The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: VISITATION

MARIE

My mind was a mix of self loathing and pleasure as I walked barefoot towards the fields - towards the festivities that would continue throughout the night.

I wasn’t certain that another lover could ever compare to Cortland - but then, wasn’t that part the Magick belonging to the Demon? The way he would keep human’s enthralled? The mud squelched between my toes as I stepped through the forest carefully, knowing full well that this would be the second time I emerged from the dense shrubbery wet, nipples on display and feeling far more wanton than I believed was possible.

I was upon the tents far too quickly, still battling myself and the guilt that seemed to rise up whenever I thought of him. I knew what he was - knew what he was capable of - had thought myself educated and immune to him, and yet here I was, enthralled by a incubus

I walked past Marta, who only raised a brow in my direction, offering neither questions nor judgment.

“If I knew that you were entering the woods, I would have accompanied you, or at the very least waited in the brush for you.”

I whipped my head towards the words - the voice that had spoken them, the wet strands of my hair clinging to my jaw. Nicu stood there in nothing but a pair of corded pants, his chest pair, his stomach muscles rippling. He was an impressive specimen of a man, and yet I found myself looking upon him in disinterest.

“I only watched.” It was an excuse and a lie, and I fought the blush rising onto my cheeks as I realized exactly how that sounded. Somehow, watching others in the throes of passion seemed worse than partaking myself. The muscle in Nicu’s jaw twitched, but I didn’t have time to think upon why someone such as him may have been offended, and I wondered if he could smell the lie that I had spoken - if he knew that I had been pressed into the soil by a Demon - that I had loved every minute of it.

“I would have watched with you.” He finally spoke, his voice strained, still filled with the promise of sensuality that a man such as him seemed to always offer. Unbidden, the images of Nicu sliding in and out of the dark haired woman flitted through my mind, and I found that even as I had watched them, I didn’t want to take her place, didn’t want to be ravaged by him. Watching them whilst Cort had worked me into oblivion had been an otherworldly experience - one that I would probably revisit for many nights to come.

Did the smile I offered him look as strained as it felt? I didn’t know, and wasn’t certain I cared any longer.

“Perhaps next time.” I was certain that Nicu knew the words for what they were - an empty promise. I finally walked past him, his hand brushed against mine as if he sought deliberate connection. And that touch paled in comparison to what I had experienced this evening. I felt both hollow and raw, and yet I was sated and satisfied in a way I had never experienced.

By the time I stepped into my tent, the steaming tub that sat in the corner was a welcome sight and I whispered words of thanks to Marta, knowing full well that I would need to repeat them to her face come the morning light. I stripped with efficiency, ignoring the goosebumps that rose along my body as I cast my gaze away from the bruises that coloured my skin in the shape of finger marks.

Cortland had been far more than I bargained for, and while I had felt him feeding off of me, he hadn’t drained me - he had filled me before taking from me, and in the end he had still ensured that I had cast my intentions onto the wind - ahd still completed the ritualistic act of sex Magick on the solitice.

I knew that he had probably done it as much for himself as he had because he had some sort of obligation to Charlain, which only left me feeling bitter about the entire experience. Because I somehow wanted it to be more. And yet, I wasn'tthis girl - I didn’t pine for men, and certainly not Demons who were using me.

The water that rained down on us hadn’t stung - hadn’t felt malicious or resentful in any way, if anything it had felt refreshing, as if my element somehow approved of the Demon - accepted him for what he was.

I stepped into the bath tentatively, the water heated, swirling around my ankle as I braced myself for the element’s backlash. To be chosen by the element had been an honor - one I had touted proudly, my grandmother boasting to anyone who would listen. I hadn’t meant to make promises that I couldn’t keep - hadn’t predicted the disastrous falling out between myself and the village, and now I wasn’t certain where I stood. In two days the visitors would be cleared, leaving me with the freedom to leave, but Charlain’s bargain ensured that I was still unable to flee. If Marta had any designs on her expectations of me and this village, she had done well not to mention them.

I placed my second leg in the water, the warmth heating me in a way that I hadn’t allowed myself to miss, and finally I allowed myself to sit down, the water lapping over my bruises, soothing away the goosebumps that had been there only moments ago. It was a mother’s caress. It was difficult to forget how I had bound myself to her - how I had offered her promises that I had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t be able to keep. My eyes grew heaving beneath her warmth, and I allowed myself to shut them, tipping my head back onto the steel lip of the tub. How often ahd I fallen asleep in a tub such as this? I knew full well that the water would never harm me as she wrapped me in her warmth, keeping me safe, all the while allowing me to dream all things fantastical.

I allowed myself to relax into her, giving myself over to her, too tired to truly weigh the possibility of drowning in her depths.

The banks of the river always looked greener - more welcoming somehow after I returned from a visit from my father. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I stood here, naked and bleeding, summoning a creature where I felt the most secure. For while my grandmother had raised me in the village, the river had guided me in the forest.

When I had tried to explain my connection to water to the traveling circus boy from summer camp, he hadn't raised his gaze at me in suspicion, instead he had only been curious. The boy promised that we would remain friends - that we would meet again next year at the same camp, but I had only raised a brow at him in response, for I had long ago learnt that Americans could be fickle. How many children had said those same words to me? Their parents, acquaintances with my father, wishing to level up their friendship. But each time it was the same story. After one playdate I rarely saw them a second time, their parents suddenly deciding not to expose their precious children to the likes of me, even if it meant forgoing building a friendship with my American parent.

But the boy had seemed different. The other girls at camp were both strange and curious, but nothing had quelled the way I had longed for this Riverbank - for these waters.

"I missed you." I spoke the words almost reverently as I lay on my belly, grazing my fingertips through her surface, the image of the trees from above reflected in her waters, rippling and distorting with the movement.

The water seemed to dance around my fingers, pushing up into the surface in greeting. The river here was icy and numbing in its coolness, and even though the lake at camp had been so much warmer, I was certain that no other water source would replace my bond with this river.

Some may have frowned at a wild girl taking to the river, but in the quiet of the forest, there was no one else, just the water and myself.

Promptly, I sat up, swinging my legs into the river below, craving the icy bite of her against my skin. My skin undoubtedly would turn blue, my grandmother would most certainly moan, and still I didn't pull my feet from her water, instead I began to recount my experience at the American Summer camp.

I told the river about Charlain and the sullen girl who was more wild than I was, Maxine. I spoke of the games we played on the lake, and the bonfires we lit at night. She seemed to preen at the idea of children playing on the water itself. I told her about the noise that seemed ever present there, not at all like the quiet of our village and the stillness of the forest.

"I don't think I could ever grow up around a lake like that, not when I am so used to you."

The water swirled around me in delight, and that movement was enough to encourage me to continue.

"When I have children they're going to grow up next to you. They must be wild and free and I won't care if anyone calls them uncultured."