How "Miss Scrooge" Stole Christmas!

There was an old painter, dressed in worn out clothes and wearing a pair of rugged boots, sitting on a bench in the park near our house. He had a thick blue scarf wrapped around his neck and one of those old-fashioned hats, that make you think of a Humphrey Bogart movie, on his head. Snow was falling all around him, covering the trees and the ground, but he didn't seem to notice. He had a sketch-book and a bunch of pencils in one hand, and was trying to draw something in black and white, while all the world was passing him by, as though he did not exist. I didn't know the man, tis' was the first time I laid my eyes on him, but Michael spotted him from ten feet away and headed straight for him. I followed, even though I couldn't figure out why my husband would be so interested in the works of an unknown painter... Michael's not the greatest admirer of art, if we don't count music and sculptures. Paintings are not his thing! Still, he seemed very eager to talk to old "Bogie" and I was kind of interested to find out the reason...

All of a sudden, Michael turned on his heel and stopped right in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders in a decisive gesture. There was something very... dark and mysterious in his green, green eyes and it made my pulse speed up and my tongue flicker out to lick my suddenly dry lips.

"I have a surprise for you", Michael said in that low voice of his, that clearly said he expected me to protest or say something to spoil the moment (which I didn't by keeping my mouth shut). I just blinked long lashes at him, tilted my head to the side and waited for him to continue. For a moment there, my lack of response seemed to unnerve him, then he regained his composure and said. "I have an idea. Why don't you walk ahead of me and I'll see you home in... 15 minutes, let's say?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, as I've never been keen on surprises and that definitely felt like one,  but said nothing and just nodded. When I want to be, I can be a model wife. Though most of the time that just feels like too much of an effort... Still, it seemed to make Michael happy and he gave me a broad boyish smile, before kissing me on the lips for a moment and then turning back to go talk to the painter. I watched him walk away in the snow, blond hair blowing in the wind, his back straight and his step determined, and for a few seconds there my heart ached. 

Then I did what I'd promised and headed home, wondering why I'd had to play "adventuress" and wear high heels in the snow. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but for what reason... The answer to that question seemed to evade me! So I tried not to think about it and to just enjoy the soft, silent falling of the snow, the Christmas decorations, glowing brightly and colourfully from the shops, the people with their long coats and big bags walking down the side-walks, talking and smiling and laughing, the sounds of London and the falling darkness...

I'd gotten so carried away by the Christmas spirit, who'd obviously possessed all of London, that I didn't even notice the short elderly lady, with the grumpy look and sway of walking, that came out of a brightly glowing store and, doing her best impression of Ebenezer Scrooge (the principal character in Charles Dickens' novel "A Christmas Carol"), headed in my direction. She seemed angry for some reason, but thinking about it I decided that I've never really seen Miss Picksby look like anything else, so it probably wasn't some poor shop-assistant's fault... Though said assistant might have had to endure yet another one of those angry fits Miss Picksby is so keen on.


She had barely reached my side, when she threw her hands in the air and said in a load, exasperated tone:


"Ah, Mrs. Halliwell, please do tell me, what kind of absurdity is that?! Christmas lights all over the place, snow falling like mad, and those stores..." She snorted in disgust. "What's the point of putting all those glowing lights, when you're windows are..." She seemed to get angrier by the minute. "What?! Haven't they heard that there are certain window cleaning London companies?! And the offices? Christmas toys, tress... But what about all that dirt and dust? Didn't anyone think of sweeping it?! There are..."


"...office cleaning London services", I finished for her and nodded. "I know, Miss Picksby, it is dreadful!" It was kind of hard to keep the irony out of my voice. "Just try to take a dee breath and calm down..."


"Clam down?!" She exploded. "Calm down?! O, dear, how can one stay calm..."


And that was the last of her nonsense I heard. Sometimes, being able to shut down and just nod politely is the best skill a person can acquire through trial and error. Don't believe me? Well, try listening to Miss Picksby rage about... something... anything... for thirty minutes, without even pausing to take a breath...


Then we'll talk!

The Memories of the "Sisters of The Wind"... or the Coming of Yule (Part 1)

Snow has been falling all morning, snowflakes flowing in the wind and piling up on the windowsills. I set alone in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in my hand and Bast curled up in my lap, her tail moving slowly, lazily, as we watched the gentle, graceful dance of the snow outside. There was something very peaceful in the way the world was getting lost under all that white cotton and how it softened all sounds. I remembered being a child, maybe 6 or 7 years old, and playing in the snow, laughing and spinning in circles, drawing snow angels and making a snowman, while my mother set aside on a bench, watching me with a smile. She used to smile a lot, when I was little. Then, as time slipped by and things changed, her smile faded around the ages, and so did the sparkle in her eyes, though now, through the experience of age, I can realise that her fire never diminished. Inside, she was always that strong, independent and adventurous woman, who raised me up and thought me how to smile, and laugh and love with all my heart, as though every moment might be my last.

The memories made me a little sad, as I sipped my coffee. For some reason, I always miss my mother more around Christmas, or Yule, or however you and your religion calls it. At the end, in its core, it is always a celebration of family and friends, and is about being together with people who love you and care about you. It is about the decorations, and the presents, and about the warm fire in the heart, burning bright as the flickering glow of candles and lights of the season adorn your home and dance on laughing faces.

Bast mewed and jumped to the floor, stretching in the graceful way that cats seem to do. I put my mug aside - it has a big blue Cookie Monster with a Christmas hat on it - and closed my eyes, so that the sound of the falling snow and the quiet music, playing in the kitchen might wash over me. I was listening to Laura Powers, a very exquisite and accomplished musician, whose New Age sounds can melt your heart and fill it with warm light even on the coldest of winter days and the darkest of nights. The song was "Sisters of the Wind", my own personal favorite, and it completely fit my mood. Sad, but optimistic. Soft, but with a certain edge to it. Beautiful lyrics, that play on your souls' strings like the fingers of a skilful violinist. 

Wings of fortune
Beckon the dawn
Cross fields of heather
They circle the moors
Somewhere over the mists of morning
Beyond the mountains of sky
They'll pass right through your dreams
With a whispering sigh

They fly graceful and bold
The four winds of heaven
Rise shining like gold
Their world knows no end
Forever sisters of the wind

I'm not sure why, but this particular song always brings thoughts of Robert Jordan's "The Wheel of Time" saga in my head. Maybe it's the beautiful imagery, or Laura Powers' soft voice, or the otherworldly tune, but I simply can't help, but think of those books... And that makes me smile for completely different reasons. Especially with the snow outside... I feel as though I'm in the book "Winter's Heart", and am about to see Rand out in the storm any moment...

But enough of that. The nearing of Christmas, or Yule, means that it's time to bring some holiday spirit to the house and put on decorations, to help us invite the all the positive energy of the season to our house. Naturally, before I can decorate, I need to have it properly cleaned... Which might not be so difficult a task for a woman more skilled in the arts of household up-keeping, but for me... It has never been my strong side. So I made a mental note of calling a cleaning company, to come and take care of things, and finally got up to pour out the rest of my coffee and to wash my mug. Outside, the wind gave out a hard blow, making the windows shake. 

Chills ran down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up for a second... Then I shook my head and with the movement, shook off the weird feeling that had suddenly washed over me. Holidays tend to make me melancholic. There's nothing wrong with that, as long as I keep my mood under control and don't spoil Christmas for everyone else...

The kitchen phone rang loud and clear, chasing away the magical atmosphere Laura Powers had created. I sighed and let it ring for half a minute more, before it finally stopped. A small smile curved my lips. There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?

Seth was going to wait.

Angel Rays... or a Tale of Dreams Made Flesh (Part 1)

The brushing of feathers down my skin. Warm light filling my eyes, my mind, the inside of my head. Coursing through my veins, making my blood run faster and faster, till all I can hear is the rapid beating of my heart. Strong arms wrapping around me. A faint scene of soap, and fresh water, and cologne... There's something familiar about it, but I can't quite put my finger on it. So I just ignore it, pretend that there is nothing to it. It feels too good to argue with it. The light. So bright... much brighter than the sun. And then there are the wings. Large, soft wings, with silver-white feathers, the color of moonbeams, when the moon is full and high, and the night sky is clear and star lid. They envelop me, so gentle, but o so strong. They caress me. And his arms... His arms are like a shield, guarding me from all that could intrude in the circle of his embrace; that could shatter this moment.

"This moment... it is eternity", I hear him whisper in my ear, in a voice so familiar it tightens my heart, makes me catch my breath. His lips barely touch my ear and still I shiver. His breath on my skin... so warm, hot even. He rubs his cheek on the side of my neck; the stubble of beard tickles, but also feels good. So good...

"Surrender", he whispers. His voice has dropped low, almost impossible to hear, sounds like a purr, like the whistling of leaves, when the gentle wind of summer lightly caresses them. It is so tempting to give in to his words, to those sweet promises whispered by the light... "It's OK", he breaths the words into my hair. "I will do you no harm."

I believe him. I believe he means every word, ever touch, every promise. His wings wrap tightly around me, bring me even closer to his body. My back pressed into his naked chest. The light burning brighter and brighter, silver-white and blue all in the same time, cold like the northern sun, but also hot like fire. Beautiful as the Aurora Borealis, but just as unreachable. Even when it's inside you, around you.

"It is you", he says quietly, and his words sound like a promise, like a prayer. "You are light..."

"...and darkness", I respond in a hushed tone, before I could realise the words, make any sense of them. "Light and Dark are one and the same..."

"Then let me be your Darkness", he begs and it makes me want to turn my head and look at him. Makes me want to meet his eyes and see what hides inside them. So I begin to turn, but it's much harder then it should have been, my skin doesn't feel right...

Feels like liquid, I think and a shiver runs from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. Still I struggle, I put all I have in that one swift movement, that would let me face him... And see his face.

"Surrender", he repeats, more eagerly this time. Impatiently. I brace myself for his anger, but still put all my strength into the move...

And then I'm face to face with him, so close that merely a breath separates us, and his eyes are all I see. Emerald-green eyes, that glow with a pale light, from somewhere deep down. Eyes the color of the forest, when the early morning light pierces the nightshades, glistens through the dust and the mist. Green eyes that are so familiar and completely alien all in the same time. 

"Michael?", I whisper, though my voice is so thin, that it is barely even a whisper. It's just a thought, a strange, scary thought. "God... Michael..."

He smiles and reaches out to caress my face... 

...then the light fades, dims... darkens... and I... I could hear it in the distance...

...the thunder... getting closer, and closer... and closer.

***

Startled, I wake up to the sound of the alarm, ringing madly and repeatedly, trying to get both me and Michael to open our eyes. I blink and turn my head to the clock on the wall, only to find out that it is 8:30 am and we've both overslept with more than an hour... Which is not that big of a deal, as far as my job is concerned. Michael, on the other hand, had an appointment scheduled for... 2 minutes ago. Guess that one's off his "To do" list for the day. At least get him out of bed, before he misses another one. I reach out and play my fingers over his ribs, near his armpit... It is enough to get him almost jumping out of bed, both surprised and tickled in the same time. For a moment there he gives me an irritated look, but then I point at the clock... 

"O..." Michael starts, then catches himself, before he could say something rude and is out of bed in a moment, heading for the shower. I let out a sigh and, after a minute or two, get up to at least make him a coffee and something to eat, before he goes out. Yes, what a good wife I am. 

The house is pretty cold, but that doesn't bother me, as I go down the stairs and head towards the kitchen. My thoughts are scattered, confused, images of the dream still cling to my mind, making me tremble with fear, and excitement, and... Is that anticipation, I wonder, as I take a look around the kitchen and make a mental note to get some rug cleaning London company to come and take care of the carpet... or rug... or whatever it is in the kitchen. Bast, our cat, does a good job, at turning it into her private playground. She's a real trouble-maker... But aren't all pets?

Turn the radio on. Generally, I'm not a big fan of radio-stations, but sometimes they do surprise you... Pleasantly, as in this case. I know these lyrics, and relate to them in more ways than you would have thought...

Over mountains and sky blue seas
On great circles, will you watch for me?
The sweetest feeling I've got inside
I just can't wait to get lost in your eyes

And all these words that you meant to say
Held in silence day after day
Words of kindness that our poor hearts crave
Please, don't keep them hidden away

"Hidden Away" by Josh Groban. A nice surprise and a good way to start the day. His music is lyrical, his voice... I shiver, this time for real. Rays of sunlight pierce the clouds hanging over London and lightly brush the ground. Angel rays, some people call them. It's a bit ironic, that I'd see them after such a dream, don't you think?

"Michael", his name escapes my lips like a prayer. Anyone else coming up with a Madonna reference, or is it just me? Funny, that thought is funny. 

Then Michael's arms wrap around me and all thoughts are lost. There's just the feel of his warm, wet skin, the scent of fresh water, and soap, and his cologne. The steady beating of his heart.

And the angel rays falling right outside the window. 

A Story of an Unlit Cigarette... and a Promise to be Kept!

Seth had devilish sparkles in his eyes, as he sipped his coffee and smoked, in that strangely attractive way of his. He was dressed in black from had to toe, except for his socks and belt, which were red and made him look like some distant cousin to Billy Joe Armstrong, the lead vocalist of Green Day. Of course, I didn't say that out loud. Neither did I mention how nicely the light stubble of beard outlined his handsome features. His lips seemed even softer, then they generally are, and the dimple on his chin... It was hard to keep up with what he was saying, and not to just stare at his mouth, as he spoke. 

He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a slow, deliberate drag, making the tip of the cig lighten for a second or two. He blew out a cloud of smoke and winked at me mischievously. I shook my head: he shouldn't be allowed to smoke inside a cafe, no matter how famous a writer he is. But the manager hadn't told him anything, quite the contrary, really, and we were in a private... compartment, let's call it, so Seth was getting exactly what he wanted. He usually does. It's one of the reasons, why being in his company is such a challenge... He tends to get under your skin. Like a disease.

"You're thinking too hard", Seth said, as he brought the cigarette to his lips again. There was something very... compelling, about the way he lightly brushed the bottom of the cig with his teeth, how he inhaled the smoke; the dark glint in his eyes. It brought images to my mind, images that had nothing to do with smoking... And Seth, the devil, knew that perfectly well! "You're scowling, Sam, and I haven't done anything to deserve that expression..." He didn't sound worried about it, though. Amused, maybe, but certainly not worried. "What's on your mind?"

As I didn't have a good answer to his question, at least not one that didn't make me feel embarrassed, I didn't say anything. Seth chuckled and sipped his coffee. I had the sudden desire to snatch the cup from his hand and spill its content all over his... shirt, or something! He was capable to drive me insane, just by sitting there... looking all innocent and charming! My, sometimes I really hated him...

"You know, I never could forget that expression of yours", he whispered and leaned down over the table, coming closer to me. I was staring right into his eyes now, was close enough to smell his cologne. Just like he could smell my perfume. "Jasmine" The word slipped off Seth's tongue so swiftly, soft and sweet like honey. "It always was your favorite... " If he came any closer, I was going to slap him. "It's your scent, Sam... It was always yours!"

"And you never knew how to act like a gentleman..."

"For you, I will be a prince, if I have to..." Seth replied in a low tone, then moved forward, as if intending to kiss me...

The sudden ringing of his phone spoiled the moment and helped me regain my composure and the ability to move. I pushed my chair back and glared at him, daring him to try one of his "tricks" again. Seth tried playing an angel, but I wasn't fooled the slightest little bit. There was darkness in his eyes. That sweet dark that fills a man's eyes, when he sees something that he wants, that he desires, something that he considers his, and he is about to claim it. Michael had an almost identical look sometimes, but it didn't bother me then.

Getting that look from Seth scared me. It scared me, because it meant things that I wasn't willing to face. Things that I didn't even want to think about, or say aloud. 

"I have to go", I said hastily, not caring any more if it was too obvious that I was running away.

"And I have to take this", Seth replied, irritation seeping into his husky voice. "International calls... It's always harder to ignore those, don't you think?"

"My  heart bleeds for you..."

"You're angry", Seth sat back in his chair, but kept his gaze locked with mine. "I make you feel nervous, don't I?"

"You play games, Seth. Always did. You call me every day to meet and discuss your book, but all you do is..." I felt myself blushing and that made me angry. "You try to play on the feelings you know I still have for you and to manipulate me..."

"Not manipulate", he said all of a sudden. "I would never..."

"Then stop acting like we're still teenagers and I'm yours to concur!" I realised my voice had risen an octave or two, but I didn't care. "You had your chance, Seth, and you blew it. Now you'll have to live with the consequences..."

"Or I will never see you again?"

"Yes", I confirmed what he already knew. "Or this will be the last time you will ever see me."

Seth sat quite for a minute, playing with an unlit cigarette, and just looked at me. I didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't avert my eyes. At the end, he let out a sigh and gave up. It was the first time I'd ever seen him do that.

 "I promise to be a perfect gentleman, from this moment on", Seth said in a firm voice and put the cigarette on the table between us. "I will not bother you in any way, until..."

"No "until"..."

"...until you tell me you're ready to give me a second chance." He finished, as though I hadn't opened my mouth. His tone was calm, when he added. "And you will, Sam. You will. Remember? I always get what I want..."

If I could quarrel with that statement, I would have. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could say about it.

Seth always got what he wanted.

But not this time, I thought. Not this time.

As if he'd read my mind, he smiled. And that smile gave me chills.

A "Midsomer" Night's Dream... and a Loaded Gun!

"Happiness is a Warm Gun"... That's the song to which lyrics, playing in my head, I woke up this morning, feeling restless and weary. I could almost hear Tori Amos's voice in my head, lushly, passionately and soothingly repeating, over and over again:

Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun.

Happiness is a warm gun
(bang, bang, shoot shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun
When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun.
Yes it is. 

It was kind of unnerving to have this song in my mind, while taking a shower and getting ready to face the day, as, for one thing, yesterday was the 30th anniversary of John Lennon's assassination, and, secondly, it felt a bit too close to home for comfort. Hadn't my happiness unexpectedly turned into a loaded gun, that threatened to shoot down both me and the men in my life, causing us all more pain and heartache then we'd ever expected to find? I don't mean to sound grim or over dramatic, but I was starting to feel like everything was falling apart, fast, and too many things, things that I had no control over, were happening simultaneously.

Michael was angry at me for spending yesterday afternoon with Seth, and for accepting (though technically it was Miss Munro who accepted for me) Mason's dinner invitation, and for starting that job in the first place, and... I don't know, he was just angry and no matter what I said, nothing seemed to make things better. I was trying to be empathic and try walking in his shoes at the moment, but it still made me feel... hurt, for the lack of a better word, that he had so little faith in me and in us, that Seth made him feel so insecure. Or at least that's what it looked like from the side, and I did not like it the slightest little bit. What was worse, though, was the fact that he wasn't the only one acting all "macho" and "possessive" on me...

Seth, in his own weird way, was giving me the same treatment, asking me questions about me, and Michael, and our marriage, and sneakily bringing in every possible good memory that we had together, as if thinking that if he reminded me how in love we used to be, I would suddenly have an... epiphany, or something, dump my husband and jump right back into his arms.

Which was not going to happen, but try to hint that to Seth and he started acting all defensive and hurt on me, and, for the better or worse of it, I could not stand the thought of causing him any pain. Even after he'd broken my heart in the worst ways possible. Talk about double standards!

The other problem, and I have no idea when he managed to turn into a problem as well, was Mason Blackwood who, evidently, thought it appropriate to send me a bucket of roses, red, white and yellow, that were too many to count, and way too expensive to not bring out the jealous steak in Michael. As if that wasn't enough, I had no idea what excuse to give for Mr. Blackwood's (unwanted) generosity... I'd only seen him once, and the bigger part of the time I'd been busy either staring at Seth, or listening to Miss Picksby turn a misplaced letter into the next world crisis...

Speaking about Miss Picksby, I have to say that she made true on her threat to write a letter of complaint, and send it to the mayor. Then, when in a day ("The only acceptable time for a well mannered man to reply to a lady's note!", as she so Austen-ly put it) she didn't get a response, she wrote another one... Then another one, and so on, until I started wandering when the mayor is going to get enough of her and have Scotland Yard arrest her. Or, admittedly, at least try to take her to jail... Something suggested to me that Miss Picksby was a vigilant (jokingly said, of course) who would be much harder to catch, then one would suspect! Have you seen the show "Midsomer Murders"? If you have, then you've probably noticed how the innocently looking old ladies there have the strange habit of turning out to be the "bad guy", or "killer", or however you wish to call them.

Yes, I could definitely picture Miss Picksby as the main suspect in a "Midsomer Murders" episode! Can't you?

Putting all of the above said to the side, and ignoring the thoughts running through my head, I could say that I had a pretty boring and regular morning. Got up, made coffee, found a good rug cleaning London company to take care of yet another one of Bast's messes (I'm starting to think that me and Michael have turned that cat into a spoiled and frivolous monster!), having a half an hour chat over the phone with Monica, then reading a new author and novel Seth bought (no, I didn't tell Michael that) for me yesterday - Lane Robins' "Maledicte". I wish I could say I didn't like the book, or that Seth had gotten my taste all wrong, but neither of them would be true. The book was perfect and Seth had proven (deliberately) that he still knew me well enough to pick books for me from the book-store. Point taken, but that didn't change anything...

As if summoned by my thoughts, or by a cosmic joke that I didn't dare think too hard about, my cellphone rang... And I knew it was Seth even before I checked the display.

Seth Mortigton, it said, while ringing again and again. He was persistent, I had to give him that. Stubborn, even. I let out a sigh and pressed the "Answer" button. I didn't have a choice, but to talk to him, right?

Strangely, that explanation didn't ring true even in my ears.

The Rustling of the Leaves... or How Things Never Go According to Plan!

Breeze swept the fallen leaves, making them dance in patterns, forming circles in the air. Higher and higher they rose, glittering in the dying sunlight like pieces of gold, then fell down and lay motionless, unmoving. Still as stones in the soft dusk, that spread over the High Lord's lands, over the hills, the glades and the ravines. Silence settled over the earth, a silence as thick as cotton and as unnatural as the blood-red crescent that hang in the darkened sky. Nothing moved, as though the world had turned into a still-life. The wind died, followed by the last rays of the sun. 

Night fell...


The loud ringing of the phone downstairs startled me and I almost dropped the manuscript of Seth's yet untitled novel, that I was trying to read, without thinking too much about the author, or our history together, or... Or anything else, that I wasn't supposed to think, while having a gold wedding-band on my finger. I made a face, that was too close to a pout for comfort, then got up to pick the phone...


...which, naturally, had stopped ringing by the time I got to the kitchen. Great. I'd just managed to concentrate, after a whole day of feeling distracted, and annoyed by little and insignificant things, that I'd hardly ever notice usually, and now my concentration had been shattered, so I was back at square one. Which, technically, might not have been such a big deal, if I hadn't promised Seth to meet him later today for a cup of coffee and a discussion... Of his book(s), writing career, marital status and pretty much all things that did not consider "us", past, present or future. I didn't need to have such a talk with him today, especially after the long conversation me and Michael had last night. One jealous husband is enough for a gal. A jealous old boyfriend will be a step too far... And a bit too much!


Did I mention that Mason Blackwood invited me and Miss Munro to dinner? No? Well, yes, he did. And, yes, Miss Munro did except for the both of us (no surprise there). If I didn't know better, I'd have said that Mason was looking at me a bit too... closely, let's call it, for me to feel comfortable in his presence. He was an imposing enough man, without showing any special interest in you. When his eyes followed your every move, as if drinking you in, then...


A shiver ran down my spine. Mason was making me nervous, but that was only because he was my boss. Or my future-boss. Or whatever. That had to be the reason... Anything else was unacceptable! Or so I kept on telling myself...


Bast was lounging on the sofa in the living room, a Queen among cats... and people, if we counted the way both me and Michael treated her. There is a reason why cats are spoiled. They just have a way of getting under your skin and, more or less, making you do what they want... Or, as in this case, doing what they want, as long as they don't bring their dirty toys on the sofa and don't step on it with not-so-clean paws. I let out an exasperated sigh and went to give the sofa a once over inspection, while scolding at Bast the whole time. Typically, she scolded back at me. Cats!


One look was enough to tell me, that the easiest way to deal with the stains left on the sofa would be to call a sofa cleaning company and not waste time on the matter myself. I was too busy with Seth's book anyway, and with wondering what to wear for Mason's dinner, and what present to buy Michael for Christmas, and if I should propose to organize a baby shower for Monica and Carter's child... Still, the latter was a happy occasion. The three men were beginning to turn into nuisance... Even Michael who, after yesterday, seemed convinced that I've spent the last decade or so daydreaming about Seth. Which I hadn't. But man are bullheaded creatures... Try to put some sense in their thick heads, and they get even more stubborn!


I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and ponder over the dinner. There was a thought nagging at me: was it a coincidence that I'd been chosen for Seth's editor, or had he actually known it was me, before coming to the house yesterday? Yes, I know that he had looked surprised and all, but I also knew that Seth used to take Drama Classes and is a much better actor than most men I know. If he'd checked on me, upon returning to London, and...


I shook my head to chase away the unsettling thought. I was starting to make things up. The whole idea of a set up sounded too much like a "stalker" movie, or a... I don't know... "Twilight" novel, to be true! Coincidences happen...


The only problem is, I don't believe in "coincidence". In a Grand Plan, or fate, or destiny, yes, but not in "coincidence". But I'm starting to think I might change my perceptions....


The phone rang, just as the kettle gave me the signal that the water has boiled. I took one off the stove, while picking up the other one. I must have been thinking too hard about Seth, and his book, and... staff, because I didn't even realize that instead of "Hi" or "Hello", I said, with a question in my voice:


"Seth?"


The only thing that answered me was silence. Then Michael's voice said quietly. "Sorry. Wrong guy."


What could I say to that? Oops...

The "Highlander" on the Doorsteps... or the Coming of the Third Son (Part 2)

The smile that curved Seth's full lips was as unsettling as the mere presence of him. He was a tall, slender man, with broad shoulders and a thin waist, that gave him a graceful and athletic appearance. He wore his dark brown hair, the color of mahogany in some places, longer than I remembered and tied in a ponytail, that made him look a bit... roughish, for the lack of a better word. He made me think of the guy in "Highlander", as silly as that may sound. His cheekbones were high, but not as sharp as Mason Blackwood's, and he had the most thrilling eyes: a miss-matched pair that still managed to give me chills, every time his gaze met mine. His left eyes was blue, pale blue the color of a husky's eyes, and the right one was gray like the clouds on a rainy day. It was unnerving to meet his sharp gaze. Unsettling. Seth always looked like he knew more than he was saying, as though he was privy to a joke that no one else beside him could hear or get. The sway of him, the confidence that  poured out of him, the devilish sparkles in those amazing eyes of his... They made focusing on anything beside him extremely hard, when Seth was in the room! The way his shoulders filled his dark blue sweater, the tight jeans he wore, the silver amulet he never took off, carved in the form of a raven holding a crescent moon in its beak (a symbol of the Goddess known as the Morrigan), the silver rings on his index fingers... It all made me reminisce of days gone by, of times when those index fingers would play with my hair, and those lips would...

I caught myself, before the thought could fully form and manifest itself, but it was too late. Something of what was going through my mind must have shown on my face, because Seth's smile changed to something more... masculine and challenging, then it had been a moment before. He leaned forward and I had a sudden urge to ask him if his tongue was still pierced, as it had been the last time we were together...

"It is", Seth replied unexpectedly, as though he'd read my mind, and caught his tongue-piercing with his front teeth to show me. Miss Picksby, who was still here and seemed in no hurry to leave, took in a sharp breath, then made a disapproving sound with her mouth. "Tz-tz". Seth played with the piercing for a few seconds, then winked at her, making her exhale abruptly. I chuckled, even though I'd have liked to stay impassive, and he grinned at me. My heart ached for a moment. I remembered that boyish, happy-go-lucky grin of hiss all too well for comfort. I remembered too many things about him too well to not feel uncomfortable in his presence. Like how he could read me like an open book. "You seem at a shock to see me", Seth noticed and took a long sip of his coffee. Black and with no milk. He always drank it that way. Always. "It's been a long time, Sam!" His eyes narrowed and my breath caught. "Too long..."

I didn't say anything for a while, trying to put some sort of a semblance in my scattered thoughts, to absorb what was happening. Seth was here. My Seth. And I had no idea how to act around him, now that I was a married woman. He was to me the only thing that Michael never could be. My first true love. My first lover. The only man to ever shatter my heart into smithereens, when he walked out of that door so many years ago, telling me that he needed to find himself, before he could truly "belong" with me. Or anyone else. I'd hated him for the better part of a decade, thought I never wanted to see his face again. But, o dear... Now that his handsome face was before me again, and he smiled at me with that Devil-may-care smile, that had gotten him in so many troubles when we were younger, I realized that I'd only been fooling myself, by thinking that I never wanted to see him again. There was history between us. Things unsaid, feelings unsettled. There was still something, I could say that with certainty... And it scared me to the core of my being!

Seth took out a packet of Regal cigarettes, picked one of the bunch, and raised an eyebrow at me. "Can I smoke here?"

"Sure", I replied uncertainly, then fussed about for two minutes, till I found him an ashtray he could use. Miss Picksby and Miss Munro had similar (disapproving) expressions on their faces, while Mason... His face didn't tell me almost anything. I put the ashtray in front of Seth, who lighted the cig with a Zippo lighter and took a long drag on it, then said. "You still smoke the same brand..."

"And you've quit them, I figure" He winked at me, one of his typical mannerisms, and chuckled. "Who'd have guessed, huh?"

"People change", I replied, then smiled against myself. "Mr. Mortington, is it now?"

"Seth Mortington, bestselling New York Times author of the "Rubicon" series", he said half-jokingly, half-proudly. "The name has a much better ring to it then Seth Coulby, don't you think?"

"I always thought that Coulby is a cute surname", I blurted out, before I could stop myself. My face heated, while Seth's grin widened to a smirk. I'd forgotten what a d...

"You've changed your surname as well", he said, interrupting my thoughts. Those hawk-like eyebrows of his lifted up again. "Married, I assume?"

"Happily", I said, with a bit more haste, then I'd have liked. "The name's Halliwell now."

"Like those TV sisters", Seth chuckled and took another drag on the cig. He always looked good, while smoking. And that alone was something I shouldn't have thought. He smiled, as if he'd read my mind again. "So, you'll be my new editor. That's... exciting!"

"Not the word I'd have used..."

Seth smiled and chewed on his cigarette for a bit. He looked around the living room, then said. "Nice house..."

"O, dear", Miss Picksby snorted and tilted her head to the side. "It may be nice if someone..." She pointedly looked at me. "...would do the right thing a get a cleaner to help her!"

"Samantha was never much of a housekeeper" Seth, the traitor, chuckled in agreement. That won him brownie points with Miss Picksby. He put his cigarette out and added. "Then again, the artistic type never are..."

And that statement alone won him brownie points with me.