.”

  He smiled again. “You couldn’t have said it better.”

  “Why don’t you come round and meet my friend Eliza tonight? I have this bookstore on Rosella; we’ll all probably be there. You can meet them, maybe even join us?”

  “You’re sure you and your friend would be okay with that?”

  “She’ll be fine with it—just come hang out with us.”

  “Alright,” he said, brushing one side of his hair over his ear.

  “It’s the least I can do. Just promise me you won’t run off again,” I said, smirking.

  Damien nodded and stood with a smile on his face. He seemed a little more relaxed, but he couldn’t fix his eyes on my face for some reason. Maybe he was just awkward like that; awkward like me. I stood with him and collected my things.

  “I have to go,” Damien said, “But I’ll come to the bookshop tonight. Is six okay?”

  “Six is fine,” I said, smiling.

  He disappeared down the stony path and into the mess of students who had also stuck around after class, chatting and laughing. What an enigma. Those hazel eyes of his could draw you in, refuse to let you leave, and even make you believe it was your idea to fall into them in the first place.

  But I still wasn’t convinced: was he honey or quicksand?

  Chapter Eight

  The long stroll from Raven’s Hall to the center of town by way of Briar Park had become my favorite walk. Raven’s Hall consumed more than a third of the park grounds, the rest of it was littered with benches, winding pathways, and small ponds full of aquatic wildlife. Going far enough into the park would take one to the banks of the Geordie. In the summer folks from all over would come in droves for a dip, but the summer was winding down now and the park had been reclaimed by its rightful rulers: lovers clad in warm clothes.

  Back at the bookstore I met up with Eliza. She was a saint for taking on the responsibility all on her own. I needed to repay her somehow but I wasn’t sure how yet, so I convinced her to spend the afternoon at the shop with me so that we could spend some quality time.

  “What are you going to do when I have the baby?” Eliza asked.

  We were taking care of the main window display. She would hand me this week’s hottest sales from out of a box and I’d place them on the display window. The job required more stretching than I would’ve liked to impose on her pregnant body so I had told her to leave it until I got in.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “I was thinking I’d just replace you with some other, equally sexy assistant.” I glanced at Eliza when I realized she hadn’t yet placed a book in my waiting hand. “You okay?” I asked.

  “You haven’t told me how your day was,” she said, arms folded.

  “Oh, right, yeah, what is there to say? Things are going good.”

  “Just good? You’ve been ranting and raving about how excited you are to finally take the plunge into this whole school thing for weeks and it’s just good?”

  “It’s only been a week, Eliza.”

  “That might be so, but Jesus, you’ve been so quiet these days.” Eliza pouted. An urge to hug her came rushing over me, it was like seeing a mom on the brink of bursting into tears. I stepped off the ladder and brought myself to her level. “I’m sorry,” I said, claiming my hug. “Would it make you feel better if I told you there was a guy in my class?”

  “Go on?” she said. Her eyes narrowed inquisitorially.

  “It was, like, the only fun thing to have come out of this whole thing. Well, besides the time I spent reading.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I grabbed a book and deftly clambered over the main display window to prop the hardcover into its proper place. “The lecturer bored me to death, and at first I thought this guy was staring at me like some kind of weirdo.”

  “And just what was this pervert staring at?” Eliza asked, planting her hand on her hip.

  “No, no, it’s not like that,” I said, “He’s a Wiccan too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, he recited the creed for me and everything. We just click on so many things. We sit next to each other in one of our classes, sometimes we see each other after.”

  “And when will you be taking his last name?”

  I laughed. “Shut up. I actually invited him here tonight.”

  “That’s not like you.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m just saying. You normally aren’t that willing to let a guy in so quickly.”

  “No, but this one’s different. And you and I have been talking about bringing a fourth into our Coven, haven’t we?”

  She pursed her lips, thinking. “How hot is he?” she asked.

  I slapped her arm in jest. “Elizabeth Green, you’re spoken for!”

  “So? I’m not asking for me. You—Amber Lee—have a horrible taste in men.”

  “I do not! I’m just selective.”

  “Yeah, and you consistently select douchebags. Anyway, come here a second.” Eliza walked around the front desk, reached beneath the counter, and produced a book cover I’d been all too used to seeing lying around lately; Twenty Thousand Leagues. “Guess what I found in the back room last night.” she said.

  I picked the book up and examined it. “I put this book on the shelf twice.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I did. Look.” I grabbed my phone from my pocket and flipped to the picture of the row of books on the shelves, Jules Verne sitting where I’d left him.

  “Do you think we have a ghost?”

  “I don’t know, but this book is moving around.”

  A sudden chime at the front door startled us both. A gust of wind slipped into the shop, brown autumn leaves following on its back. Damien stepped through and looked around until he saw us standing by the counter.

  “Hi,” I said as he approached.

>   “Hey,” Damien said. He had an awkward smile about his face, like someone who’d just walked into his parent’s bedroom. “Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No,” I said, placing the book on the counter book and shoving the strange incident to the back of my mind.

  “Hey,” Eliza said. She was much more capable of keeping her cool than I was. “Eliza. Pleased to meet you.”

  Damien and Eliza shook hands over the counter. “Likewise,” he said, “I’m Damien.”

  “I heard. How’s everything at college?” she asked.

  “Good. Busy, but fun.”

  “Seems like a pretty involved course. Amber’s been busy all week too.”

  “We don’t get a break. You have to know your material if you’re going to impress our professors.”

  Eliza smiled and loaded her next question. I saw it coming but I was powerless to stop it; like a fly, helpless in the face of a swatter. “So, Amber tells me you’re a Wiccan?”

  The smile on Damien’s lips soothed my nerves. “News travels fast,” he said.

  “It does,” Eliza said, “She also tells me you want to join our Coven?”

  “Really? Just like that?”

  “We can’t afford to be picky in this town, Damien.”

  “Small towns,” Damien agreed.

  Eliza twirled strings of black around her fingers and threw me a suggestive smile. You better snatch him up before I do, it said. And I knew she wasn’t kidding. Evan or not, pregnant or not, Eliza got what she wanted.

  “So, Damien,” I said, bringing him a stool, “You said you aren’t in a Coven right now. Did you have one in San Francisco?”

  “Thanks,” Damien said, sitting down. “I was in one, yeah. One of us, Mike, he owned a small boat. We’d take it out to a little island not too far from the shore and spend the entire night talking, calling the quarters, invoking the guardians.”

  “That sounds pretty neat.”

  “We had a good time, but mostly we made sure to play things safe, kept our noses clean, helped people out. We all volunteered at homeless and animal shelters.”

  “Wow, that’s admirable.”

  “We didn’t do it for admiration, only to give back.”

  I smiled. He just kept getting better and better. When was he going to sprout wings, horns, and drag me to hell kicking and screaming?

  “How often would you meet your Coven?” Eliza asked. She sat down on her tall chair behind the counter.

  “We were all good friends, so we met often. But for rituals… maybe about once a week?”

  “Sounds like us,” I said.

  “Weekly too, huh? Do you have a sacred place?” asked Damien.

  “Well, it’s just the three of us so we tend to just meet in my attic. It’s a powerful place. Sacred to me, at least.”

  “You should see it,” Eliza threw in, “I’m sure Amber wouldn’t mind giving you the tour.”

  Damien smiled. “I’ve already seen it.”

  Eliza, caught completely off guard, shot me a look. “Have you now?” she asked, “Amber failed to mention that.”

  “Oh, and would you like to know what I had for breakfast too?” I asked.

  “Grapes and black coffee, because you’re out of milk.”

  “A lucky guess,” I said, frowning.

  “You single, Damien?” Eliza asked.

  “I—” Damien started to say.

  “—don’t answer that, Damien,” I said, interrupting, “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other another day.” I wanted to spare him the barrage of personal questions Eliza was about to put him through, so I grabbed his hand and nearly ripped him off the stool he was sat on.

  “Going somewhere?” Eliza asked, grinning.

  “If you don’t mind closing, I was gonna take Damien to Joe’s down the street.”

  “Sure, that sounds good,” said Damien. “If you have time, of course.”

  Eliza agreed to close up, although I knew I would owe her a favor.

  After bidding our goodbyes and avoiding anymore of Eliza’s invasive questions, Damien and I stepped out into the crisp, cool air. We walked in silence down the street toward the glittering neon sign above Joe’s tiny food place. Occasionally we’d steal glances, but they were nothing more than just casual looks between friends. At least that’s what I told myself. But that’s how it all starts, though, right?

  Amber, what are you getting into?

  Chapter Nine

  Joe’s Hamburgerria—a pizza place that also served hamburgers—wouldn’t ever win any points for style. Plain white walls, uncomfortable chairs, and wooden tables so wobbly the slightest tip would send your drink into your neighbor’s table were among the penny-wise choices made by the owners to focus on what they thought bore more importance; quality ingredients. The place was packed with kids, parents, and even law enforcement agents. I saw the Sheriff and his deputy enjoying a sit-in meal in the corner.

  “Try the Chicago BBQ Gut-Buster,” I said, tapping at a picture of what appeared to be a greasy, cheesy, barbecue sauce laden heart attack. “It’s good.”

  “I do love a good burger,” Damien said, “What are you having?”

  “I’m not sure. They do a mean green salad here.”

  Damien peeled his eyes away from the menu and stabbed me with them.

  “Seriously? Do I look like that kind of girl?” I said.

  “I wasn’t judging.”

  “A girl doesn’t come here for the salads, okay? She comes here to get fed. With a capital F.”

  We smiled at each other, and for a moment I could swear we clicked. The connection couldn’t have been more evident if someone had pressed a gun to the back of my head and pulled back the hammer. But our moment ended when Joe entered the scene, his presence sending the click scurrying into the woods like a startled deer. If Joe, a middle-aged, pot-bellied sack of joy and warmth, had been anyone else I would’ve killed him where he stood.

  “Hey Amber,” he said.

  “Hey Joe, I’m not sure what I’m having yet.”

  “As always.” Joe smirked. “And you?” he asked Damien.

  “I think I’ll go for the Chicago BBQ.”

  “Chicago, got it. And you’ll probably have a tuna and black olive small once you’ve spent about fifteen minutes eyeing the menu.”

  “You put pictures of the food on it, Joe. You know how hard that is to deal with?”

  Joe joked about my indecisiveness, took our drinks order, and removed himself from our table along with the menus. His presence soon got replaced by sizzling frying pans, clinking pots and plates and indecipherable chatter from all angles.

  “Tuna and black olive small?” Damien asked.

  “A pizza,” I said.

  “An odd pizza.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t judge.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Don’t knock it till you try it, alright?”

  “Alright I won’t. You come here often?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s the only decent place to eat around here.”

  “Doesn’t look like much, though, does it?”

  “No, but they’re nice here and the food’s great. Anyway, what’d you think about Eliza?”

  “She’s cool.” Damien ran his hands through his hair and pushed it over his head. “She reminds me of someone I knew back in San Fran. How long have you known her?”

  “A while. We met by pure coincidence, actually. It was fate,” I said, remembering, smiling.

  “Yeah, you guys seemed pretty close.”

  “Understatement of the year. So, tell me more about your Coven,” I said.

  “Actually, I thought maybe I’d ask you about yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “I’m going to be joining maybe, right? Assuming I pass this interview. That’s what you’re doing isn’t it?”

  “I am not interviewing you.”

  “So then why am I nervous?”

  “I don’t know. S
top being nervous.” Here I was telling him to stop being nervous and yet I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile from off my face. Hypocrisy at its best! But Damien’s smile was infectious; what could I do?

  “You were saying?” he asked.

  “My Coven, right,” I said, “Evan—oh, sorry, by the way, he was supposed to be there but he had to work.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Right, so, Evan and Eliza are more into the spiritual side of things, you know, meditation and offerings to the Goddess and that. I wouldn’t be in their circle if I hadn’t met Eliza.”

  “They were a Coven before you?”

  Our drinks arrived. Two diet cokes in tall glasses with little bits of ice clinking close to the surface. We thanked the waiter and he went off.

  “I wouldn’t call them a Coven necessarily,” I said, “They were just both Wiccans together. We weren’t a Coven until I joined, I don’t think. That’s what Eliza says.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About three and a half years, just after I graduated college”

  Damien sipped his drink. Immediately I became drawn to the way his lips enveloped the tip of the straw. What the hell? You’re staring. Stop staring!

  “Most Witches,” Damien said, “Know what they want out of the Craft.”

  “Oh?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

  “If I were to tell you all Witches had a calling, would you agree?”

  I searched within myself, and nodded.

  “What do you think your calling is?” he asked.

  “Knowledge, I guess. I feel like I’ve still got so much to learn but I’ve no idea where to start.”

  “Have you ever dabbled in real Magick?”

  “Real Magick?”

  An unwelcomed chill ran down my spine, like a hand made up of spiders marching over my skin. I craned my neck around and immediately wished I hadn’t. Five jocks in total, all loud, obnoxious, and full of macho bravado entered the restaurant like they owned the place. Joe tolerated them because they were good for business, but the ruckus they caused annoyed the hell out of other customers.

  “Check it out,” Aaron, the tallest—fittest—jock said. “It’s the freak with her new gimp.”