“The rest you’ll have to do,” I tease, hoping that more of the girl I know will swim her way to the surface.
This smile reaches her tired eyes and she nods, with a slight swirl of her finger.
While turning to face the back wall, I ask, “Why does the binding spell breaking make her exhausted?”
“Imagine shaking a champagne bottle to the point the carbonation alone is about to push the cork out,” Mildred explains distractedly. “Then pull the cork out. Not a whole lot of champagne still in the bottle when it’s done.”
“Callie is empty of magic?” I question, sure I’m not understanding it right.
“Don’t be daft,” she replies, along with the rustling sound of fabric and Callie’s tired sighs. “She always has magic. It’s just no longer in her to bursting. It’ll take time for her to find balance.” A moment later she adds. “You can look now.”
Turning back, I find Callie dressed in a matching pair of flannel pajama bottoms to go with the thermal top and still leaning against the counter. She’s staring listlessly at the comb in her hand, like she wants to comb her hair but doesn’t have the energy to do it.
“I have it from here,” I say, taking the comb from her hand and placing it on the counter, near a pair of grey sweats and another clean towel.
“Excuse me?” Mildred exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest.
I grab either side of Callie’s waist and lift her up so she can sit on the counter. She slumps back until her head is resting against the mirror, but she seems more content now that she doesn’t have to hold herself upright.
“I need to get dressed,” I remind her, grabbing the spare towel so I can start drying myself off. There’s so much water on the floor from the two of us dripping everywhere, it’s practically a walking hazard. “I’d rather limit my audience.”
The evidence of how much she wishes to argue is obvious in the pinch of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes, but she replies, “Yes, well, do hurry.”
“I will,” I promise as she closes the bathroom door behind her.
Feeling drained myself, I brace my hands on either side of her legs and release a deep breath while my head hangs toward my chest. Callie leans forward and gently strokes the back of my neck sending chills down my spine. There’s something sweet about the fact she can’t find the energy to comb her hair, but she’ll find it to soothe a tired friend.This is why she could never be a monster. No matter what’s she seen or experienced, her first instinct is kindness.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, guilt heavy in her weary voice. “I can’t… be alone.”
“Never be sorry about asking for help,” I reply, standing back up, knowing what she means is far more than someone being present. It’s needing someone to ride whatever this is with her. Whatever the crooked path her past and present is dragging her through.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, leaning back against the glass, then sighs as her eyes fall closed. “Talk to me. So I know you’re there.”
“What about?” I ask, quickly taking advantage of her closed eyes to remove my sopping boxer briefs. Even though she can’t see me, there’s something awkward about undressing in front of her-- propriety rearing its obnoxious head.
“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbles, her hands hanging open at her sides.
“Very helpful,” I tease, drying myself off and grabbing the clean sweats.
“That’s me,” she sighs with a humored twist of her lips.
I nearly collapse with relief with the small sign.There she is. Columba mea.I know she isn’t better, but I’m no longer afraid she’ll fall catatonic.
After slipping the sweats on, the waist hanging low on my hips and the legs bunching around my ankles marking these as not mine, I announce, “You can open your eyes.”
“Too much work,” Callie mutters, blindly reaching out.
I laugh, taking her hands and placing them on my shoulders. “Then you’re really going to dislike this. I need you to sit up so I can comb your hair.”
She flicks her tongue out at me then releases a deep breath. “I can… should… do it.”
“Let me take care of you,” I request in a low voice, wrapping an arm around her back and helping her sit up. “Tomorrow we can go back to what should be done.”
A single tear drips down her cheek and she nods. “Thank you.”
Not knowing what else to say, I plant a soft kiss on her forehead then gently start combing her hair. It’s thick, the colors shifting from rich gold to honey wheat, and sticks to my hands as I separate portions to comb. While going through her hair, I find another laceration, this one near her temple but invisible within her dense locks. It’s not bleeding but also not healing, and I’m surprised it’s not bothering Callie more.Maybe it’s the exhaustion.
As I work, her eyes stay on my face, though they’re no more than silver slits, almost like she’s making sure I won’t disappear when I’m finished.
