Blindspot (Daydream, Colorado Book 1) Page 11

  “You don't need to keep apologizing. I just…” he trailed off, not knowing how to explain the mess that was his head and heart.

  “What?” Drew asked, turning towards him in his seat.

  “I want us to move forward like we said. I want to be there for you and help you figure this out. I don't need you to apologize every other word, looking at me like some guilty puppy. Okay?” he asked, face heating up.

  Drew frowned, eyes big and wide and that emotion louder than any other.

  “I am guilty, though,” he whispered, and Mason stepped onto the break. The car came to a screeching halt, and Mason whipped towards him.

  “For being a jackass martyr and thinking you could go through something like that on your own? Yup, guilty. One hundred percent! But you’re not to blame for the shit your asshole of a brother put you through that made you feel like you were alone. You’re not alone. Not anymore,” Mason said fiercely, and Drew ducked his head down, biting his lip in that shy way only he knew how. It made Mason weak.

  How was he supposed to be his friend when his heart still jumped at the sight of him? How did everything around them change, but the glimpses of Drew he got to see at moments like these.... were still his Drew? How this man managed to act like he was this fragile creature that needed protection when he was twice Mason’s size was beyond him. But it was always like that between them. Drew was a soft-spoken, sensitive, broody artist. That’s what Mason would describe him as. Partly to piss him off, and partly because it was true, and that was what pissed him off. Mason was the one people usually overlooked. Tiny, skinny creature that he was. But he was so incredibly protective of Drew he’d fight giants to keep him safe.

  And he’d continue doing it now.

  “Okay,” Drew said, offering a small smile and fuck… Just friends, Mason. You can’t afford to love him again.

  “Okay,” he said with a determined nod and started the car back up.

  They reached the large farmhouse in a matter of minutes. The house stood imposingly in front of them, the brown brick striking against the white cover of snow. A puff of smoke billowed from the chimney, dark gray but not thick enough to obscure the sight of the colorful, stained glass roof of Darian’s greenhouse. Even through the closed windows on the car, Mason could hear the tinkling of windchimes on Darian’s porch, and the sound made him smile.

  “What’s happening there?” he heard Drew question and followed his gaze to a small patch of ground clear of snow directly in front of where they’d parked.

  Mason saw Drew’s eyes grow wide as he watched the seemingly barren soil sprout dozens of tiny little sprigs with fragile leaves hanging off the sides. It grew upwards and sideways, branching out and getting thicker until tiny purple flowers bloomed everywhere. As the flowers opened their petals, a wooden cart wheeled over, rickety and loud, and like little soldiers, the rosemary bushes jumped into it, leaving the ground empty again for mere seconds until the process started all over again.

  “Rosemary helps with sore throats. And it’s cold season, so Darian grows it in bulk to make his remedies.”

  “Oh…” Drew said, still staring at the time-lapse sequence running on repeat in front of them.

  “Come on,” Mason said unbuckling his seatbelt. The sound startled Drew into motion again.

  “Is he gonna be awake this early?” Drew asked as they stepped out of the car.

  “Sure, he will. I don’t think that man ever sleeps,” Mason said, walking towards the house.

  “I mean, I’d like to sleep. But not if there’s someone who needs help urgently,” a voice sounded from behind them.

  Mason turned to watch as Darian descended the stairs leading to his front porch. He glanced at Drew and saw him wide eyed, mouth opened in a tiny O as he looked at the man approaching them.

  Mason understood his reaction, but he still found it funny. Drew was tall, but Darian could easily eat breakfast off the top of his head. His shoulders were massive, barely contained by the soft flannel shirt he was wearing. The shirt was dark blue, bringing out the color of his eyes perfectly, and the sleeves were hiding the tattoos that lined every inch of his skin. His arms and chest anyway. Mason hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing more than that.

  “I don’t need help urgently! We could have waited,” Drew said to Mason.

  The smaller man shook his head, pointing at him as he looked at Darian. “See what I’m dealing with?”

  “Are you in trouble?” Darian asked when he reached them, and the voice coming out of his mouth still managed to surprise Mason. So gentle and caring. So at odds with the way he looked.

  “I’m not in trouble,” Drew responded, and Mason rolled his eyes.

  “Semantics. He needs help,” he said to Darian at the same time Drew tried to protest again.

  “It’s not urgent.”

  “Why don’t you let me talk from now on, hm?” he asked dryly and then flinched when he realized what he’d said. Foot… meet mouth. Again.

  “Not like there’s a different option,” Drew said, crossing his arms around his chest and shrinking into himself.

  “You have nothing to be scared of here,” Darian said, and even if he didn’t know the man, Mason thought he’d have been instantly at ease with how much warmth and friendliness radiated off the big man.

  “It’s not that… I… can’t…” Mason let Drew try and explain as much as he could on his own, but Drew turned to him with panicked eyes, and Mason took over with a nod.

  “He can’t talk about it. Physically can’t,” he said, and Darian gaped at them for a moment before running a hand over his short hair.

  “This feels like a tea and cake kind of conversation,” he said finally, and Mason perked up right away.

  “Agreed,” he said, walking after Darian towards the house, feeling Drew follow right behind him.

  Darian’s house was just as contradictory as the man himself was. An odd mixture of beautiful flower arrangements and motorcycle parts, soft plush floral recliners and masculine, dark wood tables and shelves. And enough plants to make you question if you had just stepped through a portal into the jungle.

  They settled into the spacious kitchen, and Mason immediately noticed the turquoise pair of gardening gloves hovering over the ficus settled in the sink, delicately removing the dry leaves while a spray bottle spritzed it. That was until the promised cake captured his attention fully.

  Mason watched with unbridled joy as Darian plated them both a slice of chocolate cake the size of Mason’s head. A large ceramic mug filled with tea was settled next to them, and finally the man himself sat down across from them and motioned to Mason to start talking.

  “You okay with this?” Mason turned to check in with Drew once again, and Drew nodded.

  “Okay… um… well first of all, Darian this is Drew… Drew, Darian,” he introduced. The handshake and the pleasantries eased the tension in the air a little bit, and Mason felt calmer.

  “Drew was born in Daydream. But he… he doesn’t have any magic,” Mason said, bracing himself expectantly.

  “Okay,” the man said calmly, gigantic palms cradling his mug.

  “Anticlimactic…” Mason said. Darian chuckled.

  “You expected shock and disbelief?” he asked, and Mason nodded, the corner of his eye catching the same move from Drew.

  “Or a gasp at least, yeah…”

  “I’ve seen people with no magic born to magic families before.”

  “You have?” Drew gasped, and Mason could hear the shock in his voice.

  “It’s not often, but not unheard of either. And most families have the same notion. Call the healer and ask for help,” Darian said, eyes soft and understanding as he looked at Drew.

  “Can you?” Drew asked quietly and Darian smiled.

  “Help? No… because there is nothing to help. There is nothing wrong with you, Drew,” Darian said kindly and Drew snorted, making Mason feel that murderous rage he’d felt the entire time he’d been reading Troy�
�s journal. He wanted to gauge out their eyes and wear them as earrings.

  “Not what my family thought,” Drew said, quiet hurt in his voice.

  Darian nodded understandingly. “I can imagine. But… if that’s the help you came here to ask for… I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do…”

  “No… um… that’s not it… but… Mason will have to explain…”

  “Yeah so… turns out when Drew’s parents found out he wasn’t magic they asked around to see if it could be helped. Like you said. But they didn’t find a healer. They got their hands on a grimoire instead,” Mason said and Darian sucked in a breath, eyes going wide and head shaking.

  “But… that’s horrible!” he said and Mason nodded.

  “It’s the least horrible thing that happened, I’m afraid. They didn’t use the grimoire, but… his shithead of a brother did. He found it and fancied himself a scientist. Got two of his shithead buddies to join in too. They spent years… experimenting on Drew. Trying to give him magic. Trying to fix him…” He put the last words in quotation marks, slim fingers slicing the air in rage. He could feel himself almost frothing at the mouth. Troy was lucky he was dead. If he were still alive, Mason would find him, rip out his intestines and wrap them in a neat little bow around his stupid little…

  “MASON!” Drew exclaimed, and he realized he had spat out all that hate out loud.

  “Sorry… got carried away…” he said, breath heaving, hands white-knuckling the edge of the counter.

  “Yeah, no shit…” Drew said shakily.

  “Anyway. None of their crap worked in the end, but they put a spell on him to stop him from ever saying anything. And the spell is still active. Every time he tries to talk about it, he almost blacks out from pain. He can’t even write it down,” Mason finished, and Darian stared at them in complete silence.

  “Let’s head to the family room. It’ll be more comfortable for you,” Darian said eventually, gesturing that way.

  “Comfortable for what?” Drew asked.

  Darian looked towards Mason and then back. “I’d like to examine you… if that’s okay with you?”

  Drew breathed in deeply. “Sure… what’s one more examination at this point?”

  Darian gave him a gentle look. “You’ll find mine less invasive, I promise. I’ve got good hands, ask any of the plants around the house.”

  “I don’t speak cactus,” Drew said, amused.

  “You don’t? How unfortunate for you, they’re hilarious,” Darian chuckled, leading the way.

  Mason shook his head and followed after them with a smile on his face. Darian was one of the best things to happen to this town.

  Drew was instructed to lay down on the wide sofa, Mason hovering nearby as Darian kneeled next to him. With hushed, calm words the healer explained what he was about to do before laying a single palm against Drew’s chest, over his clothes.

  The suspended silence that settled was nail biting.

  Mason saw Darian frown and pounced. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why are you frowning then, Jesus,” Mason grumbled.

  “No… I mean, there’s nothing wrong with him. He could use some more sleep, but there’s nothing physical that I can find.”

  “That’s what the other doctors said,” Drew sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

  “That’s impossible,” Mason said. He had dragged Drew here to get help, and they had nothing. “He can’t speak. What about his blackouts? He says he has them even without trying to speak sometimes.”

  Darian’s forehead creased. “You can talk about them?”

  Drew nodded.

  “There is nothing indicating you should be having them…” Darian said as he straightened to his intimidating height again with a perplexed frown. He offered a hand out to help Drew sit up, and Mason collapsed next to him, defeated.

  “Just because the answer isn’t physical doesn’t mean we’re at a dead end,” Darian assured. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”

  “But… you need to help him,” Mason exclaimed, trying not to sound demanding.

  “And I’ll do my best, I just need to call in a little backup is all. If there’s a grimoire involved…” he let it trail, and Mason smacked himself on the forehead.

  “Malachi. Of course.”

  “The trainee at the magic shop?” Drew asked.

  Darian used this time to retreat from the room.

  “Head Witch now. Evette passed away about five years ago,” Mason explained.

  Drew shook his head. “He’s only a couple years older than us, how can he be the Head Witch of Daydream?”

  “Not all Head Witches have to be crusty old codgers. Mal passed all his magic exams with flying colors. He had been running things behind the scenes for Evette a while before she died.”

  “And you think he’ll know what to do?”

  “I haven’t seen anything he hasn’t been able to do yet,” Mason said carefully. Truthfully, he had no idea. Malachi was a bit of a prodigy, a very strange, quirky prodigy who didn’t turn up to important meetings, but a prodigy, nonetheless.

  Between him and Darian, surely, they could come up with something?

  “I should text Nick!” he said exactly as the thought occurred.

  “Nick?” Drew asked.

  “He’s the town librarian, records keeper, researcher, all of the above. If something like this has happened before, he’ll find it,” Mason rattled off, already on his phone.

  “Garth died too?”

  Mason shook his head absently, too concentrated assembling his dream team. “Retired.”

  “Right,” Drew murmured quietly. “Is anything the same here anymore?”

  The despondent tone regained Mason’s attention just as he pressed send. “It’s been ten years. Time didn’t freeze…”

  “I know, I know… it’s just…” Drew glanced around the room. “On the surface, most things seemed exactly the way I left them … I guess I really am an outsider now.”

  Mason opened his mouth just as Darian walked back into the room.

  “Sorry about that. Mal will be here in two ticks, he’s actually close by collecting fungi samples. He knows the ones around the farm are the best,” he grinned. He glanced between their tense posture. “More tea?”

  Darian was a saint among men.

  The larger man easily carried on the conversation between the three of them, doing the bulk of the heavy lifting by regaling them with stories about his fussy tomato plants and greedy ivy. By the time there was a single knock at the front door, both of them were almost relaxed.

  “It’s open,” Darian called.

  The figure that let himself into Darian’s house was instantly recognizable to Mason. Malachi was impossible to miss. Today the Head Witch was wearing cargo pants with bits of flowers and roots sticking out of every pocket and a black oversized bomber jacket that had bleached stains all over it. In his hands he was holding a beautiful wicker basket full of mushrooms and other gross looking fungi.

  Malachi was slightly taller than Mason, though not so stick thin, and he had a youthful face that made him want to believe the rumors the new apprentice witch at the magic shop had started spreading around town that he was an immortal being. The man truly hadn’t aged past high school senior year.

  “Mal, did the forest greet you nicely?” Darian asked.

  The witch hummed. “She was in good spirits today, a little sleepy.”

  Sharp green eyes turned on them, and Mason felt his anxiety spike. There was something intimidating about Malachi Tarrenward, and he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted him messing around with Drew. It was a ridiculous instinct. He was singing the guy’s praises earlier!

  “Mason and… Drew Daley.” Mal tilted his head in vague interest. “Welcome back.”

  “Thank you,” Drew murmured. “It’s been a while.”

  “Long enough to get yourself into trouble,” he said, coming fully in
to the room and placing his basket down on the seat next to Darian instead of sitting in it himself. The older man didn’t seem to care.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Mason said, though Malachi wasn’t paying him any attention.

  The witch didn’t stop until his was directly in Drew’s space, bending over and peering intently into his eyes.

  “Um…” Drew squeaked, scooching as far back as the sofa allowed. “There’s nothing wrong with my eye—HEY!”

  “Mal!” Mason growled.

  The witch didn’t listen to either of them and stepped away with the single hair he had plucked from Drew’s scalp without warning. He bent down at the table, pushing aside the tea set, dumping out the cookie bowl and placing the hair inside.

  He searched his many pockets, mumbling to himself unintelligibly before pulling out handful of herbs. He summoned up a mortar and pestle with a cursory flick of his hand, grinding away right there in the middle of them.

  “You okay?” Mason asked Drew, who was still cupping his head.

  “No.”

  Mason rolled his eyes, the petulant tone relaxing him again. “Don’t be a baby. He could have gone for your beard.”

  Drew gasped.

  “Can I borrow a sprig of sage?” Mal asked Darian in the background.

  “I have some growing on the windowsill. Only a single sprig? She’s a generous soul,” Darian said fondly, hefting himself up.

  “Just one,” Mal said definitively.

  “What are you doing?” Drew asked.

  Mal simply raised an eyebrow. “The explanation would take me longer than the actual process.”

  He turned to accept the rosemary from Darian, and Drew huffed and sat back.

  The bluntness of his tone didn’t affect Mason that much considering who his best friend was. Mal was different to Sage in this way, however. Sage didn’t understand social cues. Mal understood them and ignored them like they were silly trivial matters.

  Mason watched as Mal added the sage to the mix, grinding it up finely before pouring the mix over the hair in the bowl. With a click of his fingers the whole thing lit on fire.