Little Mate

Welcome Home, Little Mate

Del

“Del, are you even listening?” My assistant Jaia’s high-pitched voice brings me to reality and I give her an apologetic look as I take a paper cup and shove it under the dip of the espresso machine to start my coffee.

“Sorry,” I smile apologetically, “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Jaia’s big eyes go even bigger as she gives me a sly grin and nudges me at the ribs. “Oh, Mr. CEO kept you busy all night, huh?”

My only response is a stern look and raised eyebrows. “Not that it is any of your business, but Xander is on a work trip and won’t be back until next week.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Jaia sighs. “So, you didn’t sleep because you miss him?”

A little sigh escapes me. No, that’s not why I didn’t sleep last night. Or the night before. It’s not even the usual nerves before the start of every new semester or the fact I am dangerously close to Redwind Valley even when I promised myself all those years ago never to come back. It’s that stupid feeling that someone’s watching me all the damn time. An itch at the back of my mind, a worry that someone’s there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to slip up and make a mistake. It makes me almost miss my witch powers, which I don’t. I don’t want to have anything to do with that real supernatural s*hit anymore. It’s just… I am on edge. And to top it all up, I am feeling horny all the time. Scratch that. I get turned on almost immediately after I feel those eyes on me. Even now I feel that way. Uneasy, turned on, frustrated.

And it’s not like Xander could do anything about it, even if he was here, which he isn’t. It’s not like that between us, but I am not going to tell Jaia any of that. I just give her a knowing look, letting her read whatever the hell she wants between the lines, and grabbing my steaming cup of coffee, black, no sugar, I head to my office. It’s at the end of the hall, a large wooden door with outdated ornaments that make me want to scream with frustration but it is what it is as people these days say. I am a professional now and I don’t get to choose which office I get especially when I am unable to explain why I don’t want it.

Instead of reminiscing things that happened ages ago, I focus on the changes, on the new that’s taken away the dark from my memories. There’s a large floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the hall, right next to my office, and it leads outside to a big terrace where people, mainly the college staff, get to go and grab a smoke or a sip of fresh air in silence once office hours are done. And on my door, there’s a nice golden placket with my name and my titles on it, written in onyx black. PhD R. Delaney Richards, Ethnology Department. Inside I have a desk, a work computer, and even there’s another desk for Jaia, my TA, because I have that as well now.

Closing the door behind me, I take a deep breath, relishing in the strong coffee scent from my steaming cup and the lavender filling the air from the pot near my window. The sun hits it right after and it feels almost poetic that I am here, in this room, feeling right into my element. Xander had a trip when I texted him last week and let him know which room they assigned to me. The old master bed-room. All mine now. On my terms. Who would’ve thought.

But I digress. In another life, this place might have been an important man’s mansion, grand and lavish to match the demands of his evil wife, but it’s a college building, one of many on campus, and the administration has done a splendid job at utilising it. And I just so happen to work here. Which I like very much. Who knew that loosing my witchy powers would actually bring me so much fulfilment, huh?

My phone pings with a text and I check the message on my new watch, a little smile pursing my lips as I see Xander’s name on the screen.

Xander: it’s hot as f*uck here. I miss you. How are you holding up?

I go to my desk and leave the cup, searching for my phone in my designer bag, one he got me as a present for last Christmas. I’ve gotten used to a lot of things in this modern world I found myself thrown into, but overpriced objects being bought just for the sake of it is not one of them. Can’t deny the thing is quite sweet and useful though, so I let it slip.

My phone, as usual, is at the bottom of my bag and I have to dig through all the stuff I have been carrying with me to fish it out.

Me: It’s quite nice actually. Just so you know, I couldn’t sleep last night, because I missed you between my thighs. Or so my TA believes.

I outright laugh at that last sentence as I press send, but I do it anyway. Just a second later Xander shoots a tear-laughing emoji, accompanied by the goofiest ‘me too’ I’ve ever seen.

The smile stays on my lips as I get back to work, going through my curriculum again and again, and I hate to admit it, but I am a bit nervous. I always get a little nervous when I am about to stand and start talking in front of a crowd for the first time. The anxiety dissipates almost immediately once I get rolling, but the start always f*ucking sucks.

The first lecture of my new course starts tomorrow, and it’s not only new in the means it’s new for the college, it’s new for me. I’ve never talked about witchcraft in front of people before. The mere thought of doing so out in the open and people wanting to hear me and not throw me in the fire for it is mind-boggling, but then again, what a great time to be alive, huh?

I admit I am tired. I’ve spent the last few weeks getting acquainted with the late Professor Summers, whose entire curriculum I will be taking over start Monday. It’s hard enough starting a new job, but starting in the middle of something that’s already been going on for a few months, it’s twice as hard. Sometimes, in the deep of the night, when I lie awake and aroused for no goddamn reason, as it so happens for the last week and a half, I wonder if I made a mistake coming back. Not because of what this place represents and the way it’s tied to the past I so desperately want to forget, but because of the job. Doubts like the ones I had a very long time ago come creeping up on me, doubts whether I am good enough, whether I’ve got this, and so on. Xander says it’s the imposter syndrome talking and I should believe in myself more. I do, it’s just— I hate changes. Once I settle into a routine I will be fine. Maybe then I will stop feeling so restless and hot and bothered all the damn time.

The hours go by and I almost manage to convince myself it’s fine. I am fine. I go through my notes and I am sure I’ve memorized everything. Plus, I do have almost ten years of scientific work behind me, not to mention a lifetime of practice. There, it’s good, all is good in the world.

It’s the moment I get out of my office and head to the cafeteria to grab some lunch when I feel it again. Those invisible eyes are on me again, staring through the crowd that surrounds me, searching specifically for me. It’s like a tickle at the back of my head, like a veil being thrown over my shoulders, the fabric pressing down on me. At the cash register, I put my table on the counter and look around. The cashier stares at me with daggers in her eyes, prompting me to hurry up and I have no other choice but to do so. As I walk towards a table at the far corner, I look warily around, trying to ignore the weird way my body reacts to the feeling of being stalked. But there it is again. My skin prickles with gooseflesh and my heart starts being faster with excitement and heat pools between my legs. It’s like a call to my soul has been made, yet I don’t know who or why is doing it. It might all be in my head for all I know.

After lunch, I head back to my office, but before that, I make sure to walk around, my head raised high as if in a challenge to whoever it is who thinks they can play with me. Squinting my eyes against the bright October sun, I search through the crowd, inspecting unfamiliar faces, trying to remember if I’ve met them before if anyone rings a bell, but it’s not them. No one looks familiar enough or dead set on watching me from the shadows or making me squirm. Some of the students I pass by recognise me and greet me, but most don’t pay me any attention except the few who look at me with hidden appreciation which I pretend is not there at all.

By the time I get back to the office, it’s almost two p.m. I think I lost my stalker half an hour before, or at least that’s when the weird feeling in the pit of my stomach dissipated. Whatever. The sun has already turned and the large room is filled with shadows now, ones which I am more comfortable with as I kind of hate the sun with its vast brightness. I hate the clear sky too even though I can tolerate it better in the autumn. Summer is a damn hell for me at times.

When I notice the bright red apple on my desk, I startle. I don’t know why my heart skips a beat at the sight of it, but it does. Well, that’s a lie, I know why. It’s exactly the same sort as the ones he used to bring me. My lover from another lifetime. Even the color and the shape are the same.

Holding my breath, I approach it warily, my hands shaking a little as I reach out and grab it. The reasonable part of my brain tells me it’s nothing, just a stupid coincidence, which happens sometimes. It’s probably Jaia who left it on her way to her classes or whatever. And maybe I don’t remember it correctly. So damn years, lifetimes actually, have passed since I knew that man. He’s dead. It’s not him. It’s Jaia. But there’s a note under the apple. And there, on the torn piece of paper, four crooked letters say words I never expected to ever come across again.

Welcome home, little mate.