The Mating Game: Werewolves of Montana Book 8 Page 3

  Grinning, he beckoned to the waitress and ordered one for himself. Xavier marveled at the girl. He was accustomed to Others quivering in fear or boldly defying him or women who only wanted to get into his leather pants.

  “I must admit, Miss Ciara Simpson. I am afraid.”

  She pushed back her soda and studied him with wide eyes filled with more than a little disbelief. “You?”

  He pointed to the comic book. “Someone like you, who can draw something that ghoulish, has a terrifying talent.”

  Now she smiled, and it lit up her entire face. It was like watching a lamp snap on in a dark room. He wondered why she seemed so familiar.

  “I really want to draw Superman, but I used up all my allowance on monster comics.” She closed the book. “I love to draw. It’s much better than roller skating.”

  “Ah, you look down upon that activity?”

  Ciara gave a rueful glance at one saddle shoe. “No. Bad ankles.”

  He laughed, a deep sound that made the other teens turn around and look at him.

  She tilted her head. An Elvis song came over the jukebox. “You are much nicer looking than Elvis Presley.”

  “Who is this Elvis Presley?” he teased.

  Xavier enjoyed the pink flush tinting her cheeks. So pretty.

  The older waitress slammed his soda down on the counter. He sipped, barely tasting it.

  “He’s only the single most important singer of this century! What, are you living in the dark ages?” Ciara asked.

  “No, I was born too early for the dark ages,” he admitted.

  She stirred her malt and tilted her head. “Your hair is like his. But not your face. And your eyes are so unique. They’re gorgeous.”

  “I have heard them called otherwise,” he said, knowing they turned white when his powers surged.

  “They look like a stormy ocean—or what I imagine the ocean to look like. I’ve never been to the seashore. But I like to paint it.”

  “I thought you were into comic book illustrations.”

  “I want to study art when I go to college. If I can go.” She sighed. “My folks think I should find a mate and settle down. But I don’t want to mate unless I love the guy.”

  “Who’s your favorite artist?”

  “I have a few. Right now I’m studying Jackson Pollock. He’s so revolutionary.” Ciara poked a finger at the comic book. “Of course, in this small town, everyone thinks art is the masters.”

  He had known one or two of the masters in his time. “And what do you think?”

  He truly was interested in her opinion. Ciara looked startled, as if no one had bothered to ask before.

  “I think there is much that can be learned from the masters, but does that preclude us learning new things? Techniques? Art is in the eye of the individual, Other or Skin.”

  Xavier sipped his soda, listening to her talk. She was young, fresh, and filled with an enthusiastic idealism. She renewed his weary spirit. The waitress came over and tried to interrupt, but he waved her away.

  The little, silver bell over the glass door jingled, and two teenaged girls, about fifteen years old, strolled inside. Silence descended over the soda shop. Xavier watched them take seats at the far end of the counter. Like the Others in the shop, they were disguised in Skin. They were attractive and tall but walked with their heads down, as if ashamed. Xavier frowned, recognizing them as Ogre girls.

  He had a soft spot for teenaged Ogre girls, for he’d saved one centuries ago with his death. Xavier did not recall much about her, for the torture he’d suffered had wiped out some of his memories of his mortal life, leaving them cloudy.

  The girls looked at each other and tried to ignore the stares of the rest of the teens crowding the booths. They signaled the waitress, who ignored them.

  Ciara made a disgusted sound. “I hate segregation.”

  “What segregation?”

  “You don’t see that sign?” Ciara pointed to the sign directly in front of them.

  He blinked in astonished shock, wondering how he could have missed it. “No colored in this section, such as Trolls and Ogres.”

  At the far end of the counter where the newcomers sat was a sign that read, “Seating for colored only, such as Trolls and Ogres.”

  “That’s why I was surprised you came in here. Earthers aren’t exactly welcome in shops like this that cater to Others.” Two lines dented her forehead. “People in this town think Trolls and Ogres are inferior. There’s segregation all over this town, even separate bathrooms for them. For some stupid reason, the town council thinks Earthers like Trolls and Ogres shouldn’t rub elbows with the rest of us, simply because their skin color in their true form is green.”

  He was not only angry but deeply offended. Judging his people simply for the color of their skin? Most Trolls were peaceful and caretakers of bridges and streams. Ogres were deeply committed to their families and good farmers as well.

  “Maybe it’s time someone stood up for the rights of Earthers. Come on,” she told him. She picked up her comic book, soda, and bag and slid off the stool. Xavier grabbed his malt, and they went to the end of the counter, where she sat next to the Ogre girls. They stared at her as if she’d materialized out of nowhere. Xavier nodded at the Ogres, feeling very protective of his people.

  If anyone tried to muscle them out, he’d step in, incognito or not.

  Several gasps sounded in the crowded shop as they sat next to the Ogres. Ciara threw her shoulders back and sat straighter.

  Andy the waitress rushed over. “You’re not supposed to sit here,” she hissed.

  “We’re not moving. Got a problem?” he asked, his gaze narrowed.

  Andy the waitress flushed and shook her head.

  “Good. Take their order.” He jerked a thumb at the Ogre girls, determined to end this terrible thing called segregation.

  The waitress glared at him, but did take the Ogre girls’ order.

  The Ogres gave them shy smiles and nods of thanks. They sipped their drinks, and Xavier looked around the shop. The shifter teens hastily started talking and eating again.

  He’d wanted to visit because he needed a reminder of innocence and freshness but had instead found an underbelly of ugliness. Except for Ciara. She had courage and a firm sense of justice. He liked that.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked her quietly so the Ogres would not overhear.

  Ciara’s pretty mouth turned down. “I hate injustice. Maybe that’s why I like drawing comics, especially superheroes.”

  “Tell me more about your drawing,” he urged Ciara.

  As Ciara wistfully mentioned drawing Superman again, he tapped on the counter. “I can get one here for you, right now.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like to use magick to conjure things I should save for. It makes it too easy, and I won’t enjoy it as much if I know you can snap your fingers and it appears.”

  His respect for her grew.

  An hour later, Ciara left, and he joined her, walking her home. The sky was growing dark. They had walked down a couple of streets when she stopped. “I’d better leave you here. If my parents see you, they’ll go kooky.”

  “Ah, they will see I am the big, bad Crystal Wizard,” he said, half-mocking.

  “No, they’ll think I’ve started dating someone finally, and they’ll begin planning a wedding.” Ciara grinned, and he grinned back.

  “Can I see you tomorrow? Will you be at the malt shop?”

  She nodded. “Bye, Xavier…” Then Ciara frowned. “I shouldn’t call you by your true name, or my parents and Others really will go kooky. You need a nickname.”

  “You choose it.”

  Ciara tilted her head. “Rex. X for short.”

  He liked it. His fellow wizards in the Brehon sometimes called him X. Xavier gave a formal bow of his head. “Good night, Miss Ciara Simpson.”

  Xavier watched her walk to her house, skipping a little, and for the first time in more than a decade, felt something insi
de his hard heart.

  It felt like hope.

  2

  He spent the next day hunting through drugstores and buying comic books and met her at the malt shop the next afternoon after school. They both moved over to the “colored” section of the counter and grinned at each other when a Lupine couple joined them.

  Segregation would not last long, he suspected.

  Xavier opened the bag he’d brought with him and set the comic book upon the counter.

  Ciara’s face lit up. “Superman!”

  Xavier grinned. “The latest edition.”

  Ciara picked up the comic and held it to her nose. She sniffed and gave him a shy smile. “It smells like you.”

  He grinned again. “And what do I smell like?”

  “Sage, spices, rainwater, and the delicious smell of hot chocolate on a cold night.”

  They shared a soda and discussed comics and art. And then they fell into the habit of meeting at the shop every day at the same time over the next two weeks. He made no move to touch her, kiss her, or even hold her hand. He called her little one, and she called him Superman, after the comic book he gave her.

  She was seventeen, perched on the edge of her life. He was seven hundred and five, far too old and powerful. He should stay away. He knew this.

  But he could not stay away from her, for her innocence and the spark of her radiant energy drew him like a lodestone. The nagging sense of familiarity would not leave him.

  And one night, he did avoid the malt shop, passing it by with a sigh, knowing he should break off this new friendship.

  When he showed up at the soda shop the next afternoon, she sat at the counter, a wounded look on her face.

  “I looked for you and waited,” Ciara said softly. “I missed you. I’m leaving tonight for my brother’s house in Iowa City. He and his mate just had a baby. I’ll be gone for a week. I had hoped to see you before I left.”

  No guile. No flirting or pouting, as other women had done in his past. Only refreshing honesty in expressing her feelings.

  “I am sorry,” he told her and dared to slide his hand over to cover hers. “I thought it best to stay away and give you time apart from me.”

  “Because you have to leave eventually.”

  He nodded with regret. “What we have must end.”

  “There is always going to be an ending to everything in life. But why waste time dwelling on the future when you can enjoy the present? The present is all we have.”

  Wisdom shone in her eyes. For a youth, she had the old soul of an ancient. He wondered if she had lived many lifetimes ago. It was possible, for many Others chose to reincarnate in other forms after they died. And then he thought of the little Ogre girl he’d saved before he’d died and become immortal, and he felt an overwhelming sense of loss.

  “Do you believe two souls are destined for each other?” she asked.

  The question startled him. “Yes, I know this is so,” he said quietly. “Many millennia ago, the goddess Danu created Others. There were certain souls she split apart, and since then, each of these souls seeks its missing half. Until then, they are never fully at peace.”

  “And if they don’t meet or they die too soon, what then?”

  Such a haunting question. “A love that deep cannot be denied. The two souls will keep meeting over the centuries until they again become one, united in flesh and spirit. Eventually, they must meet once more, for their hearts are bound to each other.”

  The words made his chest ache. Then a tiny memory, like the brilliant beam of a lighthouse cutting through darkness, surfaced. He remembered the copper ring the Ogre girl had given him. It had been lost to the ages when his earthly body had burned from the intense heat of Duncan’s coldfire.

  Xavier had wondered what happened to the little Ogre girl, but all he could find out was she’d died of a fever shortly after he had perished.

  “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You” came over the jukebox.

  Ciara looked dreamy. “This is my favorite Elvis song,” she told him.

  Xavier slid off his stool and held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

  She jumped off her seat and went into his arms. As he held her against him, her head tucked against his shoulder, Xavier felt a thrill he had not in centuries.

  It wasn’t sexual so much as a sense of connection and intimate bonding. This little Lupine, with her independent streak, wholesome innocence, and courage, stirred something deep inside he’d thought long dead.

  It could not last. He’d been warned not to form attachments, but for once, Xavier discarded the warning. Enjoy life each day as it came. Ciara was right. He would live for the moment instead of for the future.

  She lifted her head from his shoulder and stared into his eyes. “I feel as if I have known you forever.”

  Then she traced the outline of a Celtic heart across his lips. His own immortal heart beat faster. He should know this gesture. It rang of familiarity, but he did not know why.

  They stayed at the soda shop until the older waitress named Andy snapped at them and told them the shop was closed. To emphasize, she turned on the neon Closed sign. Xavier walked Ciara to her car, a bright blue 1954 Buick Rivera. The tires were whitewalls. A light rain began to fall, and she shivered. Xavier shrugged out of his leather jacket and put it around her shoulders.

  Ciara leaned up, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. A sweet, innocent kiss, but it filled him with warmth.

  “Bye, Superman. I’ll return your jacket when I come back.”

  The skies opened up, and rain poured down in buckets. He shut the door after she climbed inside. Ciara rolled up the window and smiled, starting the engine.

  Stepping back, he stood beneath a streetlight. Dread filled him. He had a terrible feeling of foreboding about her leaving in this weather, like an itch beneath his skin. Xavier closed his eyes, trying to divine her future, but he could not see anything but mist.

  I am too involved with her. It was the way of the Brehon. He could never divine his own future.

  Xavier watched her drive off into the downpour.

  “Be safe,” he whispered. “Be safe.”

  Rain dripped into his eyes. He waved goodbye once more and kept watching her.

  Watching, watching.

  A car, perhaps a Cadillac, roared past him. It started to pass Ciara then violently slammed into her, making the Buick swerve. There was a squeal of rubber, the brakes on her Buick, the brakes…

  “Ciara!” he screamed. “Ciara!”

  The Buick ran off the road, straight into a tree, the crunch of metal grinding in his ears like glass—and burst into flames.

  “No!” he screamed. Xavier raced toward the car through the pouring rain, his feet slipping on the wet pavement. He raised his hands to save her, to pull her from the wreckage. He had the power to revive her, to make her live, to change her future…

  Cadeyrn materialized at his side, wrenching him away. “You cannot, Xavier. Stop.”

  “I have to save her!”

  “You cannot, my friend. I am sorry. It is forbidden to interfere.”

  Xavier fell to his knees, screaming, sobbing, his tears rolling down his cheeks and turning into diamonds as they splashed on the hard, cold pavement. They clinked upon it and rolled away.

  Cadeyrn knelt behind him, holding him back. “Let her go, Xavier. Let her go.”

  She was dead. Xavier closed his eyes, seeing once more the horrible screech of tires, the flames engulfing the car…

  So young. An innocent, sweet seventeen-year-old, gone forever.

  Through his blurred vision, he saw people running toward the wreck, shouting and screaming. Xavier fisted his hands. “Take me home, Cadeyrn,” he whispered. “I do not want to be here anymore.”

  3

  For days, he sat inside his lavish home in Tir Na-nog. Each wizard’s home reflected their individual style, and at times, even their mood.

  At Xavier’s house, night had lingered outside s
ince his return.

  Inside the house, he had adorned the white walls of his living room with Jackson Pollock paintings and posters of Elvis. A colorful jukebox played rock-and-roll tunes in the corner. He listened while sitting on the floor, staring at the wall. He wore the same blue, short-sleeved shirt and jeans he had worn the night Ciara was killed.

  He had used his considerable powers to try to hunt down the driver of the mysterious car that had caused Ciara’s crash, but the Cadillac had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. It could have been a relative of one of the Others he had destroyed.

  It did not matter. Ciara was still dead. If her soul had fled to Tir Na-nog, he could not see her, could not find her.

  Finally, Cadeyrn came to visit. The Shadow Wizard did not knock. He merely materialized inside the living room. “Xavier, you cannot keep living like this.”

  He looked up with dull resignation. “I cannot go on either. Every time I try, I see her innocent face, hear those screams… I loved her. It sounds impossible, but I did.” He looked with faint hope at the older, wiser wizard, who had walked among the Greeks and Romans and mentored Xavier when he’d ascended to the position of the Crystal Wizard. “Is there a way to erase the pain?”

  Cadeyrn pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is possible. You may ask Danu to remove your memories of her and your time together on earth.”

  A shudder skated down his spine. He had seldom interacted with their powerful ruler. But each day, he felt himself fading away. No longer could he continue to neglect his duties as the Crystal Wizard. Long ago, he had quietly made a promise to his people to always be there to guide and help them when they needed him.

  He would seek Danu and ask her to purge his memories of Ciara. “I will ask her.”

  Cadeyrn nodded and vanished. Xavier took a deep breath, waved a hand, and changed his clothing to the formal robes of the Brehon. His were white with a white cowl, adorned with crystals of bright blue, deep violet, and sparkling quartz.

  He left his home.