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“Enough.” Vera lifted her drink from the bar and silenced them all with a look.
Hamish's cheeks grew hot under that stare and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. A nervous habit, not meant for seduction. But she noticed the movement, and his heart leapt. Her gaze flicked to his mouth as he wet his lips. He thought maybe she would address him directly. Call him aside. In front of everyone. She didn’t.
Vera turned from the counter and Hamish leaned as if pulled toward her by some invisible force.
He would have followed, if she asked. If she had given him any indication she wanted to be followed. Sometimes he thought her pauses were just that - invitations. But he hadn’t yet tested the theory.
Angus gave a short huff through his nose, a sound of dismissal. It brought Hamish back to his senses. Vera was direct. If she wanted him, there would be no room for doubt.
The click of Vera’s heels faded as she crossed the room, and Angus cleared his throat. The Medicum wore one of his most irritating smirks. One that said he knew things about magic the likes of which a lowly acolyte such as Hamish could only dream.
“You have to be careful with memory magic,” Selena said, taking heed of Vera’s interruption. She delicately adjusted the collar of her robes, welcoming a debate from the junior members of the Order.
The small group shared glances as they emptied their cups. But no one challenged her warning. The need for caution was something they all knew, through Order rules and intuition. But Hamish could see the conversation headed toward dangerous territory, especially when led by Angus’s train of thought.
At the farthest corner from the bar, Vera kept careful watch over the party. Her gaze swept the room, never really stopping on any one group. But Hamish would have sworn her gaze lingered, longer, each time her eyes landed on him.
The thought crossed his mind more than once - a private exchange with her while the others enjoyed premixed cocktails. A stolen moment when the room’s buzz turned from giddy to a hush. But as ‘happy hour’ died down, the party ramped up.
Solstice and the Christmas star were to blame. It was to be a night of unmatched power. Jupiter and Saturn aligned at night like they hadn’t in nearly 800 years. The sun set on the shortest day, and the Order’s practitioners became energized anew.
Hamish guessed Vera’s party was just as much about keeping an eye on her practitioners as it was a celebration of the celestial event.
The Grand Magus was none too pleased about the turn out. Only half of the chapter was present. The unaccounted for members probably off, causing mischief of one kind or another, high on the power of the cosmos. She looked pissed.
And thirsty, Hamish thought with a glance at her empty hands. He could work with that.
"Tell me,” Angus prodded, trailing Hamish down the bar. “After biweekly doses of pulveris memoriae, how much of a person’s memory is even theirs do you think?" He turned his glass in his hand, studying the olive as it bobbed along the rim.
Hamish grabbed a bottle of each bourbon and sweet vermouth. “But we’re not exposing anyone to the powder with such frequency, are we?” He added a dash of bitters over ice.
The corner of Angus’s mouth twitched as he lifted his shoulder, unconcerned by the possibility.
Hamish smiled tight at the implication and finished pouring the drink he'd mixed, dividing it between Vera and himself. Better to ignore Angus than take the bait. He’d be stuck in a philosophical discussion or a moral debate if he didn’t get out soon.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Hamish brought the drinks to Vera's dark corner, a place not even the light of the sconces and lamps dared intrude, and leaned back against the wall. He waited. Eventually there would be an acknowledgement. And he was patient.
There was a shift in her stance. The slightest angle of her body toward his. His stomach flipped as her attention settled on him.
"Pulveris memoriae," he tested the words on his tongue and held out for her a drink.
Though she'd pretend it meant nothing, he could see the sudden confrontation had her off kilter. He didn’t like it.
"Really…” She took the offered glass and gave it an appraising look. Her first taste was slow, paired with a sultry hum of approval. It felt like a distraction. "You're not listening to them, are you?" Her attempt at flippant didn't work.
"You haven't looked me in the eye since you interrupted our little conversation."
Vera scoffed, breaking her act. Her annoyance came shining through. "That wasn't a conversation," she said, holding back her scowl only because of their audience. "That was a lazy attempt to stir sedition."
"Sedition? It's a memory spell."
Vera's quick turn left Hamish with a perfect view of her profile. Exquisite. Regal. Grave. He expected to be dismissed, but there was no wave of her hand, no bark at him to 'leave'.
Vera held out her now empty glass, which Hamish readily accepted and swapped with his own still untouched.
"You don't like it," Hamish guessed.
"The Manhattan?" Vera asked, an innocent lift to her voice. "My favorite."
Hamish crossed his arms, rolling onto his shoulder to meet her head on. "Memory magic."
Vera ran her tongue across her teeth as she glared at the group by the bar. "They treat it like a game. They don't understand."
"And you?"
"Appreciate its efficacy and recognize its risks."
"So you've used it?"
"On neophytes who fail initiation. Practitioners expelled from the Order." Vera took another long drink.
Hamish watched her carefully, remembering the way Angus pushed the subject. "On me?"
Vera set the glass down on a standing table. "Magic isn't a toy. Pulveris memoriae is only used by the Order when absolutely necessary."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Vera faced him, eyes shining with the look of too much liquor too fast. And though the muscles around them tightened, her gaze was soft. Sad. "Doesn't it?"
Hamish held her gaze for just a moment and it felt like the ground opened up beneath him, his stomach dropping through the floor. She was right; he didn't need her answer. Somehow that look was enough to know.
She didn't wait for him to respond, just disappeared behind heavy doors. Hamish understood her need to be alone. He felt it himself.
The rest of the night passed in a daze. The ritual went off without a hitch. It would have been beautiful, if only Hamish had had half a brain to pay attention. But his mind was trapped in the look Vera had given him. She hadn't dared to look at him since.
His racing thoughts slowed to a crawl as he rinsed the last of the stemware. The parlor was empty. Quiet. The other acolytes were supposed to hang back and help him clean, but Vera had taken one look at Jack and Randall, drunk on spirits and too much magic, and sent them home. Lilith wouldn't have done Hamish any good either. Her mind was in the clouds, obsessed with meeting Nicole to get another look at the Christmas star.
Vera expected her acolytes back at Belgrave Hall before noon to clean up the party mess, but Hamish stayed behind. It was easier to get things done without them in the way. Less broken glasses. Less confusing small talk.
Whenever the four of them got to talking, their conversations passed under a veil of deja vu. Always left an itch under his skin. It was like catching up with old friends after growing apart. Too much to delve into now. Hamish had enough to think about without unpacking all that.
"Ugh. Really, people!" Vera's exasperated shout gave Hamish a start. She slammed the doors behind her, her hand sweeping through the air as she headed for the bar. "You couldn't just come back tomorrow?"
Hamish reminded himself to breathe. "It was no trouble."
"Oh, it's you."
Hamish put on his most charming smile. Placed a glass in front of her. The seltzer stirred itself, lime wheel spinning hypnotically over the top of the water. It was a silly enchantment he’d taught himself after initiation. Back then, he’d hoped it would get him noticed. Tonight, he hoped it would appease her irritation and loosen her tongue.
"Cute.” She leaned her elbows on the bar and her exhaustion showed in the curve of her spine. “Best make yourself comfortable." She drank the water and signaled for something stronger.
Hamish raised an eyebrow in question.
"Told you to get out while you could.” She turned to lean back against the bar, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking like she was trying to stave off a headache. “A few disciples got carried away. I had to intervene. Whipped up an actual blizzard in town.” There was a strain in her sigh and it eased some of Hamish’s unrest to see the softer side of her again. But his suspicions regarding his memories remained.
“I'm cold. I'm pissed off. And I'm exhausted."
He eyed her curiously as she drained her second cup. "Am I supposed to remember how to help with that?"
Vera twisted a bit to be sure Hamish could see her roll her eyes.
He busied himself polishing a glass to a crystal shine. "Just saying. There are some things that seem foggy."
"It's the Respondeo. And the bourbon."
"I don't think so."
Vera looked to the ceiling and Hamish allowed himself to be distracted by the long line of her neck for just a moment. "What do you want me to say? I cast a spell on you? Fucked with your memories?"
Hamish admired the dip of her clavicle before his eyes rose to hers. "Did you?"
"Would it matter if I did? Would you know the difference? Do you really think you could stand against me in a fight?"
Hamish narrowed his eyes. "Should I," he asked, “stand against you?"
"I’ve only ever used memory magic to keep people safe."
Hamish deepened the furrow of his brow, not out of disbelief or disappointment, but because he felt her sincerity down to his very bones.
"What,” she laughed. A mirthless sound. “No more inquisition?"
Hamish rounded the bar to stand at her side. "If you wanted me dead, I imagine I'd be dead."
Vera huffed as she hugged herself against the chill of the room. She whispered, "I don't want you dead."
Hamish reached out to wrap a hand around her curve of her elbow. His thumb brushed her skin. "I don't want me dead, either."
She remained in place long enough he thought to slide his hand up her arm, but she slipped out of the touch before he had the chance.
“It's warmer by the fire.”
Vera all but ignored Hamish’s gentle suggestion. “I have work to do.”
She left him with only the marbled busts of past Grand Magi as company. Hamish raised a toast to the ancient mages and made his way to the most uncomfortable couch he’d ever seen. It wasn't even close enough to the fireplace to warrant the backache he would surely incur.
By the time Vera returned from her study, Hamish had made himself quite comfortable in front of the hearth. He scooted over to make room.
"I'm not sleeping on the ground, thank you very much." Vera stood at the edge of the seating area, but it seemed she knew better than to trust the furniture.
Hamish fixed another robe over the rug. The layers would help - put some distance between their bodies and the cold, hard stone. But he made no attempts to convince her the ground could compare to a soft, warm bed. When his work was done, he laid back on his arms.
Eventually, Vera grew tired of standing. She accepted his silent invitation and sat. "Happy?"
"I can't remember." It was only a half-hearted jab. A part of him wanted to forget. If it kept him safe, kept all of them safe, maybe it was better to trust her. And he did.
"This again…" She stretched her legs toward the glow of the fire and Hamish lost himself in the flexing of her toes. It was a welcome distraction.
He wondered how her feet must ache after all those hours in her heels. Regardless of what they did for her curves, Vera's shoes looked like torture. This time, when the thought to hold her surfaced, Hamish didn’t hesitate.
“May I?” he asked with a nod toward her feet. His hands laid open in wait.
She lifted one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and slid her foot into his hands. “This changes nothing, acolyte.”
“Of course, Magus.”
“Grand- mmm,” her correction glided into a hum of pleasure as Hamish dug his thumb into the sole of her foot.
He knew what he was doing. And took his time drawing out her moans with each shift of his hands.
Vera dropped her head back. Melted into his touch. Let the tension of the day dissolve under the pressure of his fingers. Hamish's hands skated over her arches and up to her ankles where the heat of his touch continued to soothe. When his fingers explored the muscles of her calves, she gave no protest.
Her murmurs of praise turned to sleepy sighs, and contentment curled low in Hamish’s belly. He nuzzled the bend of her knee before reaching for her waist. He pulled her to him, careful not to disturb the way her dress clung to her thighs.
Even in the shadows of the fire, the apples of Vera’s cheeks were an alluring shade of pink. Startled by the sudden movement, she pressed her hands against Hamish’s chest. She whispered, as if forgetting they were the only ones in the whole of the temple. "What are you doing?"
Hamish tucked a stray hair behind her ear and smiled. "Head on me's more comfortable than the floor."
Vera's argument caught in her throat as she searched his eyes for motive.
"Don't worry. I don't kiss and tell... I don't think," he couldn’t help but tease.
"Oh, believe me." Her sharp laughter is like a warning. "There will be no kissing.” But she settled against his chest and grumbled thanks when Hamish folded a robe up and around her shoulders.
Vera wasn’t sure how long it took to fall asleep, but she woke shivering in the night.
At some point she’d rolled off of Hamish. Perhaps she’d been chasing the warmth of the dying fire. Perhaps guilt had drawn her away. She wondered if it would be alright to move to him again. Or if it was selfish and cruel.
The stone under her back was unforgiving and cold. The weight of the pulveris memoriae in her pocket and the knowledge of what she must do didn't bring her comfort or warmth.
Shame crept up her throat like bile as she sidled up to where Hamish lay. On his back, with his hands tucked behind his head like a pillow, he looked peaceful. If only proximity could pass his calm to her.
As carefully as she could, Vera curled herself under his arm. Hamish sighed in his sleep and she rode the rise and fall of his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong under her ear.
She banished tears from her eyes with her fist.
There was a shift of his weight and a swish of fabric as Hamish woke. Took his vest from beneath his head and covered her with it. When Vera thought she might move away, his arm came down around her back to hold her in place.
He planted a kiss on her head and she burrowed deeper into his embrace.
"What was that for?" she asked, clinging to his shirt, accepting comforts she knew she didn’t deserve.
"Felt right,” he mumbled into her hair, then laid his cheek to rest upon it. “Magic erased my memory. Thought that might have been a thing we used to-"
"No. No, that's not a thing we-"
"Oh."
Vera’s fingers tightened around the leather pouch as she brought it hidden to Hamish’s chest.
With a slow and measured breath, Hamish covered her fist with his hand. But his embrace didn't waver. And Vera didn't pull away.
“Not tonight,” he whispered, a quiet plea. But it was one of a man resigned to his fate. “Not yet.”
They lay in silence for a while as Vera considered all she might tell him, all that would be revealed if she listened to her heart. She held her lips tight and drew designs over Hamish’s chest with her fingertip - sigils of protection that wouldn’t do anything outside of a prepared ritual but were a reassurance in the quiet dark.
They lay until morning. And it was time.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, quaking even as she slipped out of his arms.
Powder filled the air between them like a cloud and Hamish fell into a dreamless sleep.
“Your name is Hamish Duke.” Vera's lips ghosted the shell of his ear as she spoke. “You’re a doctoral candidate at Belgrave University. An acolyte of the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose.”
She hesitated, though she knew she couldn’t stop there.
“You’ve never heard of the Knights of St. Christopher,” she continued, her voice breaking. “And you have no interest in Grand Magus Vera Stone.”