Dreading the engagement, I swallowed down the cotton wool that seemed to coat my tongue each time I was forced to interact with this man.
“Can you hold out your wrist for me?”
His expression did not change, and I briefly wondered if he was even mentally present. “Please?” I tacked on quickly, but before the words had been fully uttered from my lips, he thrust his wrist in my direction, allowing me to measure the width of it so that I could shorten the bracelet.
His dark, musky scent belayed a hint of something spicy. Was this what a man smelt like? Dangerously sensual, not at all like the men my mother paraded in front of me. In comparison they smelt like young boys raiding their father’s grooming cabinet.
I gulped down the air my lungs so desperately craved before resuming my work.
“I thought it would be different,” his voice sounded hoarse as my fingertips skirted along the edges of his wrist.
Pulling away, I deftly added the clasp to the bracelet. I hadn't expected him to hang around this long, certainly not when the work I was busy with was almost mechanical - at least this part was.
“How so?” I questioned him as I mimicked the process for Arlo’s bracelet.
“I thought you would have a wand or be muttering some sing-song spell or something.”
My cheeks pinched as my grin broke free. “How very Sabrina of you,” I teased.
A comfortable silence settled between the two of us before I added, “Some Witches use wands - it can be anything from a crystal staff to a washed up piece of driftwood that they connected with.”
“But not you,” his voice was soft and low, rumbling against my skin. It made me want to press up against him.
“But not me,” I agreed as I continued to work, fastening the clasp onto what would be Arlo’s bracelet.
I placed the two bracelets on two separate plates, the candles with each of their respective names carved in, seated at the centre of each plate, the bracelet falling around the candle itself.
Dimitri, once more, remained silent. It was as if he intuitively knew when he could talk and when he couldn’t - only when it came to my Magick.
“Are you staying for this?” I was unsure if I wanted him to stay or not. If I wanted him to be here when I would probably get lost in the connection and Magick itself.
Magick was the thing that thrummed inside of you, that connected you to the elements of the earth. It was the reason one experienced dreams that bordered on premonitions or unknowingly followed the push and pull of their gut or base instinct.
Spellwork was the ritualistic aspect of Magick. It was the directing of said Magick in a way that ensured the envisioned goal was achieved, and for most witches, it was so damn important because humans - by nature - thrived on rituals. Rituals, more than anything else, helped society track time - it gave validity to an array of different experiences in life - almost as if, without the ritual, the event or experience somehow didn’t hold as much weight.
“Yes.”
He only offered that one word. No explanation. No permission requested. Just a simple determining of what he would do. A man accustomed to not being questioned, not being undermined, and always getting his way. This dispute with Sergei was a huge dent against his ego, and I lingered on the thought of how he would handle the situation when his house of cards came tumbling down. He would probably call a blood war or something equally chilling, and yet, I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.
I circled the plate with thick, coarse salt, creating a circle around the candle and the bracelet accordingly.
“Does it have to be sea salt or Himalayan salt?” Dimitri’s question surprised me, but I answered him just the same.
“Normal kitchen salt is just as effective - as long as the salt is derived from this earth - or the bodies of water on this earth, then it will be effective,” I gave him a tight smile as I watched his jaw jut forward in concentration.
“I use coarse sea salt because I like to see where I’m putting it and I tend to use less of it in ceremonies and rituals because of the size difference when comparing it to regular, finely ground kitchen salt.”
He grunted a nonverbal response and I accepted that our conversation was over for the time being.
I balanced the two plates, carrying them towards the en-suite bathroom. The tiles in here were a copper colour, the rest of the bathroom matching with brassy faucet taps, and an enormous brass tinted mirror. I caught my reflection and cringed. My mother would be mortified. Here I was in Dimitri’s home, dressed like a twelve-year-old at a sleepover, kitted in fluffy pyjamas, my hair falling into my face. I mentally shook off my insecurities. Now was not the time for them, besides, Dimitri was a client, he didn’t exactly hire me for my looks or my dress sense.
Huffing, I knelt before the large bronze coloured shower. The shower was doorless, angled at a slight slope, ensuring that the water slid into the drain easily. I saw myself pressed up against the shower wall, Dimitri’s sinewed body pinning me against the coppery tiled as he thrust into me over and over again.
The images did not serve as a premonition, they were purely desire. I blinked away all thoughts of Dimitri, annoyed at my brain for even conjuring up such images. Dimitri was a client and a jackass. I certainly wasn’t about to muddy the waters of this delicate relationship by proposing a fling. Because that’s all it would be - all it could be really. We came from different worlds, and did I need to remind myself that Dimitri was a jackass?
“Why are we in the bathroom?” Dimitri lingered in the doorway, his voice echoing against the tiles, sounding perplexed.
I sighed, having Dimitri here was simultaneously distracting and frustrating. I was so in tune with where he was and what he was doing that it was taking all my willpower to focus on the spells at hand and not at the meathead in front of me. Maybe I should just tell him to leave? I didn’t even know anymore. It was set to be a long, exhausting night and if Dimitri wanted to stay and monitor what I was doing, then really, who was I to stop him?