A Little Familiar by Cooper R

Author:Cooper, R. [Cooper, R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-10-02T16:00:00+00:00

~~

Piotr didn’t sleep well after Bartleby left, although the power had come on not too long afterward, which meant he wouldn’t have to replace all the contents of his fridge. This knowledge was not as satisfying as it might once have been.

Something was wrong.

Not with the world. Not even within the house, although Elysia was upset and Pallas was being oddly considerate. No, something was wrong with Bartleby. Something might have been wrong with Bartleby for a long time, but Piotr wouldn’t have noticed, too busy keeping distance between them.

Bartleby did not speak of endings, or hadn’t, back when Piotr had talked to him on a semiregular basis. Bartleby asked questions and suggested possibilities. He didn’t close doors.

Piotr worried over it through the night, and then into the morning, where he was even more churlish than usual before his coffee. The cats and dog had returned to his porch, and Bartleby was trying to find a witch who would want him, as a familiar, and hopefully as a lover. Bartleby was leaving in search of that. That was what he’d meant.

Bartleby wanted to help Piotr this Samhain because it might be his last chance to, and no one had told Piotr. They’d mentioned Bartleby, and known, and Piotr had turned away before they’d had a chance to tell him.

He hurried through his workday, then went home to clean. He cleared off the dining room table and replaced the melted candles. He swept, and laid out newspaper to catch stray bits of pumpkin guts, and brought in the pumpkins, one by one. He put Bartleby’s two perfect pumpkins on the table, along with knives and a spoon and a bowl.

Then he gulped a glass of water and let in Pallas, who was impatiently rapping at the back door. She went from the kitchen to the dining room, where she took up position on a wall sconce.

“I didn’t know,” he told her, although it was no excuse. He’d pushed away all news of Bartleby.

He nervously surveyed the tabletop. If Bartleby was only going to do this once, then Piotr wanted him to enjoy it. But remembering the final note in Bartleby’s voice, the slope of his shoulders, made Piotr pace the parlor as the sky grew darker.

Bartleby might stay. He might choose a witch who lived close by, or be willing to move around here and join their coven. He would be with someone else, but he would be near. Piotr had expected that for most of his life. Now it could really happen. That shouldn’t make a difference, but it did.

Piotr walked the length of the parlor in time to distant, steady ticking, and glanced out into the street more than once, as so many of his ancestors must have done, waiting for guests who never came. Then the shadow in the corner shifted in excitement, and Piotr immediately rushed to the door, although the wind hadn’t stirred the chimes and warned him with the ringing of a bell.

He swung open

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