The Calling (5 page)

Bree's eyes lingered on Robbie with a mix of desire and regret. “I'm not sure my dad would notice if we mixed it up,” she admitted, “but it's probably a good idea not to find out. Better to keep the girls and guys separate.”

I tried not to look disappointed and told myself that Bree and Hunter were right.

“Robbie and I can take the study,” Hunter volunteered.

Robbie walked over to the pile of luggage in the living room and picked up his pack and a small green stuff sack. “Air mattress,” he explained.

“Morgan and I can take the guest room,” Bree said. “That's the room I usually sleep in when I come down here, anyway.”

“Sounds good,” I said, surprised and pleased that Bree had chosen me for her roommate.

“That means Sky and I have the living room,” Raven said.

Sky said, “I think I'll go out for a walk. Don't wait up for me.”

Raven stared at her in disbelief. “Oh, come on! I can't believe you're still upset. I was just flirting with him. It was harmless.”

“That's not how I saw it,” Sky said, her voice tight.

Raven made a face. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Look, we'll just rearrange,” Hunter said, sounding weary. “Robbie and I can share the foldout in the living room. Sky can have the study.”

“And where does that leave me?” Raven demanded, one hand on her hip.

Bree took the air mattress from Robbie. “You can sleep in the guest room with me and Morgan,” she said. “Really, it will be totally comfortable.”

“Brilliant,” said Hunter. “Then everybody's happy.”

I don't think anyone actually believed that, but we all went off to our agreed-upon quarters.

For the next fifteen minutes Bree and Raven and I worked on inflating the air mattress and getting sheets and blankets on all three beds. I was fighting a sense of crashing disappointment. How did my romantic getaway with Hunter turn into a sleepover with the girls?

Bree grabbed a robe from behind the door and announced she was going to take a shower, leaving me in the guest room with Raven. I pulled my nightgown out of my pack. It was a simple white cotton gown cut straight across the chest with skinny ribbon shoulder straps. Actually, it was Mary K.'s; she had loaned it to me. I didn't even own a nightgown.

“You want to wear this,” Mary K. had assured me. “Trust me, Hunter will love it.”

Hunter's not even going to see it, I thought grumpily.

Raven had changed into a loose black T-shirt with the neck and arms cut out. She was sitting on the air mattress, examining the black polish on her toenails. “Sky can be a cold bitch sometimes,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But I think your flirting with Killian was hard on her.”

Raven snorted. “She knows that didn't mean anything.”

“Then why was she so freaked?”

“I don't know,” Raven said irritably.

I wondered how far into this conversation I should go. Though we were in the same coven, Raven and I had never exactly been friends. She was a senior and hung out with a much tougher crowd than I ever had. The idea of me, who'd been kissed by all of two boys, giving Raven Meltzer romantic advice was a joke.

I was brushing out my hair when Raven said, “So tell me—what's your theory? On Sky, I mean.”

Okay, it was definitely a weird night. I chose my words carefully. “Sky cares about you, and you hurt her. I think her coldness is the way she reacts to being hurt. If I were you, I'd give her another chance,” I said. Then, before things could get any weirder, I grabbed my toothbrush and headed for the bathroom.

Robbie was already standing in line, listening to the sound of the shower. I wondered if that meant Hunter was alone in the living room but didn't have the nerve to ask.

“Bree's still in there,” Robbie reported, rolling his eyes at the bathroom door. “I think she's washing every strand of hair on her head individually.”

“That's okay—I'll wait.” A daring idea suddenly occurred to me. “Robbie…how would you feel about switching places with me a little later tonight?”

Robbie's eyebrows rose. “Morganita, you sly dog!”

“Not for the whole night or anything. Maybe for an hour or so.”

“I dunno,” Robbie said. “That means you get an hour with Hunter, and I've got that same hour with Bree and Raven.”

“We'll wait till one,” I said. “Everyone should be asleep. You can just slip in next to Bree. Raven will never know.”

Robbie eyed me doubtfully. “What if Raven wakes up?”

“Then just explain you were sleepwalking and stumbled into the wrong room.”

“Yeah, that's believable.”

“Oh, come on, Robbie. Please.”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Okay, I'll do it.”

My heart skipped a beat as Hunter walked toward us, toothbrush in hand. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt over gray sweats that just seemed to emphasize how long and lean he was.

I felt his eyes on me, taking in the white nightgown and my hair brushed out and hanging loose, and I knew that Mary K. had been right. I could feel Hunter's senses reaching out to me, wanting me, drawing me toward him.

Robbie must have sensed the electricity between us. “I'm going to hang in the kitchen,” he said. “But if Bree ever gets out of the bathroom, I'm first.”

Neither Hunter nor I said anything until he left. Then Hunter came close. “You look beautiful,” he said in a husky voice.

“Thanks. Um—you too,” I said in my eloquent way. My hands, ridiculously, trembled a little, and I folded my arms so he wouldn't notice. I debated whether or not to tell him what Robbie and I had been planning. But before I'd worked up my nerve, he spoke in a rush.

“Do you think I could possibly persuade you to change places with Robbie for a little while tonight?” he asked. I heard the anxiety in his voice, the fear that I might say no, and I loved him so, so much.

“I already asked him,” I said, my heart hammering.

Hunter blew out his breath and grinned. His eyes danced with emerald green light. “Great minds…” he said, and bent to kiss me. Just then the bathroom door swung open and a cloud of steam floated out.

“Whoops,” Bree said.

Hunter and I pulled apart. “Robbie,” I called, grateful for the steam that hid my red cheeks. “The bathroom's yours.”

An hour later we were all tucked in. I was too excited to even consider sleep. Periodically I extended my senses, identifying the patterns of the people in the apartment. Bree was sleeping, and so were Raven and Sky. Hunter and Robbie were both wide awake.

Finally it was one
A.M.
Moving quietly so as not to wake Bree and Raven, I made my way out of the guest room. In the living room a single candle flickered. Hunter and Robbie were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, waiting for me.

“Bree,” Robbie whispered. “Is she—”

“Asleep,” I told him. “Be careful you don't startle her. Any sign of Mr. Warren?”

Hunter shook his head. “Not yet.”

I was keenly aware of his being just a few feet from me. My heart began to beat faster, and that funny anticipation feeling—that mix of pleasure with just a thread of uncertainty—began to hum through me. I waited till Robbie had gone, and then I sat beside Hunter.

“I was afraid you wouldn't come,” he said. He reached out and closed one hand over mine. “I thought you might fall asleep.”

“Almost did,” I teased.

“Did you really?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted, suddenly feeling vulnerable and unsure. It occurred to me again that Hunter had never told me he loved me, though I'd told him I loved him. Was it just a guy thing, not being able to say the words? Or did he not feel the same way? Hunter was honest to a fault, and I was certain that he cared about me. But maybe it wasn't love, and that's why he'd never said the words. Could Bree be right about love? Maybe Hunter was about to break my heart and hand it back to me in little pieces.

Maybe I shouldn't be here now, I thought, feeling a tickle of panic. Maybe I should just go back to my own bed, not get close to anything I can't handle.

Then Hunter turned over my hand and began to gently stroke the underside of my arm. His touch sent shivers of delight racing through me.

“You were like a vision, you know,” he said, his voice soft and low. “Standing there in the hall in that innocent gown, your hair shining, holding a toothbrush of all things. I just wanted to run away with you.”

“Really?” I whispered. “Where to?”

“I don't know. Didn't think it through that far.” He brushed back a strand of hair from my face. “You know, I never had second thoughts about becoming a Seeker. It seemed necessary, fated. But lately…” His voice trailed off on a note of longing.

“Lately what?”

“I wish there were a way to take a break from it. I wish I could just steal away with you for a while.”

My heart was pounding like a drum. I fought desperately to keep things grounded, realistic. “My parents probably wouldn't be too keen on that idea,” I said.

“Right. Parents,” he said. “They probably wouldn't approve of this, either.” He bent forward and kissed the side of my neck.

Chills raced through me. The energy flowing between us felt so strong and right and good. I didn't want to walk away from it. Not anymore. Gently I lifted his head so that I could put my mouth on his. He wrapped his arms around me.

At first our kisses were soft, searching, as if we were just getting to know each other. Hunter's hands slid along my nightgown, caressing my waist, my side. Every inch of my body was alight with desire. Everything in me streamed toward Hunter. I slid my hand under his shirt, felt the smooth skin of his chest over a hard sheath of muscle. Gently he pushed me backward so we were lying on the foldout bed. He pulled back for a moment, and I saw his face in the light from the window, intent as always. But now, this time, he was totally focused on
me
. His lips came down on mine again, harder now, more urgent.

Then, without warning, Hunter broke away.

“What's wrong?” I asked, breathless.

“Don't you sense him?”

And then I did. It was Mr. Warren, coming down the hall.

“He can't!” I groaned. “It's not fair.”

“But he is.” Hunter held me close with one arm. He ran his other hand along my face and kissed me gently. “We'd better call it a night.”

“No! Can't we do a spell to make him think he's dropped his keys and has to go back down to the garage, or—”

Hunter swatted at me lightly. “You know better. Come on, now. Go give Bree and Robbie some warning.”

I got up with a groan. I could hear Mr. Warren's footsteps coming down the hallway. “Okay.” I leaned forward and gave Hunter one last kiss. “To be continued,” I promised.

Friday morning, I woke to unfamiliar sounds filtering through the guest room door—Mr. Warren making coffee while having a heated phone conversation about depositions.

On the mattress next to me Bree stretched and opened her eyes. “Sleep well?” she asked with a drowsy smile.

I blushed. “Yeah. How about you?”

She shrugged. “Fine,” she said in a neutral voice.

Raven's eyes shot open, ringed with black eye makeup she hadn't washed off. “What time is it?” she demanded.

“Just after nine-thirty,” Bree answered. “We should get moving. I want to go to Diva's this morning. It's in SoHo. You guys should come, too—they've got great clothes, and they're really cheap.”

I could feel that Hunter and Sky weren't in the apartment; they must have already left for their meeting with the mysterious contact Hunter had met last night. “Uh—okay,” I agreed. Maybe I could find an outfit that was slightly more appropriate for the city.

Raven shook her head. “I'll pass. Not my kind of place,” she said.

“Okay.” Bree got up, took her robe from its hook, and went out into the kitchen.

Raven rubbed her temples. “I feel like hell. I need a shower,” she said, and padded off to the bathroom.

I got dressed, my thoughts on Hunter and how good it had felt to be with him last night, how I wished it could have lasted longer.

I quickly plaited my hair into a braid and glanced in the mirror on the closet door. In a black turtleneck and jeans, I was presentable. I went out into the living room, where I found Robbie folding up the sofa bed. He was dressed in jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt, and his hair was still mussed from sleep.

“Morning,” Robbie said. “Hunter left a note for you.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

Of course, the thing that I noticed was that he'd signed it Hunter. Not: Love, Hunter or even Yours, Hunter. Just plain Hunter. Very romantic.

Mr. Warren rushed out of the apartment, briefcase in hand, and Bree came into the living room. “What's up?”

I showed her Hunter's note. Bree made a face. “I wanted to go the coffee shop downstairs and get some breakfast. But I guess we'll wait.”

So we waited. Raven emerged from the guest room in yet another skintight black outfit. She seemed a little annoyed that Sky was still out. Bree and Robbie weren't talking, I noticed, and Robbie was doing his best to pretend he was okay about it. He headed out, saying a little too casually that he wanted to do some exploring on his own. First, though, we agreed that we'd all meet up for lunch at a deli on the Upper West Side at two that afternoon.

Ten-thirty came and went. By eleven Hunter and Sky still hadn't come back, and Bree and I were dying to get out, get food, do something besides sit around the apartment. And I was getting worried.

Finally I sent Hunter a witch message. But after ten minutes he hadn't responded. My pulse rate picked up a little. Was he okay?

“Well?” Raven asked.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to keep my voice calmer than I felt.

“That boy has really got to join the twenty-first century and get a cell phone,” Bree said.

I sent another, more emphatic witch message to Hunter, trying to determine if he was okay.

After a moment I got a response from Sky: We're fine. That was it. Hunter didn't bother to reply at all. Again I couldn't help a surge of irritation. Maybe I wasn't being rational about this, but it sure felt like I was being shut out.

“I just heard from Sky,” I told the others. “They're okay. But I don't think they're going to be back for a while.”

“Then let's shop,” Bree said.

Raven yawned. “I'm going back to bed,” she announced. “I am not a morning person.”

Half an hour and two pastries later, Bree and I stood on the cast-iron steps of Diva's on West Broadway. I'd been there once before, but even if you lived in Widow's Vale and had never been to the city, you knew about Diva's. It was a mecca for the young and broke.

Bree led the way inside the huge warehouse of a store. Rap blared from the speakers. There were stacks of T-shirts in every color of the rainbow; pants in reds and blues and petal pinks; sweatshirts in olive green, neon yellow, and baby blue.

Bree started poking through the vintage racks and found a man's long-sleeved black shirt with gray pearl buttons. “Maybe I should buy this for Robbie,” she mused. Unlike the rest of us, Bree had a generous allowance.

I couldn't keep my mouth shut. “Bree, do you or do you not like that boy?”

She looked at me, startled. “I told you. I'm completely crazy about him.”

“Well, then please stop treating him like crap!” I said. “It's painful to watch.”

Bree put the shirt back and calmly moved on to a rack of trendier clothing. “If you want to know the truth,” she said, “it's Robbie who should be treating me better.”

“What?” I stared at her.

“At the club last night,” she said. “He danced and flirted with all those women.”

“Three, and they all came on to him,” I argued.

“Don't blame them. It's Robbie's responsibility to say no,” said Bree. “If he really wants to be with me, why did he encourage them?”

“Maybe because he wasn't getting any encouragement from you?” I suggested. “Come on, Bree. You had your own little entourage over by the café. What kind of message did that send? Besides, you know none of those women mattered. Robbie doesn't care about anyone except you. Can't you see that?”

Bree held up a slinky black cocktail dress. “I know Robbie's trying,” she acknowledged. “But so am I.” She frowned, put the dress back, and moved on to a rack of pants. “This is just the way relationships go.”

“Only because you steer them that way.”

Bree sighed. “I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm hitting the dressing room. Are you going to try anything on?”

“I'll meet you in there,” I told her. Obviously the conversation was over.

I quickly scooped up a couple of V-necked T-shirts and a few camisoles. Camisoles were my official choice for underwear. Having nothing to put in the cups, I'd given up on bras.

There was a line for the dressing rooms, so I shouted for Bree. She yelled back that I should share her room.

I found Bree wearing a stretchy bronze-colored top with black knit hip-hugger pants. She looked amazing. “Think Robbie will like this?” she asked.

I groaned and slid down onto the floor of the tiny cubicle. I decided to try one more time. “Listen, I know for a fact that Robbie loves you. And you obviously care about him. Why can't you trust that and stop trying to undermine all the good stuff? Why can't you just let yourself love him and be happy?”

Bree rolled her eyes. “Because,” she said with absolute certainty, “in real life things just don't work that way, Morgan.”

Didn't they? I wondered. I thought again about Bree's mom walking out on her and her dad. That had to be the root of all her warped ideas about love.

Or did Bree really know something I didn't?

Twenty minutes later Bree and I left Diva's, each of us carrying a neon pink shopping bag. Bree had bought the bronze-top outfit, a chartreuse day pack, and a black T-shirt for Robbie. I'd gotten a cobalt blue tee and a lilac camisole, which pretty much shot my clothing budget.

“What's next?” I asked, cheered by our retail therapy.

Bree looked thoughtful. “There's a fabulous shoe store right around the corner, and there's a shop close by that specializes in African jewelry. There's also an aromatherapy place off Wooster,” she added.

“Let's check that out.”

We hadn't gone more than a block when my witch senses began to tug at me. “Bree, can we go this way?” I asked, pointing down Broome Street.

She shrugged good-naturedly. “Why not?”

I followed my senses the way a spider follows its own silken thread and found myself in an alley off Broome Street. Hanging over a narrow doorway at the end of the alley was a square white banner with a green wheel printed on it. In the center of the green wheel was a purple pentagram.

“The Wheel of the Year,” Bree said. “The diagram for the eight Wiccan sabbats.”

The feel of magick grew stronger with every step we took. When we reached the shop, a sign on the black cast-iron door made me smile: Gifts of the Mage: Specializing in Books of Magick and the Occult. And beneath it in smaller letters: Welcome, Friends.

I pushed open the door, causing a brass bell to ring, and stepped into a cool, dim, high-ceilinged space. I didn't see the sort of general Wiccan supplies that Practical Magick stocked, but a wall of cabinets behind the counter held essential oils in bottles that looked positively ancient. A deep balcony ran around the walls halfway up, with more bookshelves and shabby armchairs in alcoves.

Bree walked toward mahogany shelves stacked with tarot decks. “Oh, they have a reproduction of that gorgeous Italian deck I saw in the Pierpont Morgan Library,” she said.

My witch senses were still prickling. Was there something here that I was meant to find? I glanced up at the black metal staircase that led to the balcony floor.

“Alyce recommended a book on scrying,” I told Bree, “but she didn't have it in stock. Maybe I can find it here.” Already absorbed in tarot decks, Bree mumbled an okay.

Following the store directory, I climbed the stairs to the balcony and began to search for the divination section. The scent of old leather tickled my nose. I could almost feel centuries of spells whispering to me.
Find me, invoke me. I'm yours, I'm made for your power
. I passed sections labeled Oracles and Emanations, Amulets and Talismans. It felt good be among so many books filled with so much knowledge.

I rounded the end of the aisle and came face-to-face with a large section labeled Divination. Just beyond it, at the end of this next aisle, I saw a man seated in an armchair next to a potted tree of some sort. I stopped, confused by the feeling of familiarity that swept over me.

Then I realized he was the same man who'd been in the courtyard of the club the night before. He was reading a book, looking as relaxed as if he were in his own living room. He wore a tweed jacket over a white shirt and faded jeans. Cropped salt-and-pepper hair softened a hawkish weathered face.

He glanced up, showing me deep-set brown eyes, and acknowledged me with a courteous nod. “We meet again,” he said.

“Do you work here?” I blurted.