She came back...

Bas & Violet

Bas

He did his job the night of the wedding.

That was what he kept telling himself. The frenzy broke like a wave and he had done what bouncers do ~ put himself between the chaos and the people who needed protecting. Absorb the impact. Hold the line. It was not a choice so much as a reflex.

Then, he lost her.

When the frenzy passed and the vineyard went quiet, he looked for her. Immediately. Found a scattered centerpiece. Found the faint residue of a containment charm hanging in the air like perfume. Found one ink-stained glove.

Not Violet. Just her glove.

He held it for a long moment. Then he put it in his pocket.

He thought about the stone he had given her. A piece of himself. Gargoyles did not give those away casually. Gargoyles did not give those away.

For approximately four seconds with her, the world made sense. And then chaos erupted. Bas thought about those four seconds more than was probably useful.

He ordered his tea. Plain. No milk. Found a corner table and folded himself into the chair made for humans half his size. Those four seconds danced in his memory.

---

Violet

She was late.

The Harrington event started promptly at two. It was currently ~ she checked her watch, swore quietly, rechecked ~ one forty-three. Still needed to drop off the ranunculus, confirm the table arrangement, and have a word with the venue coordinator about the incident at the last venue she'd worked. No matter what they said, her containment charm worked. It could have been worse.

The tea shop was a detour she was magnetized toward.

Her mind filed its objections. Her legs ignored them entirely. Violet found herself standing at a counter ordering chamomile. She'd been running on three hours of sleep and residual adrenaline since a werewolf wedding went sideways two weeks ago.

The only good thing about that wedding, was him.

She had the stone in her apron pocket. Then moved it to her coat pocket when she changed this morning. She had now transferred it through four separate garments across fourteen days.

It was smooth and warm in her hand. Which, stones from living gargoyles apparently were. She told herself she was holding it for the fascinating magical properties it held. Not that is belonged to the creature that filled her thoughts for the last fourteen days.

She looked at her phone, chamomile in hand, calculating whether she could reach the Harrington venue in eleven minutes if she cut through the market.

Her chamomile stopped halfway to her mouth. He was looking at her. He was right in front of her.

He probably heard her come in. Gargoyles had exceptional hearing. He looked, she thought, the way he had looked when he'd put himself between the table and the frenzy.

She crossed the tea shop. She did not plan to. Her legs had a mind of their own.

"You're here," she said.

"I'm here," Bas said. His voice was the same. Grounding. It made her heart race & settle all at once.

He focused on her pocket. She became aware, suddenly, of the particular weight & warmth it radiated.

She reached in. Held the stone out on her palm, the way you return something borrowed.

He looked at it for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached into his own coat pocket and set something on the table between them.

Her glove. Ink-stained at the fingers.

She stared at it.

He had the particular stillness of something that has committed to a position and is waiting to see what the world does with it.

She looked up into his mesmerizing eyes. He looked back. The tea shop moved around them in its ordinary way and neither of them moved at all.

"You kept it," she said.

"You kept the stone," he said.

She closed her fingers around the stone. The warmth of it moved up through her hand and reached into her heart. Fourteen days they held each other close.

"I looked for you," Bas said. "After."

"The charm took everything I had & I needed to…" She stopped. The crack along his left shoulder, where something in the frenzy hit hard. He protected her.

"I looked for you too," she said. "After. You were gone."

"Bas." She sat down across from him. Her inner clock ticked. The Harrington event would not forgive her. "I have eleven minutes."

He nodded seriously.

"The frenzy," he started.

"Terrible timing," she agreed.

"Before that." His eyes. Grey, the color of old buildings sparkled when they met hers. "Under the table. Before ."

She thought about his shoulder angled toward her in the dark. The way it had not been a decision, just a fact of him, like gravity.

"Yes," she said. "Before."

Outside, the city moved in its ordinary way. The clock on her phone showed one forty-eight. The ranunculus. The Harrington coordinator would find another witch. She turned the stone over in her fingers. It was warm against her palm.

"After your eleven minutes," Bas said. "Will you come back?" Patience eminated in a wave from his words.

She looked at him.

"Yes," she said. Simply, the way he had given her the stone.

She finished her chamomile looking into his eyes. She left.

The stone stayed in her pocket.

She came back. 💝

Written for Bradley Ramsey Flash Fiction February Challenge.

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