Page 43 of The Spell Caster

He nodded. “I can see why you might think so. In the modern era, we’ve come to think of certain aspects of our history as a sort of metaphor, but there’s quite a lot written about all of it. I think, and there are many who agree with me, that it has more of a basis in reality than we commonly believe.”

I didn’t point out the long tradition of the non-magical writing up very detailed and elaborate religious systems. The presence of a lot of writing didn’t convince me at all.

I pushed my food around while Calamus speared a beet and ate it, as if it wasn’t an abomination. “The Arcaenum… they really think the old stories are real?”

“They do. They’ve put a lot of trust in me. It’s exciting to work with them on this,” he said with genuine warmth. “I’m planning to campaign for election in a few years, so I appreciate the opportunity to see how the process works.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise me at all.

Calamus regarded me with a gentle look. “What are your future plans, Layla?”

And just like that, this conversation was veering into nope territory.

“I haven’t really thought very far ahead…” But that wasn’t exactly true. This thing with Calamus? It was exactly what was expected of me. What I had imagined for years. Right until Costi backed me against the railing, put his lips on my neck, and slammed a destructive spell into my life path.

“You just graduated a few months ago. And you’ve been through a lot recently. I suppose you have time to figure everything out.”

“Yes. Well, this has been really nice…”

Calamus looked startled. “Are you finished eating already?” His eyes wandered to my mostly untouched vegetables, but he wisely kept quiet.

“Sorry, I’m getting pretty tired. There’s a lot to think about,” I hedged.

“Oh. Of course.” He stood. “Let me walk you home.”

I pushed back from the table, petals spilling everywhere. “I’m… sure you’re busy. There’s no need to go to all that trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, Layla,” he said with a smile as he hurried to catch up with me.

I kept my eyes trained on the bricks as we walked together down the main pathway of the Circle past who knew how many witches. Calamus, standing out in his crimson spell caster robes, was greeted excitedly by at least a dozen voices as I sank farther behind my flowers.

“Do you like music?” he asked, pointing to an open square with a wooden pavilion. A small group of witches were sitting on a bench in the shade, chatting happily. “They do concerts here.”

“Sometimes,” I said. The only music I could think of was Costi’s raw voice, singing a snippet of verse that was all that remained of his birth mother. “What are you into? History?”

Calamus chuckled. “I guess I’m a little boring.”

“It wouldn’t be boring to the right person,” I said, thinking of Hazel, the library witch who seemed taken with him.

“Really?” He brightened, glancing at me.

Had he thought I meant me? I scrambled for a way to backtrack as we arrived at the courtyard of my coven’s apartment.

He turned to me at the bottom of the stone steps. “If you’d give me your number, I’d like to go over some details about the circle spell with you this week.”

“Oh… yes, thanks.” I handed him my phone. I had to admit, “I need to call you about our plan to contact Hell” was the most inventive line I’d ever heard of.

If the Arcaenum was going along with it, it looked like I’d be seeing it through with him until the inevitable cringe-inducing end.

I swallowed nervously as he punched in his contact info. I needed to let him know I wasn’t interested in dating him before he started naming our kids. I wanted to be gentle, though. It wasn’t a good match, but I thought he was a good man, and I appreciated him trying to help, even if it was sort of misguided.

Calamus handed back my phone. He cleared his throat and glanced down at my lips, taking a step toward me.

I shoved the bouquet in front of me so he couldn’t get close. “Thanks for walking with me. Have a great night,” I said quickly, scurrying toward the door.

“Good night—” he called as I barricaded myself inside, heart galloping.

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