M Sellars - The End Of Desire

“I was unforeseeably detained,” I replied.

“I know. Benjamin called me earlier.”

“Lovely,” I mumbled. Obviously my assumption had been wrong. “So, I guess he’s ready to kill me by now.”

“He certainly is not happy. However, for the most part he is understandably concerned about you and what you are getting yourself involved in,” she continued. “As am I.”

“What’s new about that, Helen? You’ve been concerned about me since the day we met. I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon.”

“I suppose you are correct about that, Rowan,” she replied. “However, there are those times when I am even more concerned than usual. Such as now, for instance.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”

“I sincerely doubt that you are.”

“Is that my friend or my analyst saying that?”

“Both.”

“Yeah. I’m not surprised.”

“Have you been getting any sleep?”

“Sure. Plenty.”

“You are lying, Rowan. I can hear in your voice that you are exhausted.”

“Listen, Helen,” I said. “I didn’t call to talk about me. How’s Felicity doing?”

“She is holding her own at the moment,” she replied. “She has good moments and bad. Right now she is in a mild depressive state, but that is to be expected under the circumstances.”

“Has she had any more of the episodes?”

Episode was the only generic term I could muster for what I meant. Helen had actually witnessed Felicity under the control of Miranda before I left for New Orleans, so she knew exactly what I was talking about.

“Fortunately, no.”

“Good.”

“Is there a reason she might have?”

“I’m not sure…” I allowed my voice to trail off for a moment. “All I can say is that I think I might have riled up the Lwa just a bit.”

“How so?”

“I can’t really get into any details at the moment. Let’s just say Miranda and I had an encounter.”

“You found her?”

“Not physically, no, but…” I left the alternative unspoken.

Helen sighed and a fresh measure of concern threaded into her voice, “Rowan, you do realize that you are making my case for me. You are not going to do Felicity any good if you manage to lose touch with yourself in the process.”

“I know that, Helen.”

“You need to be careful.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“I know you too well. You are there alone, and you do not have anyone to stop you from taking unnecessary risks.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I suppose you do know me. Well, I am. Being careful, that is.”

“I hope you are correct, however, I suspect that what you perceive as being careful is a far cry from fact.”

“You don’t have to mother me. I know what I’m doing,” I returned, even though I wasn’t sure I believed the statement myself. Rather than allow it to go any further, however, I changed the subject. “So, like I said, I called about Felicity. Not me. Is there any chance I could speak to her?”

“Yes, there is. In fact, I suspect hearing your voice might help her mood,” she replied. “Hold on for a moment, and I will have the switchboard transfer you to her room.”

The music filled the earpiece once again, though this time I thought I might have recognized the tune. I didn’t get much of a chance to place a title with it, however, as I was treated to a much shorter wait than when I was originally placed on hold. The song was abruptly cut short, and I heard my wife’s voice in its place.

“Rowan?”

“Hey…” I said, trying to inject some liveliness into my tone. “How’s my favorite redhead?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay? Helen says you’re doing pretty good.”

“Aye,” she muttered, her singsong Celtic lilt coming through. “Helen should know, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that’s what she gets paid for.”

She fell quiet, but I could hear her breathing softly at the other end. After a long pause I asked, “Are you still with me?”

“Aye,” she mumbled. “I’m here.”

“Would you rather not talk right now?” I asked, trying desperately to keep disappointment from invading my voice.

“No,” she replied then corrected herself. “I mean… I do want to talk. It’s just… It’s just that it’s so good to hear your voice right now.”

“Yours too,” I told her.

“What about you then?” she asked. “How are you?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Breugadair.”

The accusation actually made me smile. Even though she had just called me a liar, the fact that she was interjecting Gaelic into her speech meant that she was much more her old self than even she realized.

“What makes you think I’m lying?” I asked.

“I’m depressed, Rowan, I’m not stupid.”

My voice softened. “Can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Aye, you haven’t been sleeping, have you?” She wasn’t really asking, she was telling.

It was obvious that my powers of deception were more than a bit anemic lately, but then, according to my wife they always were. I decided not to even make an attempt at denying the observation.

“Not enough,” I admitted. “But, like I said, you don’t need to worry about me. You need to worry about you.”

“Worrying about you is part of what makes me who I am.”

“Same here,” I told her. “But you need to concentrate on feeling better. I’m responsible for getting you into this, and I’ll get you out of it.”

“How do you figure that you’re responsible, then?”

I closed my eyes and gave my head a slight shake. I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing, but there was no way to take it back.

“That’s not important right now,” I told her.

“Aye, it is to me.”

I let out a cautious breath as I tried to choose my words. “Let’s just say that if I had never become involved in Ariel Tanner’s murder investigation all those years back, we’d probably be having a much more normal life. Maybe all this wouldn’t be happening.”

This wasn’t a new thought for me. It was simply one that I usually kept to myself. But, it had weighed on me for quite some time. Had I never opened the door to that other realm by insinuating myself so deeply into that first investigation, maybe the dead would be speaking to someone else instead of me. And, if that were the case, Felicity wouldn’t be sitting in the psychiatric wing of a hospital because an out of control Lwa was using her as a horse.

“Aye, Caorthann,” my wife soothed. “You had no choice. Ariel was your friend.”

“I’m supposed to be cheering you up,” I finally muttered.

“You are…” she replied, and I could actually hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m glad you think so, because I don’t feel like I am.”

“How is it down there?” she asked, switching the subject without acknowledging what I had just said.

On reflex I looked out the windows of the taxi at the piles of detritus as I spoke, “Not as bad as we saw on TV, but it’s still not good.”

“Are you keeping your wards up?”

“Yeah. I am.”

When she replied, her voice was still illuminated by the somewhat bright tone that had made me smile a moment ago. “ Cac capaill. You’re lying again. You haven’t been able to shield yourself for more than ten minutes in years. I know coven initiates who ground better than you.”

I allowed myself a grin at the comment, complete with the Gaelic profanity. Knowing Felicity as I did, I took the curse as yet another positive sign.

I felt the car slowing and looked up. We listed briefly as the driver swung the vehicle into the motel’s lot in a tight arc and then eased us up in front of the office.