Page 47 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane

I grin, proud of the control it took to create. In preparation for Beltane, I’ve been letting my magick off the leash, little by little. Doing projects like this, weaving into healing, and practicing apparition are my way of dusting off the cobwebs.

Shea’s eyes widen and he looks at the peach as if he’s contemplating something.

Holding a finger, I caution him before he takes a chunk out here and now. “Hold the wagon there, little doggy, because that sucker is potent. Don’t eat more than a bite at a time or you’ll fry your circuits. I made it to last for a long time.”

I watch him roll it around in his fingers nervously. Shea is never silent like this and his reticence is making me think that he doesn’t like it. That’s what I get for sharing something deeply personal like my magick—rejection.

It never fails.

“I hope you like it. It wasn’t easy to make because I’ve never done anything like it before. The ingredients were difficult to find. Hopefully, it makes up for not being able to be here for long. I have town issues that I need to take care of.” He plays with the soft, ripe fruit and my fingers fiddle with the hem of my duster, waiting for some kind of reaction.

He gives me a tiny smile and tucks it back in the box, sitting it on a table nearby. “I love it, Peach. You did a right nice thing for me.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. I was not expecting this kind of reaction from Shea. Usually he’s bouncing around like a puppy on crack when he gets a gift.What did I do wrong?“I’m glad you like it. Is your party going well?”

He nods, then looks over at the kitchen. “It is, pet. I think I’m wanted in the kitchen, though, so I’ll see you around later?”

I blink.Well, okay then.“Um, yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see you later.”

Leaning up, he pecks my cheek, picking up the box. He gives me another tiny smile and walks towards the kitchen.

What the actual fuck?

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as I feel the start of a migraine. I am not in the mood formoredrama. Why is everyone acting like every damned thing I do is wrong?

Feeling forlorn, I close my eyes. The whoosh of air hits me and I cross my fingers that I’ll get myself back in one piece. I can’t stand to be here for another second.

When I apparate in our bedroom, I sigh in relief. Success number two feels like a bigger victory than the first, and despite my headache, I pump my fist with pride.

Deli for the win, fuck yeah.

Walking to the closet, I peel off the clothes, making certain to hang the duster carefully. I can’t treat a five-figure gift like a thrift store tank top. Grabbing one of Taurus’ shirts, I head for the bar. I snag a highball of scotch and some fruit from the fridge before heading for the bed. I suppose Taurus has Theodora stocking this stuff. Maybe I’ll suggest that Hex and Leo wouldn’t mind sharing those duties, so I won’t feel like a sponge. They wouldn’t mind and hell, Leo would kill to get his hands on that kitchen.

I sit on the bed, pulling my Book of Shadows and the Beltane binder out of the night table. Opening my spell book to the page with the peach spell, I draw a frowny face at the top. I don’t cross it out because it worked, but since it didn’t make the recipient happy I won’t use it again. With the binder perched on my lap, I nibble the berries and prop my bad arm on a pillow. The basic frame of my Beltane ritual is ready, so I have to get the specificwording right. Phrasing is important if you don’t want to piss off a Goddess or accidentally summon the wrong thing.

Opening the gates inside of me hasn’t given me a huge influx of power, but maybe that’s because I’m afraid to use it in public. Doing so would add another dimension to what people expect from me. Between a new mate, the heat, and the Beast, a slow trickle is probably the best idea.

I know there’s more in my well because I felt it grow inside since I moved to the Rift. Being ready for that stored power to hit me that night is paramount. I manage to get a few more minutes of actual work done when I feel a disruption in the aura around me. Glancing at the doorway, I see him leaning against the frame.

“Are you speaking to me, pet?”

“Hi, baby.” The exhaustion from yesterday, the hurt from the rejection at the party, and the dull ache in my arm are making me drag. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed it.

His expression is relieved when I answer. I think he truly believed that I wouldn’t speak to him. Crossing the room, he sits on the bed carefully. “Hello, my heart.”

“How was your day?” I ask, needing to hear what happened with the Company before I can relax. I reach over and run my fingers through his hair with my good arm, favoring the achy one.

“Total shit without you. Is that blunt enough?” He looks at me and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired. Someone irritated me and I had to deal with community stuff—both interpersonal and town based.” I didn’t need to tell him about the emails from concerned members pointing out yet another nasty blog post from that damned bar. I just want to firebomb it into the ground and be rid of the fucking place.

“That’s annoying right enough, but I mean what’s wrong with your arm?”

“It’s taking its sweet time healing. I’m sure it’s because we drank so much last night. It’ll be fine.”

“I hurt you?” he whispers, looking worried.

“Don’t worry. It will be fine soon, I promise. It doesn’t hurt.” That’s a lie. It aches when I use it and I’m fairly sure that I may have to do some extra work to fix it. I haven’t had the time or inclination to work on it yet.

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