Page 87 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Vickie refused to look at Azrael. If she didn’t look at him, she didn’t have to think about the empty longing of not being able to touch.
“Victoria, we are so glad you could join us.” A dangerously large knife moved with alarming speed to cut the chicken, and four successive snaps of Priscilla’s long, white fingers had fresh bread and salad in front of each of them.
“Thank you for having me. I didn’t realize we were going to be so formal. I thought Az and I had dressed up too much.”
Evelyn smiled. “When witchery makes clothes so easy to exchange, why not dine with the magnificence the house deserves?” She rubbed her hands together in her own brand of magic, and the sound system kicked on.
Calypso drums and horns picked up the sounds of Harry Belafonte, and it was a sight to see the elegant witch councilwoman dancing a little in her seat, the carving knife beside her swaying dangerously from side to side, and the black velvet curtains picking up the tempo at the windows. Priscilla snapped her fingers, and flowers streamed in from the door closest to the garden, bright red hibiscus blooms tapping in time with purple violets and lush pink lilies.
Vickie melted at the sight of a smile that twitched up Azrael’s cheek, and the hard lines of his unfairly symmetrical face softened ever so slightly as he watched his sister and Evelyn. It made Vickie perfectly happy, surrounded by dancing flowers and music drifting through the air.
Even Az, closer and closer to being right beside her, could not stop his head from bopping. An errant crystal cocktail glass danced along to the tune, tapping lightly against his cheek and begging to be picked up.
She watched his broad shoulders and arms as he brushed it aside for a moment, snapping his fingers. Digging the fingers of his gloved hand into his palm and flexing a nervous fist. Vickie tried not to think of all that those hands were capable of as she watched an identical fine crystal glass, the cut lovely enough to reflect even the low candlelight, appear with a fresh dark and stormy in front of her.
“To solving complicated problems with good company and good drink,” Az said.
Sloshing wineglasses danced into Priscilla’s hand and then Evelyn’s, the magic keeping wild droplets from spilling. The toast spread warm in Vickie’s mouth, rum and ginger blanketing her tongue with comfort.
She might not be able to touch Azrael directly, but she was happy here in this odd, dancing dining room, the furniture lightly haunted and the glasses insistent that they be drunk from enthusiastically.
It was the only place she had ever really felt home, after all.
Hewas the only place she had ever felt home.
Priscilla cleared her throat.
“Speaking of complicated problems, we need to discuss our options here.” The two looked at each other and then at Azrael, the tips of his ears blushing red.
“We have been talking about the way around the curse,” said Evelyn.
Vickie reached her hand out to hold his, glove in glove.
They were close enough that she suspected the chairs andtable had been in cahoots, for now the table stretched not even half the distance of the majestic room, and the red-and-black patterned carpet sprawled out behind Azrael. She could have sworn he had started at the edge.
“Setting a soul seal is an old spell,” explained Priscilla. “You’ll have to take some time to think it over. To be sure.” Beside her, Vickie saw Azrael’s jaw clench.
“Are you sure we should even bring it up again?” His eyes were wild.
“It’s fine, Az. I don’t mind.” Vickie bit her lip, thinking of the armchairs. Of the day he spent reading in the tea shop. The way he remembered her favorite table at Kessel Run.
Priscilla looked at her brother with sympathy, of all things. “It’s the sort of thing Mom and Dad would have done, Az. Actually, it’s exactly what Mom and Dad did.”
“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”
Prissy’s face softened into an expression that Vickie hadn’t ever seen before, and it struck her that they were all grieving for Benedict and Persephone in that moment. Every single one of them in their own way. Az, for the parents he had not reached out to until it was too late. Prissy, for the role models she had always adored. Evelyn, for the people who made the person she was with happy.
And she, Victoria Elaine Starnberger, mourned the family she had both always and never had. The eclectic and lovely Harts, who had taken her in. Who had treated her as one of their own, and who had never judged her for the gift.
They had brought her Azrael, and now they were gone, and she was determined to make sure that she didn’t lose him. To make sure that she loved him wholeheartedly, even if that was a little bit terrifying. No matter what, she would make good on that promise to his parents. She had been thinking about the soul binding for long enough, and here, at the dinner table where she’d enjoyed the only loving family meals she’d ever known, she realized she belonged.
She also realized that everyone was staring at her, waiting for a reaction.
“So, how do you do this love spell?”
Az shook his head. “Not a love spell. A binding. A fastening of souls.”
“Those are all serious words,” she said, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt.
