“What’s the matter, Paul?” she finally asked, “You look like you’ve lost an old friend.”
“I’ve lost a new one,” he answered ruefully.
When he didn’t elaborate, Amelia said. “It’s that girl again, isn’t it? The one you wanted me to track for you in the orb?”
Too miserable to deny it, Paul nodded. He waited for the barrage of teasing taunts as Amelia chided him for getting his heart tangled up with a mortal woman. Instead she was quiet a while. When she finally spoke she said, “I was in love once, with a mortal man.”
Paul looked up in surprise. Amelia in love? Impossible. She saw his disbelief and laughed. “Don’t tell anyone—I’ll just deny it. I met him in 1732 at the French royal court. You weren’t even born yet, for heaven’s sake, but I was already a seasoned witch with no excuse for such behavior! Gerard de Saint Marc was a high ranking officer in Louis XV’s army and when I saw him standing there in his formal military uniform, his plumed hat by his side, I was smitten. It was that ridiculous thing you’ve heard tell of, no doubt, but never believed in—that thing called love at first sight.
“So it was with me. Something connected between us as our eyes met. He asked me to dance and we were inseparable after that. We married within months and even now I cherish each day we had together.”
“Amelia! You never told me! All these years I’ve known you and you never told me about the one man you loved?”
She waved her hand dismissively, though her eyes were suddenly bright with tears. She laughed a little and shook her head. “Oh, it was centuries ago, and I’ve loved men since then, just not with the same intensity, the same passion. When you feel you shall die if you have to spend another moment without him—when the world seems to be on hold until you are again in his arms…” She sighed and stared off into the middle distance while Paul marveled at her. To think of Amelia in love! And with a mortal.
“How did he die? Did you spend his life with him? How did you explain your appearance, or did you age along with him, adding wrinkles and gray hairs, letting your skin sag and your muscle separate from bone to give the appearance of aging at a mortal rate?”
“I would have, but I didn’t get the chance. He was killed in some stupid military skirmish when we’d only been married two years. It took me a century to get over him and I promised myself after that, never again! A ridiculous waste of energy and pointless, really. They wither and age so rapidly, why involve your heart?”
She watched Paul, a knowing expression in her eyes. He looked up at her and said softly, “I’m afraid it’s already involved. But she wants nothing to do with me.”
Amelia was speechless for a moment. Finally she sputtered, “Nothing to do with you! With Paul Windsor? What is she, blind? Or just plain stupid?”
“She is neither. She is the most hauntingly beautiful, damnably stubborn mortal woman I’ve ever met.” He sighed. “She’s a widow—her husband died eight months ago and she’s decided to assume the mantle of professional mourner. She’s lost her job over it. She spends her days feeding birds at a park. Though of course she would deny it, she takes a certain perverse pleasure or pride in her status as bereaved. I think on some level it gives her an ‘out’ from the strictures of her life.”
“Well, that’s not so unusual,” Amelia responded. “People often make marked changes in their lives when their spouse dies. Start a new career, move to a new place, or, as you say, retire from this world in a way, as if a part of them died along with their true love.”
“Yes, except I don’t believe he was her true love!” Paul said with more vehemence than he’d intended. Amelia smiled and started to speak but he stopped her with his hand held palm up. “No, I know what you’re thinking. That I think I’m the one who should be her true love. Be that as it may,” Amelia arched her delicate eyebrows at this statement but didn’t interrupt, “this fellow was not the one. She is too young, too inexperienced to realize it, but he didn’t love her. Not as she deserved to be loved! He didn’t appreciate her exquisite delicacy of feeling, or her innate talent as an artist. He didn’t appreciate her body or her capacity for passion. He just used her! Took what he wanted and tried to mold her into something she was not!”
“And you’ve known her how long to learn all this about her?” Amelia said archly.
Sheepishly Paul admitted, “Just a day and a night.” Gathering force in his voice he went on, “But think back! Think back to your Gerard! One dance was all it took! For me it was the same. She looked up into my face with those eyes, the passion lurking beneath a sorrow that occupies too much of her heart, and I was captivated.”
He fell silent, his throat suddenly thick with tears. Amelia put her hand gently over his. “Shall we look for her now? In the orb?” How had she known he now had something of Anne’s to use in the viewing potion? Wordlessly he reached into his pocket, withdrawing the small strip of red satin.
Once the orb and viewing potion were readied, the satin now swirling amidst the magic herbs and oils, Amelia and Paul placed their hands on the glass. This time Anne appeared within moments, a lone figure in the middle of the crystal globe. She was sitting on a bench dressed again in jeans and an oversized shirt, tossing bits of bread to fat pigeons pecking eagerly at her feet.
Paul’s heart clutched in his chest as he stared down at her. “We’re in the present,” Amelia said, interpreting the scene. She could conjure the past as well, and even sometimes a glimpse of the future. “Her lips are moving. Let me watch.” Amelia, like most witches who specialized in orbcraft, was quite adept at reading lips.
“What’s she saying?” Paul leaned forward eagerly, craning to see.
“She’s saying,” Amelia paused and then said, “she’s saying, ‘Paul. Oh, Paul.’” At this, Paul felt his heart soar like a bird winging its way in a clear blue sky. He wanted to dance, he wanted to shout with joy. Amelia went on, “Paul, I wish I’d never met you.”
As Paul’s heart plummeted back to earth Amelia turned toward him. “Don’t lose hope, you silly man. I have a plan.” |
