Saturday. December 9, 2017
Casa del Brujo
8:00 AM
On this day, sunrise brought with it the premature winds of winter and a light dusting of snow. The ocean was a stormy gray to match the sky. The angry pounding of the surf was white noise in Cane?s ears, deafening him to everything but his innermost thoughts, so he missed the soft knock on the front door. Salvador?s head turned toward the porch, light slithering through his eyes. It was the otherworldly glint that caught the Cajun?s attention.
?What is it?? Thoughts of a sinner grovelled on the weathered porch floor assaulted his mind?s eye. Heat blossomed from deep within, radiating outward from the Cajun?s body to rival that which came from the fire currently blazing in the hearth.
?A little songbird,? Sal replied.
Visions of violence vanished immediately. The tension took a little longer to leave his body. Cane peered wonderingly at the door; he could neither see nor hear Aoife, but his other senses confirmed she was there.
The Spaniard climbed out of Cane?s lap, stepping carefully into his house shoes before stalking toward their bedroom. ?I?m going to find Skid.?
Cane stood as well. ?Te amo, mi vida.?
Salvador paused in the doorway to look back at him over his shoulder. ?Te amo tambi?n, mi ?gida.?
When the Spaniard was gone--vanished from the house entirely less than a minute later--Cane went to the door and opened it. ?Aoife.? He always used her name as a greeting. His voice held minor notes of surprise this time, a little shocked that she?d come here of all places when Salvador was still in his season.
As soft as the knock had been, her knuckles still ached from the cold. She knew they were there. She knew Salvador was there. What she did not know was who was going to welcome her. Perhaps that was what spoke for her stillness those first few seconds it took for recognition to settle. The door had hardly opened, her partially closed fist mid air.
Canaan. Aoife?s fingers wilted into her palm which she pressed to her chest. She trapped him in a stare for the count of three before peering into the space behind him. ?May I??
?Yeah, get in here.? Cane stepped back, widening the opening of the door for her to pass through. ?****in? cold out there.?
She knew then that Salvador was gone.
One hand joined the other and her fingers linked before she stepped over the threshold. Hearing him speak, Aoife paused, but didn?t look. ?Winter is coming,? as if he didn?t know. She was distracted, her voice far away, lost in the tangle of her thoughts.
?Seems like it?s chompin? at the bit.? Cane snorted, scowling at the thin layer of snow covering his front yard before shutting the door. ?Could do without the snow.? Could do without a lot of things that came with winter, actually.
Her fingers unwound, hands falling to her sides where she stood. The living room, the kitchen, the dining table minus one chair. Morning light had come with dawn but shadows filled the space still. Her chin caught the line of her shoulder when her gaze fell on the off kilter door leading to the lanai. ?I like snow.? She collected whatever silence had been left when she inhaled. ?Are you mad??
?Sal is,? Cane replied, following her gaze to the door hanging oddly on its hinges. The front window was boarded up until he could find the time to replace the glass. He folded his arms across his chest, gritting his teeth. She hadn?t asked about Sal. But admitting he was upset would mean admitting he cared at all. ?So am I. Two years and no word? I?d like to punch him in his stupid mouth.? After a short pause, he admitted, ?I may yet.?
Aoife nodded. ?I understand.? She looked at him then, strong and proud--untouchable. She knew better than to stare. Shifting away, she forced herself forward toward what ruins waited. ?May I have some time??
?It?s a mess in there.? Gentle warning. Cane sighed, drifting with the pull of her wake. He wasn?t sure if she wanted time to tend her plants alone, if she would tolerate the company right now. ?Want some help? Sal?s? gone.?
She traced the outline of the door with her eyes, reaching to graze splinters with the tips of two fingers. ?I?m not mad.? She wasn?t sure what she was. She wasn?t sure what she was going to be. With her hand on the frame, she stepped outside.
Her inhale was near audible. Knuckles to her lips, she had hardly moved a foot before pulling into herself and stilling. There was nothing to say, not one thing. Smashed pots, upended roots, clumps of soil and green hanging fearfully to cracks in the walls. The table had been flipped, everything upon it scattered over the floor, some in pieces. Twinkle lights sagged, no longer lit. Several screens on either end had been torn. Sinking into a crouch, she reached for a shard of blue clay.
?He didn?t come back to me for hours.? Cane paused in the doorway to watch Aoife take in the scene. ?Lost in rage.? Bare feet made little noise as he moved to join her, but the floorboards creaked beneath his weight regardless.
She rose to stand, exhale a sigh. ?His anger burns out of control.? The truth in the very room in which they stood, an interrupted sentence dangling unfinished. Aoife pressed a fingertip into the point of the piece she held though did not pierce her skin. ?Do you fear him?? This asked with the weight of her stare.
The way she looked at him gave him pause. Aoife often spoken in riddles, meant something other than what she said. So he asked, ?You mean Sinjin, don?t you??
?The Sinner,? she confirmed.
That made him laugh, a hollow, mirthless sound. ?No. He?s a ghost. He?s here to haunt us and then he?ll go. He always does.?
?He tempts. He takes with his words.?
?And wounds with his lack of them.?
Aoife nodded, storm clouds and shadows haunting her eyes. She looked around the room. Beneath the rage there was so much sadness. ?I remember.? Her steps were carefully placed avoiding shattered pieces like memories not wanting to be faced. A hand on the overturned table, her gaze settled on Cane. ?Will you help me??
He answered by shifting into action. The table was righted in no time. He stooped to swipe an empty pot from off the floor next. ?I don?t know what to do.?
She pulled her lips in, catching them with her teeth. For a moment she was as lost as the cause that was scattered all around them. Fingers to the back of her neck beneath a braid that was falling to pieces, she worried over the plants and flowers with a wandering gaze. ?Anything with roots can be saved.? She second guessed herself, chewing on the inside of her cheek. ?If we put them on the table I can--I can try.?
?That isn?t always true.? He frowned, scooping a wilted plant off the floor along with some salvageable dirt.
Aoife had taken a knee to gently gather up a colorful succulent. ?Why is it I feel like we?re not speaking of the same thing?? Such clarity for her was rare, but had it not always been there?
Canaan chuckled. ?We almost never do.? He did his best to tuck the little plant back where it belonged. ?I was talking about Sin. I don?t know what to do about Sin.?
?He does as he pleases.? There was little to do with most of the pots, if not all of them. They were a sacrifice. She toed several pieces into a pile. ?Have you spoken with him??
?Not yet. He left me a message, but I haven?t decided how to respond.? He brought the broom to Aoife and set the trash can in the middle of the room. Then he busied himself with collecting the larger shards of pottery scattered around the floor.
She reached for the broom but didn?t immediately use it, holding it at a distance as she did most things. Most people. Her eyes remained downcast on a shredded leaf buried beneath scattered soil at her feet. ?What do you feel of his intentions??
Kneeling on the floor, Cane paused for a moment to study the shattered mess cradled in his hands, devastation born from emotional distress. It would have been entirely possible to reassemble the pieces, glue the pots back together; but even with magic they?d never be the same, and the plants that had been housed within them were now damaged and in shock -- in some cases beyond rectification. If there was ever a metaphor for the current situation?
?His intentions?? Cane echoed questioningly, sounding curious himself. What did he feel about them? What even were they? Minor investigation into his feelings on the matter caused him to bristle angrily. He stood abruptly and dumped the garbage into the bin. ?It?s been years. I don?t pretend to know what his intentions are. I have only what he?s demonstrated previously and what little Salvador has opened up to me about to go on. If past actions dictate future? then he?ll create a whirlwind of emotional distress and then leave before having to deal with any of it.? He looked up and at her, the table between them. ?Even if I could be made to understand why he leaves at all, I will never understand the silence that follows. He can?t send the man a ****ing postcard for christ?s sakes??
He was getting too worked up about it. Cane could feel the familiar sensation of anger creeping along his skin, prickling with heat. He grit his teeth, inhaling slowly through his nose in an attempt to quell the insidious fury rising within him. It only half-worked. Frustration was chuffed out between clenched jaws, animalistic in nature. Fingers massaged at a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
Clay and glass scraped over the floor, cascading notes soft compared to the crescendo of emotion that created them. The echo of it was still there, soaked into the walls and floor in ghostly tears. She could almost smell the salty bitterness.
Although he did not raise his voice, she felt heat burning in the words. Broom bristles skimmed across the floor once when she paused to lift her eyes. She watched him move. Watched him cut to the bin and release the fragments of a problem that could not be fixed. She should have expected the sharpness of the noise, but a flinch found her anyway.
?Will Salvador be able to tell his Sinner no?? It was more of a thought that escaped than a question at all.
He began to lay the wilted plants on the table for her inspection. She would know better than him what was worth the effort to nurse back to life. ?I -- don?t know? That isn?t for me to say, or to decide. I only want for him to remember his worth. That?s all.?
?He will be in pain until he decides to walk away from it.? Somewhere between then and now she?d stepped over a pile and created another.
They were venturing into territory Cane wasn?t wholly comfortable discussing. His own feelings about Sinjin, or about his lover?s pain where it affected him were one thing, but to talk about the specifics of Sal?s relationship with Sin? it wasn?t a topic he felt was appropriate to debate. His hesitation showed in his carriage, tension that slowly gathered between his shoulders and pulled them tight.
?They need to talk.?
Aoife hummed her response, notes trapped in the delicate curve of her throat. She took several seconds of quiet to set the broom against a wall and drift to the table. The sleeve of her sweater dwarfed her hand, drowning her fingers save for two. She lifted a wilting petal of a dying Malabar lily.
?They do. Talk and not act because he is not the only one who suffers for it.? She smoothed her thumb along the curling edge. ?I only--? She pulled her lips inward, catching them with her teeth to hold the words inside that sat heavy on her tongue. Releasing the petal, she took to the broom, holding it loose between her hands. ?I hurt for you.?
Cane swallowed the lump that formed suddenly in his throat. ?Everyone?s hurting. There?s no need for this. Sinjin needs to stop being a ****head mother****er.? Some of the anger trickled back into his tone. He was tired of hurting.
Pile after pile after pile. Little mounds of destruction?s aftermath waited. The lanai would be swept clean but the damage would have lasting effects.
(Thanks to Canaan for the shared words!)
Casa del Brujo
8:00 AM
On this day, sunrise brought with it the premature winds of winter and a light dusting of snow. The ocean was a stormy gray to match the sky. The angry pounding of the surf was white noise in Cane?s ears, deafening him to everything but his innermost thoughts, so he missed the soft knock on the front door. Salvador?s head turned toward the porch, light slithering through his eyes. It was the otherworldly glint that caught the Cajun?s attention.
?What is it?? Thoughts of a sinner grovelled on the weathered porch floor assaulted his mind?s eye. Heat blossomed from deep within, radiating outward from the Cajun?s body to rival that which came from the fire currently blazing in the hearth.
?A little songbird,? Sal replied.
Visions of violence vanished immediately. The tension took a little longer to leave his body. Cane peered wonderingly at the door; he could neither see nor hear Aoife, but his other senses confirmed she was there.
The Spaniard climbed out of Cane?s lap, stepping carefully into his house shoes before stalking toward their bedroom. ?I?m going to find Skid.?
Cane stood as well. ?Te amo, mi vida.?
Salvador paused in the doorway to look back at him over his shoulder. ?Te amo tambi?n, mi ?gida.?
When the Spaniard was gone--vanished from the house entirely less than a minute later--Cane went to the door and opened it. ?Aoife.? He always used her name as a greeting. His voice held minor notes of surprise this time, a little shocked that she?d come here of all places when Salvador was still in his season.
As soft as the knock had been, her knuckles still ached from the cold. She knew they were there. She knew Salvador was there. What she did not know was who was going to welcome her. Perhaps that was what spoke for her stillness those first few seconds it took for recognition to settle. The door had hardly opened, her partially closed fist mid air.
Canaan. Aoife?s fingers wilted into her palm which she pressed to her chest. She trapped him in a stare for the count of three before peering into the space behind him. ?May I??
?Yeah, get in here.? Cane stepped back, widening the opening of the door for her to pass through. ?****in? cold out there.?
She knew then that Salvador was gone.
One hand joined the other and her fingers linked before she stepped over the threshold. Hearing him speak, Aoife paused, but didn?t look. ?Winter is coming,? as if he didn?t know. She was distracted, her voice far away, lost in the tangle of her thoughts.
?Seems like it?s chompin? at the bit.? Cane snorted, scowling at the thin layer of snow covering his front yard before shutting the door. ?Could do without the snow.? Could do without a lot of things that came with winter, actually.
Her fingers unwound, hands falling to her sides where she stood. The living room, the kitchen, the dining table minus one chair. Morning light had come with dawn but shadows filled the space still. Her chin caught the line of her shoulder when her gaze fell on the off kilter door leading to the lanai. ?I like snow.? She collected whatever silence had been left when she inhaled. ?Are you mad??
?Sal is,? Cane replied, following her gaze to the door hanging oddly on its hinges. The front window was boarded up until he could find the time to replace the glass. He folded his arms across his chest, gritting his teeth. She hadn?t asked about Sal. But admitting he was upset would mean admitting he cared at all. ?So am I. Two years and no word? I?d like to punch him in his stupid mouth.? After a short pause, he admitted, ?I may yet.?
Aoife nodded. ?I understand.? She looked at him then, strong and proud--untouchable. She knew better than to stare. Shifting away, she forced herself forward toward what ruins waited. ?May I have some time??
?It?s a mess in there.? Gentle warning. Cane sighed, drifting with the pull of her wake. He wasn?t sure if she wanted time to tend her plants alone, if she would tolerate the company right now. ?Want some help? Sal?s? gone.?
She traced the outline of the door with her eyes, reaching to graze splinters with the tips of two fingers. ?I?m not mad.? She wasn?t sure what she was. She wasn?t sure what she was going to be. With her hand on the frame, she stepped outside.
Her inhale was near audible. Knuckles to her lips, she had hardly moved a foot before pulling into herself and stilling. There was nothing to say, not one thing. Smashed pots, upended roots, clumps of soil and green hanging fearfully to cracks in the walls. The table had been flipped, everything upon it scattered over the floor, some in pieces. Twinkle lights sagged, no longer lit. Several screens on either end had been torn. Sinking into a crouch, she reached for a shard of blue clay.
?He didn?t come back to me for hours.? Cane paused in the doorway to watch Aoife take in the scene. ?Lost in rage.? Bare feet made little noise as he moved to join her, but the floorboards creaked beneath his weight regardless.
She rose to stand, exhale a sigh. ?His anger burns out of control.? The truth in the very room in which they stood, an interrupted sentence dangling unfinished. Aoife pressed a fingertip into the point of the piece she held though did not pierce her skin. ?Do you fear him?? This asked with the weight of her stare.
The way she looked at him gave him pause. Aoife often spoken in riddles, meant something other than what she said. So he asked, ?You mean Sinjin, don?t you??
?The Sinner,? she confirmed.
That made him laugh, a hollow, mirthless sound. ?No. He?s a ghost. He?s here to haunt us and then he?ll go. He always does.?
?He tempts. He takes with his words.?
?And wounds with his lack of them.?
Aoife nodded, storm clouds and shadows haunting her eyes. She looked around the room. Beneath the rage there was so much sadness. ?I remember.? Her steps were carefully placed avoiding shattered pieces like memories not wanting to be faced. A hand on the overturned table, her gaze settled on Cane. ?Will you help me??
He answered by shifting into action. The table was righted in no time. He stooped to swipe an empty pot from off the floor next. ?I don?t know what to do.?
She pulled her lips in, catching them with her teeth. For a moment she was as lost as the cause that was scattered all around them. Fingers to the back of her neck beneath a braid that was falling to pieces, she worried over the plants and flowers with a wandering gaze. ?Anything with roots can be saved.? She second guessed herself, chewing on the inside of her cheek. ?If we put them on the table I can--I can try.?
?That isn?t always true.? He frowned, scooping a wilted plant off the floor along with some salvageable dirt.
Aoife had taken a knee to gently gather up a colorful succulent. ?Why is it I feel like we?re not speaking of the same thing?? Such clarity for her was rare, but had it not always been there?
Canaan chuckled. ?We almost never do.? He did his best to tuck the little plant back where it belonged. ?I was talking about Sin. I don?t know what to do about Sin.?
?He does as he pleases.? There was little to do with most of the pots, if not all of them. They were a sacrifice. She toed several pieces into a pile. ?Have you spoken with him??
?Not yet. He left me a message, but I haven?t decided how to respond.? He brought the broom to Aoife and set the trash can in the middle of the room. Then he busied himself with collecting the larger shards of pottery scattered around the floor.
She reached for the broom but didn?t immediately use it, holding it at a distance as she did most things. Most people. Her eyes remained downcast on a shredded leaf buried beneath scattered soil at her feet. ?What do you feel of his intentions??
Kneeling on the floor, Cane paused for a moment to study the shattered mess cradled in his hands, devastation born from emotional distress. It would have been entirely possible to reassemble the pieces, glue the pots back together; but even with magic they?d never be the same, and the plants that had been housed within them were now damaged and in shock -- in some cases beyond rectification. If there was ever a metaphor for the current situation?
?His intentions?? Cane echoed questioningly, sounding curious himself. What did he feel about them? What even were they? Minor investigation into his feelings on the matter caused him to bristle angrily. He stood abruptly and dumped the garbage into the bin. ?It?s been years. I don?t pretend to know what his intentions are. I have only what he?s demonstrated previously and what little Salvador has opened up to me about to go on. If past actions dictate future? then he?ll create a whirlwind of emotional distress and then leave before having to deal with any of it.? He looked up and at her, the table between them. ?Even if I could be made to understand why he leaves at all, I will never understand the silence that follows. He can?t send the man a ****ing postcard for christ?s sakes??
He was getting too worked up about it. Cane could feel the familiar sensation of anger creeping along his skin, prickling with heat. He grit his teeth, inhaling slowly through his nose in an attempt to quell the insidious fury rising within him. It only half-worked. Frustration was chuffed out between clenched jaws, animalistic in nature. Fingers massaged at a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
Clay and glass scraped over the floor, cascading notes soft compared to the crescendo of emotion that created them. The echo of it was still there, soaked into the walls and floor in ghostly tears. She could almost smell the salty bitterness.
Although he did not raise his voice, she felt heat burning in the words. Broom bristles skimmed across the floor once when she paused to lift her eyes. She watched him move. Watched him cut to the bin and release the fragments of a problem that could not be fixed. She should have expected the sharpness of the noise, but a flinch found her anyway.
?Will Salvador be able to tell his Sinner no?? It was more of a thought that escaped than a question at all.
He began to lay the wilted plants on the table for her inspection. She would know better than him what was worth the effort to nurse back to life. ?I -- don?t know? That isn?t for me to say, or to decide. I only want for him to remember his worth. That?s all.?
?He will be in pain until he decides to walk away from it.? Somewhere between then and now she?d stepped over a pile and created another.
They were venturing into territory Cane wasn?t wholly comfortable discussing. His own feelings about Sinjin, or about his lover?s pain where it affected him were one thing, but to talk about the specifics of Sal?s relationship with Sin? it wasn?t a topic he felt was appropriate to debate. His hesitation showed in his carriage, tension that slowly gathered between his shoulders and pulled them tight.
?They need to talk.?
Aoife hummed her response, notes trapped in the delicate curve of her throat. She took several seconds of quiet to set the broom against a wall and drift to the table. The sleeve of her sweater dwarfed her hand, drowning her fingers save for two. She lifted a wilting petal of a dying Malabar lily.
?They do. Talk and not act because he is not the only one who suffers for it.? She smoothed her thumb along the curling edge. ?I only--? She pulled her lips inward, catching them with her teeth to hold the words inside that sat heavy on her tongue. Releasing the petal, she took to the broom, holding it loose between her hands. ?I hurt for you.?
Cane swallowed the lump that formed suddenly in his throat. ?Everyone?s hurting. There?s no need for this. Sinjin needs to stop being a ****head mother****er.? Some of the anger trickled back into his tone. He was tired of hurting.
Pile after pile after pile. Little mounds of destruction?s aftermath waited. The lanai would be swept clean but the damage would have lasting effects.
(Thanks to Canaan for the shared words!)