what’s to come with that brew? on the side st

 

And so, it was due to the Witch’s Brew that had the effect of putting a soft fringe around the reality of life as seen through the burgundy color; alizarin crimson 

as he ascended the stairs, she had almost forgot all the wild events of the last few days. It was something about his scent and the textures of him; how she couldn’t help herself from putting her hands on him; in his hair and fingers running down his face, the sharpness against her fingertips as she felt along his jaw, she was drawn to touch him everywhere at once, like an innate subtle craving

She stopped thinking —when ever ….he was near her. And as soon as she could sense his thoughts when he looked at her that way he had. He had such a look about him, and that was usually enough to make her mind go to putty….the day?—a murder?—or two?—some intruder?….but he could make it all disappear 

And when they reached upstairs to his room —it smelled like him, not in a bad way, but besides his scent, it felt clear his presence lived there; was it something in the slant of the roof above the wood framed bed that had no headboard? Or….. the wall against it which was exposed red brick and where there was a kind of Mexican blanket nailed above where a headboard would be —and this had brown and red designs, like the brick behind it. 

The colors were all dark shades in there. The other wall was painted a lush, dark rich brown that went with the colors of the rag rugs on the floor, as well as the antique quilts on the bed; no doubt from one of Arthur’s finds.

It was like stepping into another dimension—beyond the trappings, those other things laying about that were clearly Grant trademark of him —she had come to pick up on him, about him. 

It was too dark to see whatever he moved around to quickly remove from sight but she was looking, instead at the colorful boxers (Pokémon) that had not made it into the thing posing as a laundry basket, but it was the strewn video games and the array of junk food evidence which were left in odd places, even as it was otherwise, fairly neat —but it was this which strangely burned into her senses. In fact, she found herself drawn to the spot upon the bed he clearly favored as the outline impression of his head was still in the pillow there, so when he dropped her there, her face fell into it and witch’sbrew, be damed, she inhaled it. 

It was something inexplicable but there about him—and it was this very thing that she became aware of now, freed of all reserve and previous reservations. What were they about agsin? She couldn’t remember, and slinking and coiling into his scent filled sheets, she undulated, unaware as she did —as the brew hit that ….other level 

side st side step mysteries & evasion

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, not wanting to think anymore about the recent events, pulling the long sweeping fringe from her dark eyes and holding her face looking up at him, liking how she looked caught within his grasp.

They were still on the kitchen chair, her legs around him, having finished their meal together 

“There really isn’t that much to tell,” she glanced away from the distraction of his eyes and wondered how to answer him, “I just moved here to Portsburgh to start my life over—find a new direction,” and while the wine relaxed her enough to say this, her discomfort of the details of her life held resistance 

“Why did you choose Portsburgh?”

But still looking away from the distraction of his compelling eyes, she smiled slightly and shrugged, 

“it seemed as good a place as any. To start over.”

“Do you have family here?” he asked her

She didn’t answer right away. These were questions she had managed to avoid with people. Sometimes she answered with rehearsed replies she had carefully selected from past conversations. 

But all she said was,

“no.”

“Was it a job that fell through?” he tried to prompt her, becoming curious with her reluctance to elaborate 

And because of the wine, she couldn’t remember all those prepared answers she usually used. But, she also didn’t want to be fake to him. She stared at the way the candle over on the counter by the sink flickered and again, simply said,

“no.”

“So you just came here with —no idea what you would do?”

Only now did she look back at him. She now sought his eyes and it was because of her intoxicated mind…. that allowed something vulnerable to surface from just the sound of his lilting voice; the gentle tone it had…. it caused her mind to turn to putty. And his eyes mirrored that ability to cause her to react; and, forgetting herself, she let herself tumble inside them. 

Perhaps that was a mistake; they made her feel so safe…. inside them. And for a moment, she forgot his question. She just allowed herself this safety. A safety that ….she had not known for so long. Maybe never. And the feeling wrapped her in its warmth, so she could not find the desire to leave this feeling and she could only stare inside them. 

As his fingers started to caress her cheek, she felt his arms tighten slightly around her. Soon she realized she hadn’t answered his question, so vaguely she said,

“I read about it here—it sounded nice….so—I just packed up my car and started driving….”

Or something like that ….it was too involved for her to think about right now. 

“That’s extraordinary! You’re so brave! I’ve never done anything like that!” he said smiling as he forced her to look at him as she had pulled her eyes away from the vague compliment 

Her face colored brightly as she turned her gaze back at him,

“not really so brave,” she said dropping her eyes, “maybe cowardly. I was….”

But she suddenly stopped what she was about to say. She wasn’t sure if she should say what almost slipped right out 

“What?” he asked, sensing this and his touch along her cheek moved along the angled cheekbone that followed the slant of her eyes and his seemed to hold her captive there, like his arms that had subtly pulled her closer to him, his warmth weakening her resistance 

“I was running away.”

“From….?”

She stared up at him,

“someone.”

“A man?” he asked

“Yes,” she admitted with some relief being able to share this and sighed, “this seemed the last place he’d ever look for me.”

“Who is he?” he asked her, “an ex?”

“Yes,” she looked back at him, “what about you? What about your life and—“ she wanted to say ‘that person with that otherworldly ringtone’ but instead she said, “your job back home? Shouldn’t you be getting back to it? Why were you visiting the Bishops in the first place—was it a holiday?”

Grant sighed heavily and leaned back against the chair, but he didn’t release her from his arms. Instead he pulled her closer,

“Some of it has to do with work—but also for Arthur and Aunt Fiona—I come here several times a year—or rather—came….to help Arthur with the website and book keeping….” he sighed, “but this I’d rather not talk about, I’d rather hear about you.”

“I’d like to know about you—like, where are you from, for instance?—what about your….family?”

“It’s not that interesting,” he said evasively now and went on to say, “I’m from a dull industrial part of the country, it wouldn’t interest you—I’d really rather know more about you. It takes a tough person, I think, to decide to just leave and start all over without knowing a single person where you are going to. And no plan. I admire that.”

What he said surprised her. She had never thought of herself as tough. 

For whatever reason, she sensed, he didn’t like to talk about himself but then, nor did she. She decided to respect his space and let him pull her head against him, his fingers in her hair as she listened to his heartbeat. 

But the heat from her body released more of that scent of her and it went to his head, and without hesitation he ran his hands down the back of her, following the path of the long zipper that held her burgundy dress together. He followed it back up to the top and his fingers played with the zipper as he captured the back of her skull into his hand and kissed her suddenly on the mouth, turning her head up to him as he stood up, hoisting her slightly in his arms as he stood, holding her with her legs still wrapped around him.

“Would you like to go upstairs—I promise to behave—or back in the sitting room?” he asked her

It had been a long time since anyone held her this way, it reminded her of her childhood and waking from nightmares and the feeling of his arms around her forced all logical thoughts away,

“I haven’t seen your room where you stay—can you show it to me? I’m just a bit curious.”

It was the witches’ brew; side st mystery scene continued

 

It is hard to say just how long that kiss went on for. Faun was too absorbed elsewhere to notice time and was mostly focused on figuring out how to unknot his tie while being able to kiss him at the same time and what happened was, a reminder of the quiche which came by a slight burning smell 

“Oh no!” she jumped off off his lap, like with a reflex of spider-sense and was at the oven in half a second, only pausing for the oven gloves…. “saved—its perfect! It only started to burn a little, a bit toasty….” she talked a lot when she was nervous. And moved about a lot, being hyperactive by nature which gave her a sort of flightiness in her movements; pronounced because of him; because she wasn’t sure if ….they should —out of respect to the Bishops —yes, but also she didn’t want him to do something he might regret later—was it the grief ….? And was she wrong to let something happen between them if ….that were the case 

He watched her from the chair as she fluttered around the kitchen arranging things; cutting pieces and selecting dishes from the polished wood cabinets and on two antique Johnson brothers mismatched square chintz plates she put a piece of quiche and walked over to the table with them. She put one in front of Grant and one on her side; went back for forks and paper napkins and laid each beside either plate. 

“It’s too hot to eat yet—we should let it cool down,” she said 

He had been watching her do this, finding it amusing and when she finally sat down in front of him, he was pouring more wine into the glasses, suspecting the reasons for the subterfuges, and thought wine might take care of matters. 

He raised his glass and clinked it to hers,

“to King Leopold,” and he indicated with his head, she had to raise her glass too. So, she did, of course,

“To King Leopold,” and at mention of his name he awoke from his nap by the stairs and got up with a “whuff”, sniffing the air as he came walking over. This made them laugh and then Grant said,

“bottoms up— you are required to drink all of that, it’s a toasting rule,” he said 

“Is it?” she looked back at him and automatically lifted her glass and sipped it thoughtfully. You see, she was feeling the effects of the first one still. 

“All of it,” he said and reached across the table as she had been about to put it down, but he brought it back up to her lips

“It’s really good wine, what is it called?” she asked as she let him turn the glass up against her mouth 

“Witch’s Brew,” he said, “it’s spiced,” he said and it seemed he was closer suddenly. She didn’t notice he moved his chair over—well, not until the glass was empty and he was putting it down and pulled her head to him with both his hands and kissed her hard. He felt her go limp. But now his stomach growled. He broke the kiss,

“we should eat,” he said but he reached across for her fork and broke off a piece of the quiche with it, bringing it up to her mouth, wanting to watch her now swollen mouth as he fed her.

And as they ate together, he pulled her back into his chair, his arms around her as he said, “we can just cuddle, if you want.” 

“Yeah. Ok,” she said, even as he was kissing her 

“And I think—it’s safer with regards to the intruder —we don’t leave each other alone tonight—to be safe,” he said 

her move; Castled & Granted a toast off the sidewalk inside

 

There was a moment when Faun caught a glimpse of Grant as they were sitting facing each other slightly at the small square wood kitchen table after he had poured the wine. The lights had felt too bright, so, Faun took out some wide pillar candles and set one at the table and one on the counter by the sink and one above the stove on the little ledge by the spice cabinet.

It was the way the lighting —or lack there of— seemed to allow some layers to drop. As it seemed.

He must be thinking of Fiona, Faun could sense it, and it did not require a seance to sense his mood, despite ….as Halloween loomed everywhere, somehow the feel of the Bishop’s ghosts loomed a little too near. 

She had wanted to ask him about if he needed help with ….the funeral—or what was even happening about it but, how to ask and at the appropriate moment?

“Do you need help with —their arrangements?” Faun blurted out because his face looked suddenly vulnerable. Which was very becoming on him, somehow; it was something about those poet’s eyes of his and the pout of his mouth when he got to brooding. As she had seen him do. He’d tug at his beard and bite his lip as deep creases dug between his thick, pensive brows—as he did now; something Byronic; that indescribable thing about him that made her melt whenever he looked at her —or sat in front of her….like now ….

He looked back at her now as she reached for his hand and those meadows drew her in 

Slowly, he smiled but she noticed that his eyes were suddenly a bit bloodshot. His fingers tightened slightly as he looked at her. He said softly,

“thank you—I’ll let you know ….” then sighed but after a pensive pause he reached for a wine glass, clinked it to hers and said, “you know, they would want us to toast them,” he forced a smile, “but—yeah….I am glad you are here.”

It was the openness there in his eyes at that moment that she could not help but be caught under. He was saying more with his eyes as he looked right at her. It was this moment when Faun understood what it was about him; that quiet poet within that never spoke what he felt and most believed it was not there but she saw it all in his eyes. And in the tones he spoke in. Even his pauses spoke volumes. And she had no idea why she could see all this —she could not know. Unless it was something possibly familiar had she been more self aware. And she was attracted to this about him. It was even more intense for her than just his natural air of masculinity that he exuded in the most unconscious and minuscule of ways. 

It was that, ultimately that …. and it was just after their toast to the Bishops—and it could be the wine went to her head and made her do it —and it might have been, too, the loosened tie he wore and flannel jacket, the scruffy beard or that pout? It had to be his eyes that made her stand up and go over to him. She slid, facing him and climbed into his lap, putting her arms around his neck, her burgundy dress falling in long folds across her hips as her legs went around him on the chair, kissing him full on the mouth, her hands and fingers in his hair 

Our friendly sidewalk street policeman

When they got in, he said in a very low voice,

“you stay down here —while I look upstairs ….just to be safe….I’ll check your—the bedroom and—“ then Leopold barked at him and ran up to follow excitedly sniffing around as they went up the stairs ….

Faun sighed as she wondered about the state of her room….

Oh no….she realized what a hurry she’d left in this morning —she’d missed the alarm getting up because she couldn’t sleep last night and when she finally did the sun was coming up and she missed the alarm —so the floor was a nightmare of this morning’s rejects of clothes and of course underwear ….God! How embarrassing —did she make the bed….? 

She paced the kitchen and looked around for signs of anyone ….ohhh….

“Uh—Grant!” she suddenly shouted, “come here!”

And together, beast and human came running down the stairs, 

Faun stood by the door where it joined the other kitchen—the doorway that lead out towards the ‘community area’ with the salmon couches. 

She pointed to the floor—which was red brick—and what she pointed to —there was a clear outline of a muddied shoe—coming from that direction —it was a very big bootprint—and if the intruder hadn’t risked putting on the light, he’d not have known what he left of himself behind. 

“That’s not my foot,” Grant said, matter-of-factly, “someone’s been here, I think.”

“Should we call Pierre Reaux?”

****

In the end, they settled on just calling Officer Sullivan and as he’d given them his official police ‘business’ card with the direct extension printed clearly on it, this seemed the better choice.

This time Officer Sullivan wasn’t as suspicious nor was he as unfriendly as before. If anything, he seemed glad of the interruption on his slow night, and had even chuckled saying so.

He came right over and looked around, letting King Leopold sniff him before following Grant upstairs ….and then through the kitchen doorway —pointing out the footprint before getting a guided tour with Grant, dog en-toe.

But, in the end, after some casual chatter with Grant about England he shrugged, filling out the report with Grant, whilst sealing up the lighter in a plastic baggie,

“I’ll run some prints, maybe, who knows? I’m glad the dog turned up—I wonder where he had gone ….well, let me know if anything else strange or unusual happens,” and then he left 

“Well….” Grant shut the kitchen door that lead out to the porch and leaned on it thoughtfully. 

“It is unsettling that someone has been here—“ Faun shuddered looking up at him 

“Come here,” he said, even as she was only a few inches from him; he tugged just hard enough on her raincoat to make her fall against him, “maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight—if you are scared,” he said this against her ear as he took hold of her head in his hands and added, “I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” and held back a laugh.

And her stomach growled again, 

“I just realized I made a spinach quiche earlier—do you like tomato and basil? I think it came out tasting more like pizza,” she laughed as she went to the refrigerator, getting it out, 

“that sounds great,” he said 

She went to the oven and turning the dial and he followed her, pulling her against him when she had stood up from the oven. And then saying, “where were we?” running his hands up the back of her neck through her hair 

But then—

“Wait right here,” he said suddenly and removed his hands from the thickness of her hair, regrettably dropping the weight before sliding his hands down her face, down her shoulders and arms to her waist then rested on her hips then went through the doorway through the other kitchen. 

Soon he came back as she was shutting the oven door. He had two plain glasses and a bottle of wine,

“I was saving this for something but now seems the right time.”

a lighter note Mystery walk home

 

And as they walked, the drunken feeling had remained upon Faun, still, from his kiss.

Some awareness did seep in when she thought she spotted something on the driveway as they walked up towards the gate 

“Hey, what’s that?” Faun pointed to the ground; it was about midway up the drive

So, they went that way towards Faun’s Volvo to see what it was on the ground

Faun bent down and picked it up 

“A cigarette lighter?” she looked from the cheap, ordinary, bright orange disposable lighter then up at Grant, “is this yours?”

“No—that’s not mine,” he said and they looked at each other wondering who could have dropped this, and what were they doing on the property?

“That wasn’t there before,” Faun looked at Grant then at the ground and, consciously lowered her voice, “when we walked by before with King Leopold ….”

“No….” Grant agreed.

They stood there thinking about this. Yet, King Leopold looked unconcerned. Odd. He was a very good watchdog. He always picked up on danger and knew the right people. Right now he was quite calm and almost docile. 

Grant sighed over all the tedious concerns that came with this,

“let’s go in your way—I want to make sure someone didn’t try and get in that way,” and—again he took her hand; so reassuringly warm and so natural too as if they had always done this, his fingers wove between hers on the way to the door….how can such an innocent touch ….as that….become more….she wondered…. But the reaction it caused—was it from the fear? the adrenaline? The way how he slid his fingers in between hers, the way it was as if he was touching her somewhere else 

but he reached for her hand