AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER 1
ROCHELLE
I’m back home.
It was a great weekend with the girls, especially since I don’t get to see them much anymore. We had so much fun. Margaritas, spooky movies, ghost stories, and girl talk? My life doesn’t have enough of that in it.
Although lately I do have to admit that there isn’t much fun in my life. There’s room for fun. As an ultrasound technician, I work regular hours at Rivertown’s outpatient imaging center. I’m not required to work shifts the way I would at a hospital, and my evenings and weekends are free.
So I work. I shop for groceries, I go to the gym, I come home and rewatch Game of Thrones (to be perfectly honest, I’m still not sure whether the TV show is better than the books and I like them for different reasons). I call my mom. I hang out with Dido and Bing.
Bing Clawsby used to be my grandmother’s cat, but before she went into the assisted-living facility, she asked me to take care of him. I liked Bing then, but now he’s my buddy. He’s part-Siamese, so with those blue eyes and his “singing” at mealtimes, his name makes sense. It took him a few months to learn to tolerate the abandoned kitten I found wandering the streets last year, but Dido took to Bing immediately, and gradually they started cuddling up together on the couch and now they’re besties.
My colleague Plum and I used to spend time together after work, but her only living relative, the aunt who raised her, began to need more care this past summer, and she has very little time to go out these days.
Okay, so I’m a little bored. Nobody in Rivertown to share my pastimes with. Nobody to discuss the hot new high fantasy novels (when, oh when will the promised third book of Patrick Rothfuss’s Name of the Wind trilogy release?) or rewatch “The Lord of the Rings” extended-cut movies with. Nobody to go to Ren Faire with.
Sigh.
And while I’m thinking about it, nobody to cuddle up in bed with.
Sure, I’ve dated. In high school, I was sure I was in love with Sam Wooden, who was as obsessed with Tolkien as much as I was. But he went off to college hundreds of miles away and ghosted me, and then when he came home for winter break he made it clear that we were over and he was dating someone else. Then it was Jake Miller, who had no interest in fantasy lit but did have the most fabulous shoulders I’ve ever seen. It’s just too bad that those shoulders and an obsession with cheap beer was all there was to him.
Then there was Ben Jackson, the poet with big blue eyes who had just lost his job and needed a place to stay. When his unemployment income had run out, he still hadn’t found another job and wasn’t making a move toward getting one, not even a part-time one that would help pay the bills. Bye-bye, Ben. I’m worth more than that.
I want someone interesting.
Good in bed would be a big plus.
And reliable.
Once again I wonder if Clarissa’s loopy-doopy charm thingy will work even if I’m not convinced. Do spells work for nonbelievers? I’d like to believe. I just…don’t. Fantasy novels are just that: fantasy. Fairy tales. I enjoy them, but I live in the real world, where I have to work hard to pay for this amazing apartment, renovated from the old Cassian’s department store, and men are never as good as they seem.
I pull out the pink candle Clarissa had given me, wrapped in a piece of paper. I untie the yarn and read the words printed on the paper. “Under the full moon, light this candle and repeat the following: Thank you Goddess for the blessings that come. So mote it be.”
I think back to that fire pit, the women around it, bare-breasted under the open sky, not ashamed to be seeking true love, and once again I loosen my grip on reality, or “reality” the way I’ve been seeing it. I enter the willing suspension of disbelief.
It can’t hurt to believe in a fantasy, even if that fantasy never touches my real life. It can’t be wrong to wish.
Okay, I’ll do the other part of the charm.
I check the internet for the date of the full moon, and find that it’s actually tomorrow night. A little tremor runs through my body, making my center quiver with anticipation.
All day at work, a piece of my mind stays on the charm and the full moon. If I worked in a hospital, I bet things would be crazy. As it is, all my patients are scheduled out so far in advance that there’s no full-moon impact on my day. I conduct scans and read them. I eat lunch with Plum, who has dark rings under her eyes and isn’t chatty today. I prepare and send reports.
And then, finally, I walk home from the imaging center at the end of the workday, opening my door to the sound of kitty demands for dinner. It makes me laugh. Bing’s expressive yowl is echoed by Dido’s gentler meows, but once they’ve each gotten a chin scratch and their canned food, it’s quieter. I slice up a rotisserie chicken and top some salad with it, eat that with a glass of dry Riesling. I shower, and dry my hair, then hesitate to put on the comfy flannel pajamas that I’d normally be putting on at this time of day, this time of year.
If I’m going to finish this charm thing for my soulmate, I think I should dress more appropriately. Either naked—which doesn’t work if I need to be outside under the full moon, and Clarissa didn’t say but I think I do—or dressed in something that expresses my willingness to be ready for love to come into my life. For some people that would be pajamas, I guess, but I don’t want to be casual. I paw through the hangers in my closet and find the simple flowy ankle-length dress in dark green that I used to wear to Ren Faire when I had time to go and friends to go with. It’s not medieval-looking, just sort of casual and bohemian, and it feels right for this task. I shrug off my towel and open my underwear drawer, then look at the dress spread out on my bed.
If this seeking of love is about being open, maybe I should skip everything except the dress.
Yes, I will.
I let my hair flow loose over my shoulders and pull the green dress over my bare body. I slip on the simple cloth shoes that go with the dress. I take my pink candle and the written instructions, plus a small candle holder and a book of matches, and I go to the roof.
Cassian’s used to be the fancy department store in Rivertown back in the day, with four floors selling clothing and housewares and a tearoom and candy shop on the fifth floor. It started dying in the 1980s, when the malls were full and nobody shopped downtown, and finally breathed its last about twenty years ago. But the building itself, square and sturdy with high ceilings and elegant carved moldings on the outside, is beautiful. When it was renovated into apartments, I snatched up the first one available I could afford, and I’ve never regretted it. I love the combination of a cozy space with elegant finishes and large floor-to-ceiling windows.
Now the roof boasts a small open-air bar and a seating area accessible to building residents, plus a rooftop garden. Here in October, the raised flower boxes contain chrysanthemums in deep yellow, lavender and rust colors, as well as a small collection of herbs: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme just like the song says.
Over in the corner, a couple is snuggled up on a wicker loveseat. Closer to the bar, a group of friends is drinking cocktails and laughing together. No one is paying attention to me. I raise my eyes to the sky, which is dominated by a glorious pale golden moon and stars sparkling like diamonds. No hint of rain, only a gentle breeze and a hint of chill in the air. Seems perfect for a love spell.
I tuck the pink candle into the holder and light it. Staring at it, I clasp my hands together and repeat the words on the slip of paper, remembering the confident smile and the immense sexual appeal of the man I saw in my mind’s eye over the firepit—my soulmate. I thank the Goddess in advance of her blessing. So mote it be.
I stand near my candle, watching it burn and dreaming of the dark-haired man who, if the Goddess does bless me, will be my everything. I let the October breeze ruffle my skirt and send chilly fingers up under it. I take note of the way my nipples pucker in the cool air, and I let them just be. I am not ashamed of my body. I wait for love.
When my candle finally gutters, I’m alone and the bar is closed. I go down the stairs to my apartment on the third floor, not waiting for the elevator. Inside my place, I fuss over my cats for a few moments, smelling the sweet dusty smell of their fur, and then I turn off the lights.
I let the moonlight pour through my windows. I go to bed naked.
I dream of the man who’s coming my way.
