his eyes for the first time. "You will not tell about me, either?"
"Not upon pain of death." He stood, went to the window, parted the curtain. The land outside was empty, tall grasses swaying in the chill winter wind that blew across the plains. In the distance, the flickering gaslights of town shone like yellow stars at the edge of the horizon. He let the curtain fall and walked across the room to the series of shelves next to the bed. Taking out a match, he struck it against the log wall and lit a candle.
He had a bad feeling about this. As he'd told the girl, he'd done this many times before, but this was different. He could sense it. He'd been run out of towns in the past, had been whipped and beaten. But that was not what was coming here, that was not what he foresaw happening. No, this was something else.
And it frightened him. -The girl's name was Jane, and, like all of them, she was in love. She had given herself to the boy, though her father wanted her betrothed to another--perhaps because her father wanted her betrothed to another--and thanks to that one encounter was now with child. She was not yet showing, but: she had not been visited by the menses twice now, and a, innocent as she was supposed to be, she knew what that meant.
Like many of them, she had en on the verge of kinin herself when a friend of a friend told Jane about him, an
William had received a hurriedly written note the next day a badly misspelled missive begging him to put an end to her condition. As always, he had agreed to do so. And that had led her here, to his hut, in the middle of the night.
He knew that what he was about to do was illegal. And he had been beaten and chased in the past not only for per
forming such an act but for the way in which he performed it.
For using magic.
He looked around his little room. He had been here for over a year. It was the longest time he'd spent anywhere since leaving the East, and he liked the place, liked the people. He'd become a member of this community, and the suspicions that had always seemed to grow up around him elsewhere had failed to materialize here. He had helped some girls, even helped a few men, but this was a strongly Christian town, and those mores had kept people from talking.
That was about to end. He knew it, he sensed it, and that made him sad.
It was also going to end badly.
Violently.
And that scared him.
William forced himself to smile reassuringly at Jane, who was still sitting primly in the small chair, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously on her lap.
"I'd like you to move over to the bed," he suggested. "And you'll have to remove your clothing."
Jane nodded, stood. Her hands were trembling. She took off her coat, took off her dress, took off her undergarments. She was crying as she placed her clothing on the chair, sobbing by the time she lay down on the bed. Her legs and feet were pressed tightly together, and standing to the side of the bed, William cleared his throat to get her attention and motioned with his hand that she was to spread her legs open.
She did so, sobbing loudly now, her hands held over her face so she could not see him, as if, by shielding her face she could shield the rest of her body.
He set the candle on her stomach, carefully placed a rag between her legs. Closing his eyes, he concentrated for a moment, gathering the strength he needed. As always, it started with a tingle deep in his midsection, a fluttering of
the heart that grew into a warm vibration and spread outward through his body, through his limbs, into his head, lighting up the world inside his brain.
He opened his eyes, and the room was tinged with extra color.
Everything had a halo about it, auras of different tint that emanated from the walls, from the floor, from the ceiling, from the furniture, and especially, from the girl.
Her head was bathed in yellow, most of her body in blue, but both the candle on her stomach and her abdomen had auras of gray.
William took a
"Not upon pain of death." He stood, went to the window, parted the curtain. The land outside was empty, tall grasses swaying in the chill winter wind that blew across the plains. In the distance, the flickering gaslights of town shone like yellow stars at the edge of the horizon. He let the curtain fall and walked across the room to the series of shelves next to the bed. Taking out a match, he struck it against the log wall and lit a candle.
He had a bad feeling about this. As he'd told the girl, he'd done this many times before, but this was different. He could sense it. He'd been run out of towns in the past, had been whipped and beaten. But that was not what was coming here, that was not what he foresaw happening. No, this was something else.
And it frightened him. -The girl's name was Jane, and, like all of them, she was in love. She had given herself to the boy, though her father wanted her betrothed to another--perhaps because her father wanted her betrothed to another--and thanks to that one encounter was now with child. She was not yet showing, but: she had not been visited by the menses twice now, and a, innocent as she was supposed to be, she knew what that meant.
Like many of them, she had en on the verge of kinin herself when a friend of a friend told Jane about him, an
William had received a hurriedly written note the next day a badly misspelled missive begging him to put an end to her condition. As always, he had agreed to do so. And that had led her here, to his hut, in the middle of the night.
He knew that what he was about to do was illegal. And he had been beaten and chased in the past not only for per
forming such an act but for the way in which he performed it.
For using magic.
He looked around his little room. He had been here for over a year. It was the longest time he'd spent anywhere since leaving the East, and he liked the place, liked the people. He'd become a member of this community, and the suspicions that had always seemed to grow up around him elsewhere had failed to materialize here. He had helped some girls, even helped a few men, but this was a strongly Christian town, and those mores had kept people from talking.
That was about to end. He knew it, he sensed it, and that made him sad.
It was also going to end badly.
Violently.
And that scared him.
William forced himself to smile reassuringly at Jane, who was still sitting primly in the small chair, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously on her lap.
"I'd like you to move over to the bed," he suggested. "And you'll have to remove your clothing."
Jane nodded, stood. Her hands were trembling. She took off her coat, took off her dress, took off her undergarments. She was crying as she placed her clothing on the chair, sobbing by the time she lay down on the bed. Her legs and feet were pressed tightly together, and standing to the side of the bed, William cleared his throat to get her attention and motioned with his hand that she was to spread her legs open.
She did so, sobbing loudly now, her hands held over her face so she could not see him, as if, by shielding her face she could shield the rest of her body.
He set the candle on her stomach, carefully placed a rag between her legs. Closing his eyes, he concentrated for a moment, gathering the strength he needed. As always, it started with a tingle deep in his midsection, a fluttering of
the heart that grew into a warm vibration and spread outward through his body, through his limbs, into his head, lighting up the world inside his brain.
He opened his eyes, and the room was tinged with extra color.
Everything had a halo about it, auras of different tint that emanated from the walls, from the floor, from the ceiling, from the furniture, and especially, from the girl.
Her head was bathed in yellow, most of her body in blue, but both the candle on her stomach and her abdomen had auras of gray.
William took a
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