Witchbane - intermission. Let's go skiing
Speaking of stories and social contracts. Here is the snippet Victor concocted for me as a payment for my emotional labour described here. Not much plot, lots of drama, cultural hiccups and silly fun. Written down for buddy Alina be_unafraid to make her smile.
***
‘Wanna go skiing together?’
A smile creeps up on my lips. A wave of mischievous joy raises in my chest. Last time I saw my Ukrainian lover was back in summer, when we were investigating the breeding factory. Every time we part, I know we may never see each other again. Or, worse still, our paths may cross on a mission, prompting us to take each other out. Every meeting just for fun is a bonus.
‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘Mind you, I’m not a very good skier.’
‘That’s okay,’ comes the answer. ‘I’ll teach you. Is this upcoming weekend okay for you?’
I check my calendar.
‘Should be fine. Where are we going?’
‘Come to the Erzgebirge ski resort. I’ll meet you there. I already have a cabin booked.’
‘Awesome. How much was it? What’s the budget for the trip?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I appreciate the gesture, but I would prefer to pay for myself.’
There is a pause.
‘Seriously, money is not a problem,’ the new note announces when it arrives five minutes later.
I frown at the yellow stickie. Money is not the best topic for remote discussions. Especially with lovers.
‘Fine,’ I write. ‘But we’ll talk about it when we meet.’
‘Ok.’
‘Anything I need to bring with me?’
‘Just proper winter sport clothes. If you don’t have any, we can rent you some.’
‘This works. See you on Saturday then.’
‘See you.’
***
Last time I did any skiing was back in my student years. I still possess certain skills (I guess one cannot unlearn skiing completely), but they are quite rusty. Hedgehog, on the other hand, seems proficient. Which means he is showing off shamelessly, to my great amusement.
The slope we chose is of moderate difficulty, to accommodate my skill level. Apart from us, there is only one group of tourists there. It’s a gang of six or seven men, visibly in their cups, bickering and laughing and goading each other, and overall doing more yelling than actual skiing. I don’t understand their tongue, but I suspect they are of Slavic origin.
Hedgehog confirms my guess.
‘Russians,’ he mutters. ‘They think nobody understands their language, once they are abroad.’
‘What are they saying?’ I ask.
He shrugs.
‘The usual bullshit,’ he replies. ‘Don’t mind them.’
I follow the advice. The noisy group doesn’t bother me much. I grew up in Scotland. We have such gangs in pretty much any pub most evenings.
I take another round on the slope. When I’m back uphill, I can tell there was some new development. The Russians are looking in my general direction, talking loudly, while Hedgehog looks annoyed.
‘What happened?’ I ask him.
‘Nothing,’ he says.
‘Are they talking about me?’ I persist. ‘What are they saying?’
Hedgehog makes a face.
‘Bad things,’ he says. ‘Very disrespectful.’
At this moment, one of the Russian makes a movement with his arms, as if outlining the curves of a woman’s body. The rest of the bunch hoots with laughter. Oh, I see. They must be commenting my feminine attributes. No wonder Hedgehog is not pleased.
The Ukrainian turns back to the Russians and says something, presumably in their tongue. I don’t understand the words, but they definitely hit the mark. The man who was making remarks on my figure reddens and starts walking towards us, the rest of the gang trotting after him.
The Russian has probably meant to punch my date in the face. If so, he has no luck. Instead, Hedgehog grabs the assaulter, literally lifting him off his feet, and throws him down the slope. It looks like a scene from an action movie. A human needs to possess non-trivial strength to actually throw another person that far in real life.
The Russian lands with a shriek, and keeps rolling down the slope for quite a while. His friends rush to help him. None of them is in a hurry to challenge Hedgehog again. They scoop their injured buddy and take him away, leaving the slope to us. Suits me just fine.
The next couple of hours is spent in the most pleasant manner. We ski till we drop, taking breaks from time to time to have a cup of hot mulled wine in the nearby kiosk. We chat and laugh, and the intensifying feeling of mutual attraction is exhilarating, as always.
Before things get too playful, I touch on the sensitive subject of money.
‘Dinner is one thing,’ I am saying. ‘But this trip is a two-day endeavour. I don’t like the idea of you paying for the whole thing. I’m quite capable to cover my part of expenses.’
Hedgehog dismisses this.
‘Forget about money,’ he says. ‘We’re not talking millions here. Until it’s millions, I don’t care.’
‘Oh really?’ I give him an eyebrow.
He shrugs.
‘Making couple of grands for me is a matter of hours. You know who I am. You know what I can do. I can sell my services any time of the day. There is always someone who needs healing. And mages would always prefer to pay with money, rather than make barter deals. Deals are complicated. Money isn’t.’
‘Hm.’
The prospective is new to me, but it makes sense. Indeed, if I were a sorcerer, I would try to set my life in a way to never think about money again.
‘So, are you saying couple of grands is nothing to you?’ I ask.
‘Not exactly nothing, but nothing in particular,’ he responds. ‘Also, my expenses are different from what you might expect. For example, I didn’t buy a plane ticket to come here. Is it a problem for you?’
‘No.’
‘Well then, see? Money is just there for convenience. Don’t bother yourself with it, when you’re with me.’
I cannot shake off the feeling that there are some unsaid implications, but I decide to go with the flow. No point in overthinking this. We’re here for fun.
I make my last rebuke, just on general principle.
‘If money ever becomes a problem, you’ll tell me,’ I declare. ‘Promise me.’
He smiles, showing his charming dimples.
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Easy promise.’
***
After an active day we’re eager for a hot meal. Before we start searching for a place to eat, I find the booth of the ski resort guards. There is no one there, so I write my complaint about the incident with the Russians on a piece of paper, date it, and put it into the mailbox. I am about to make somebody’s life complicated. Politics of this kind requires paperwork.
There are not so many restaurants around. It is not particularly surprising, I suppose, that we land exactly the same place the Russian gang chose to dine in.
‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’ I ask Hedgehog, when we spot our rivals.
‘No,’ he says stubbornly. ‘If anybody is to leave, it’s them.’
‘Alright.’
The food is good, but the atmosphere is far from relaxing. The Russians are a loud lot, and mostly drunk. Our presence instigated their unhealthy interest. They keep glancing at our table. One of them sings a song that make Hedgehog frown. Overall they behave like a bunch of baboons.
Eventually, one Russian stands up, walks up to our table and asks me to dance with him. He is a handsome enough man, but much too drunk and showing all signs of being an asshole.
‘No,’ I reply firmly.
‘Come on,’ he says in broken English. ‘Such beautiful woman should not sit all evening!’
‘No,’ I repeat.
‘Come on,’ he insists. ‘You will like it.’
I take out my phone and snap a picture of him. For the record.
This changes his mood quickly. He starts waving his hands angrily.
‘No, no,’ he says. ‘No photos!’
The Russian makes an attempt to take the phone out of my hand. From this, things escalate very quickly.
Hedgehog raises from the table and grapples the guy. The Russian curses and tries to wrench free, but his attempts are futile. In few long strides, Hedgehog takes him to the entrance, the guy’s feet not touching the ground. By the time they disappear behind the door, the rest of the Russians are running after them, hungry for a fight. I am on my way, too, stopping only to tell the bartender to call the police.
Outside, the fight is at full swing. It looks... funny. Yes, the Russians are drunk, but not inebriated. They seem quite a capable lot. Nevertheless, the moment any of them gets close to Hedgehog, they get clumsy. Their step on each other’s toes. Their punches miss by a mile. None of them can as much as touch the Ukrainian.
Then, one Russian takes out a knife. I steady my breath and slip my hand into my purse. My fingers curl around the gun hidden there. I don’t intend to aim at the man with a knife. There are too many of them, their movements too chaotic. But I do intend to shoot in the air.
There is no need. The moment Hedgehog spots the knife, he gets serious. With the series of carefully placed blows he brings his opponents down one by one. I’m pretty sure none of them is dead. They are just knocked out.
What surprises me more is that Hedgehog, too, looks beaten. There are bruises on his face, on his neck, on his hands. Which is peculiar, taking that none of the Russians managed as much as lay their finger on him.
I hear distant sirens. Police is coming.
***
When the policemen arrive, I’m busy mopping Hedgehog’s face with a wet cloth. To be fair, the man doesn’t need my ministrations. There is no bleeding anywhere. But it creates an image of who is the victim here.
Initially, the cops do not regard us very friendly. Things change when I present my ID. Hexenfluch is well-known in Germany, and well-respected.
Both Hedgehog and I still have to give our statements in regards to what had happened, but I know that my word will beat anything the Russians would have to say when they wake up. My earlier complaint also comes handy. I press for each and every member of the gang to be fined to the biggest amount possible. They are not sorcerers. For them, couple of grands will make a difference. They will also be banned from this resort as soon as they come to.
We then say goodbye to the cops and return to our cabin. Our victory is sweet, but Hedgehog is still much to weary to do anything but rest.
‘Can we just talk?’ he asks. ‘For a bit?’
‘Of course.’
Together, we pile the pillows and the coverlets for him to recline comfortably. At the last moment, Hedgehog asks me to occupy the nest we have created, while he lays down with his head on my lap.
‘Those assholes,’ he says angrily, while I’m stroking his forehead absently. ‘Bandits. Back in the army, they would not get out of this alive.’
‘What the hell were you doing in the army?’ I wonder.
He gives me a glance.
‘Wouldn’t you defend your country if it was attacked?’
‘I would,’ I admit.
‘Isn’t it what you’re doing now?’ he continues. ‘You’re defending your country… well, Europe actually… from monsters.’
‘True.’ I give him a smile. ‘But I don’t understand. Russia is larger than Ukraine. The Russian sorcerers should be much bigger in numbers. How come Ukraine still exists?’
‘Mages are not stupid to go to war,’ Hedgehog says.
‘You did.’
‘That’s different. I was defending my home. If Russian mages went to war, they would be attacking another country. They know better. At war, you can get killed. Why risk? Who cares about the stupid war, when you can do interesting stuff?’
‘Right,’ I snort. ‘About interesting stuff. You’re technically not under my jurisdiction. But I want you to know: if ever I catch your merry gang at something fishy on my territory, I will fight you. Is it clear?’
The man does not seem particularly concerned.
‘Yeah, I thought so,’ he says. ‘Well, if we do some business here, we’ll make sure you don’t know!‘
Ah, the arrogance. All sorcerers think themselves smart until they end up in our dungeons. The right thing for me to do would be to indulge them in their ignorance. But I cannot resist.
‘I’m curious,’ I say. ‘Can you turn into a cat?’
This surprises Hedgehog a little bit.
‘Yeah, I could,’ he answers. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, I just remembered one of our missions,’ I say sweetly. ‘There was that sorcerer - an eye-candy of a boy, I must say - who tried to escape from us through the roofs by turning into a black cat. However, there was enough honest people watching for his disguise to dissipate. He fell down from the fourth floor and had to dangle on the clotheslines, naked. He is in our custody now.’
Hedgehog’s grin is not nervous, but it does look less condescending.
‘Yeah, it can happen,’ he admits, trying to sound nonchalant.
A thought occurs to me.
‘By the way,’ I say. ‘Do you know what kind of ritual would require five washing machines placed in a wide circle?’
‘What?’ He frowns.
I briefly describe to him our mission in Bergamo, where we stopped Ann Boleyn and her crew from doing whatever they had planned, but never found out what their plan actually was.
Hedgehog shakes his head. The bruises on his skin are taking the yellowish hue. Isn’t it a little bit too early for that?
‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what it’s for. But it’s something big. Mages don’t need anything for small stuff. We just change the world with our will. If someone requires additional objects to make the change, it must be something powerful.’
‘Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?’ I tell him. ‘We don’t know what sorcerers can do. Even sorcerers don’t know what other sorcerers can do. But you can harm people.’
Hedgehog interrupts me with a wave of a hand.
‘People harm people, too!’ he says hotly. ‘That’s the thing. We’re people. Just regular people. We simply can do weird stuff. I’m not saying all mages are good. There are good mages, there are bad mages. There are good people, there are bad people. See?’
‘From the Hexenfluch standpoint, by default you are all monsters,’ I inform him. ‘Although, I don’t particularly approve of it, myself. I think we should be more flexible. We need laws for you guys. We cannot just place you in dungeons for any offence you make. Do sorcerers have laws?’
Hedgehog sits up, flexing his muscles. His tiredness seems to have passed. He looks much more like his usual bouncy self.
‘The short answer is yes,’ he replies, turning back to me. ‘Mages have laws. But to explain them, I’ll have to explain magic. This is tricky. This is forbidden, in fact. Even talking to you about it is not okay.’ He pauses to think. ‘Well, now it’s a bit more okay, after the Red King. But before, it was not okay at all.’
He moves closer. His arms goes around my shoulders, while his other arms scoops my legs and places them over his own. Now I’m almost sitting on his lap.
‘Can we talk about something else?’ he asks. I can tell by his grin that his interest doesn’t lay necessarily in the realm of chatting. ‘Any crazy things you’ve done lately?’
I tell him about my summer adventure with underwater creatures. This makes him laugh incredulously.
‘You are lucky!’ he declares. ‘Too lucky. First the breeding factory, than this… If I didn’t know better, I would think there is a spell on you!’
‘Maybe there is,’ I tease him.
He shakes his head.
‘No,’ he says. ‘I checked. Don’t get me wrong! I like you lucky. But that’s just it. Luck.’
‘Unreliable and unrepeatable, is that what you want to say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it must be the fact I’m a redhead. This has luck spelled all over it.’
I pull him closer.
‘If you want,’ I say. ‘I can give you the lock of my hair. For luck.’
He smiles.
‘I’ll take it!’ he says before claiming my lips.
As we make love, I can see the bruises on his body fading. By the morning, they disappear completely. Like they were never there.
(photo courtesy of Pinterest)
***
‘Wanna go skiing together?’
A smile creeps up on my lips. A wave of mischievous joy raises in my chest. Last time I saw my Ukrainian lover was back in summer, when we were investigating the breeding factory. Every time we part, I know we may never see each other again. Or, worse still, our paths may cross on a mission, prompting us to take each other out. Every meeting just for fun is a bonus.
‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘Mind you, I’m not a very good skier.’
‘That’s okay,’ comes the answer. ‘I’ll teach you. Is this upcoming weekend okay for you?’
I check my calendar.
‘Should be fine. Where are we going?’
‘Come to the Erzgebirge ski resort. I’ll meet you there. I already have a cabin booked.’
‘Awesome. How much was it? What’s the budget for the trip?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I appreciate the gesture, but I would prefer to pay for myself.’
There is a pause.
‘Seriously, money is not a problem,’ the new note announces when it arrives five minutes later.
I frown at the yellow stickie. Money is not the best topic for remote discussions. Especially with lovers.
‘Fine,’ I write. ‘But we’ll talk about it when we meet.’
‘Ok.’
‘Anything I need to bring with me?’
‘Just proper winter sport clothes. If you don’t have any, we can rent you some.’
‘This works. See you on Saturday then.’
‘See you.’
***
Last time I did any skiing was back in my student years. I still possess certain skills (I guess one cannot unlearn skiing completely), but they are quite rusty. Hedgehog, on the other hand, seems proficient. Which means he is showing off shamelessly, to my great amusement.
The slope we chose is of moderate difficulty, to accommodate my skill level. Apart from us, there is only one group of tourists there. It’s a gang of six or seven men, visibly in their cups, bickering and laughing and goading each other, and overall doing more yelling than actual skiing. I don’t understand their tongue, but I suspect they are of Slavic origin.
Hedgehog confirms my guess.
‘Russians,’ he mutters. ‘They think nobody understands their language, once they are abroad.’
‘What are they saying?’ I ask.
He shrugs.
‘The usual bullshit,’ he replies. ‘Don’t mind them.’
I follow the advice. The noisy group doesn’t bother me much. I grew up in Scotland. We have such gangs in pretty much any pub most evenings.
I take another round on the slope. When I’m back uphill, I can tell there was some new development. The Russians are looking in my general direction, talking loudly, while Hedgehog looks annoyed.
‘What happened?’ I ask him.
‘Nothing,’ he says.
‘Are they talking about me?’ I persist. ‘What are they saying?’
Hedgehog makes a face.
‘Bad things,’ he says. ‘Very disrespectful.’
At this moment, one of the Russian makes a movement with his arms, as if outlining the curves of a woman’s body. The rest of the bunch hoots with laughter. Oh, I see. They must be commenting my feminine attributes. No wonder Hedgehog is not pleased.
The Ukrainian turns back to the Russians and says something, presumably in their tongue. I don’t understand the words, but they definitely hit the mark. The man who was making remarks on my figure reddens and starts walking towards us, the rest of the gang trotting after him.
The Russian has probably meant to punch my date in the face. If so, he has no luck. Instead, Hedgehog grabs the assaulter, literally lifting him off his feet, and throws him down the slope. It looks like a scene from an action movie. A human needs to possess non-trivial strength to actually throw another person that far in real life.
The Russian lands with a shriek, and keeps rolling down the slope for quite a while. His friends rush to help him. None of them is in a hurry to challenge Hedgehog again. They scoop their injured buddy and take him away, leaving the slope to us. Suits me just fine.
The next couple of hours is spent in the most pleasant manner. We ski till we drop, taking breaks from time to time to have a cup of hot mulled wine in the nearby kiosk. We chat and laugh, and the intensifying feeling of mutual attraction is exhilarating, as always.
Before things get too playful, I touch on the sensitive subject of money.
‘Dinner is one thing,’ I am saying. ‘But this trip is a two-day endeavour. I don’t like the idea of you paying for the whole thing. I’m quite capable to cover my part of expenses.’
Hedgehog dismisses this.
‘Forget about money,’ he says. ‘We’re not talking millions here. Until it’s millions, I don’t care.’
‘Oh really?’ I give him an eyebrow.
He shrugs.
‘Making couple of grands for me is a matter of hours. You know who I am. You know what I can do. I can sell my services any time of the day. There is always someone who needs healing. And mages would always prefer to pay with money, rather than make barter deals. Deals are complicated. Money isn’t.’
‘Hm.’
The prospective is new to me, but it makes sense. Indeed, if I were a sorcerer, I would try to set my life in a way to never think about money again.
‘So, are you saying couple of grands is nothing to you?’ I ask.
‘Not exactly nothing, but nothing in particular,’ he responds. ‘Also, my expenses are different from what you might expect. For example, I didn’t buy a plane ticket to come here. Is it a problem for you?’
‘No.’
‘Well then, see? Money is just there for convenience. Don’t bother yourself with it, when you’re with me.’
I cannot shake off the feeling that there are some unsaid implications, but I decide to go with the flow. No point in overthinking this. We’re here for fun.
I make my last rebuke, just on general principle.
‘If money ever becomes a problem, you’ll tell me,’ I declare. ‘Promise me.’
He smiles, showing his charming dimples.
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Easy promise.’
***
After an active day we’re eager for a hot meal. Before we start searching for a place to eat, I find the booth of the ski resort guards. There is no one there, so I write my complaint about the incident with the Russians on a piece of paper, date it, and put it into the mailbox. I am about to make somebody’s life complicated. Politics of this kind requires paperwork.
There are not so many restaurants around. It is not particularly surprising, I suppose, that we land exactly the same place the Russian gang chose to dine in.
‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’ I ask Hedgehog, when we spot our rivals.
‘No,’ he says stubbornly. ‘If anybody is to leave, it’s them.’
‘Alright.’
The food is good, but the atmosphere is far from relaxing. The Russians are a loud lot, and mostly drunk. Our presence instigated their unhealthy interest. They keep glancing at our table. One of them sings a song that make Hedgehog frown. Overall they behave like a bunch of baboons.
Eventually, one Russian stands up, walks up to our table and asks me to dance with him. He is a handsome enough man, but much too drunk and showing all signs of being an asshole.
‘No,’ I reply firmly.
‘Come on,’ he says in broken English. ‘Such beautiful woman should not sit all evening!’
‘No,’ I repeat.
‘Come on,’ he insists. ‘You will like it.’
I take out my phone and snap a picture of him. For the record.
This changes his mood quickly. He starts waving his hands angrily.
‘No, no,’ he says. ‘No photos!’
The Russian makes an attempt to take the phone out of my hand. From this, things escalate very quickly.
Hedgehog raises from the table and grapples the guy. The Russian curses and tries to wrench free, but his attempts are futile. In few long strides, Hedgehog takes him to the entrance, the guy’s feet not touching the ground. By the time they disappear behind the door, the rest of the Russians are running after them, hungry for a fight. I am on my way, too, stopping only to tell the bartender to call the police.
Outside, the fight is at full swing. It looks... funny. Yes, the Russians are drunk, but not inebriated. They seem quite a capable lot. Nevertheless, the moment any of them gets close to Hedgehog, they get clumsy. Their step on each other’s toes. Their punches miss by a mile. None of them can as much as touch the Ukrainian.
Then, one Russian takes out a knife. I steady my breath and slip my hand into my purse. My fingers curl around the gun hidden there. I don’t intend to aim at the man with a knife. There are too many of them, their movements too chaotic. But I do intend to shoot in the air.
There is no need. The moment Hedgehog spots the knife, he gets serious. With the series of carefully placed blows he brings his opponents down one by one. I’m pretty sure none of them is dead. They are just knocked out.
What surprises me more is that Hedgehog, too, looks beaten. There are bruises on his face, on his neck, on his hands. Which is peculiar, taking that none of the Russians managed as much as lay their finger on him.
I hear distant sirens. Police is coming.
***
When the policemen arrive, I’m busy mopping Hedgehog’s face with a wet cloth. To be fair, the man doesn’t need my ministrations. There is no bleeding anywhere. But it creates an image of who is the victim here.
Initially, the cops do not regard us very friendly. Things change when I present my ID. Hexenfluch is well-known in Germany, and well-respected.
Both Hedgehog and I still have to give our statements in regards to what had happened, but I know that my word will beat anything the Russians would have to say when they wake up. My earlier complaint also comes handy. I press for each and every member of the gang to be fined to the biggest amount possible. They are not sorcerers. For them, couple of grands will make a difference. They will also be banned from this resort as soon as they come to.
We then say goodbye to the cops and return to our cabin. Our victory is sweet, but Hedgehog is still much to weary to do anything but rest.
‘Can we just talk?’ he asks. ‘For a bit?’
‘Of course.’
Together, we pile the pillows and the coverlets for him to recline comfortably. At the last moment, Hedgehog asks me to occupy the nest we have created, while he lays down with his head on my lap.
‘Those assholes,’ he says angrily, while I’m stroking his forehead absently. ‘Bandits. Back in the army, they would not get out of this alive.’
‘What the hell were you doing in the army?’ I wonder.
He gives me a glance.
‘Wouldn’t you defend your country if it was attacked?’
‘I would,’ I admit.
‘Isn’t it what you’re doing now?’ he continues. ‘You’re defending your country… well, Europe actually… from monsters.’
‘True.’ I give him a smile. ‘But I don’t understand. Russia is larger than Ukraine. The Russian sorcerers should be much bigger in numbers. How come Ukraine still exists?’
‘Mages are not stupid to go to war,’ Hedgehog says.
‘You did.’
‘That’s different. I was defending my home. If Russian mages went to war, they would be attacking another country. They know better. At war, you can get killed. Why risk? Who cares about the stupid war, when you can do interesting stuff?’
‘Right,’ I snort. ‘About interesting stuff. You’re technically not under my jurisdiction. But I want you to know: if ever I catch your merry gang at something fishy on my territory, I will fight you. Is it clear?’
The man does not seem particularly concerned.
‘Yeah, I thought so,’ he says. ‘Well, if we do some business here, we’ll make sure you don’t know!‘
Ah, the arrogance. All sorcerers think themselves smart until they end up in our dungeons. The right thing for me to do would be to indulge them in their ignorance. But I cannot resist.
‘I’m curious,’ I say. ‘Can you turn into a cat?’
This surprises Hedgehog a little bit.
‘Yeah, I could,’ he answers. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, I just remembered one of our missions,’ I say sweetly. ‘There was that sorcerer - an eye-candy of a boy, I must say - who tried to escape from us through the roofs by turning into a black cat. However, there was enough honest people watching for his disguise to dissipate. He fell down from the fourth floor and had to dangle on the clotheslines, naked. He is in our custody now.’
Hedgehog’s grin is not nervous, but it does look less condescending.
‘Yeah, it can happen,’ he admits, trying to sound nonchalant.
A thought occurs to me.
‘By the way,’ I say. ‘Do you know what kind of ritual would require five washing machines placed in a wide circle?’
‘What?’ He frowns.
I briefly describe to him our mission in Bergamo, where we stopped Ann Boleyn and her crew from doing whatever they had planned, but never found out what their plan actually was.
Hedgehog shakes his head. The bruises on his skin are taking the yellowish hue. Isn’t it a little bit too early for that?
‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what it’s for. But it’s something big. Mages don’t need anything for small stuff. We just change the world with our will. If someone requires additional objects to make the change, it must be something powerful.’
‘Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?’ I tell him. ‘We don’t know what sorcerers can do. Even sorcerers don’t know what other sorcerers can do. But you can harm people.’
Hedgehog interrupts me with a wave of a hand.
‘People harm people, too!’ he says hotly. ‘That’s the thing. We’re people. Just regular people. We simply can do weird stuff. I’m not saying all mages are good. There are good mages, there are bad mages. There are good people, there are bad people. See?’
‘From the Hexenfluch standpoint, by default you are all monsters,’ I inform him. ‘Although, I don’t particularly approve of it, myself. I think we should be more flexible. We need laws for you guys. We cannot just place you in dungeons for any offence you make. Do sorcerers have laws?’
Hedgehog sits up, flexing his muscles. His tiredness seems to have passed. He looks much more like his usual bouncy self.
‘The short answer is yes,’ he replies, turning back to me. ‘Mages have laws. But to explain them, I’ll have to explain magic. This is tricky. This is forbidden, in fact. Even talking to you about it is not okay.’ He pauses to think. ‘Well, now it’s a bit more okay, after the Red King. But before, it was not okay at all.’
He moves closer. His arms goes around my shoulders, while his other arms scoops my legs and places them over his own. Now I’m almost sitting on his lap.
‘Can we talk about something else?’ he asks. I can tell by his grin that his interest doesn’t lay necessarily in the realm of chatting. ‘Any crazy things you’ve done lately?’
I tell him about my summer adventure with underwater creatures. This makes him laugh incredulously.
‘You are lucky!’ he declares. ‘Too lucky. First the breeding factory, than this… If I didn’t know better, I would think there is a spell on you!’
‘Maybe there is,’ I tease him.
He shakes his head.
‘No,’ he says. ‘I checked. Don’t get me wrong! I like you lucky. But that’s just it. Luck.’
‘Unreliable and unrepeatable, is that what you want to say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it must be the fact I’m a redhead. This has luck spelled all over it.’
I pull him closer.
‘If you want,’ I say. ‘I can give you the lock of my hair. For luck.’
He smiles.
‘I’ll take it!’ he says before claiming my lips.
As we make love, I can see the bruises on his body fading. By the morning, they disappear completely. Like they were never there.
(photo courtesy of Pinterest)