Shortbread and Shadows by Amy Lane

Author:Amy Lane [Lane, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64405-859-6
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2020-05-19T16:00:00+00:00

Making Magic

AN HOUR later, Lachlan carefully sanded the last piece of wood he’d been working on, liking the silky finish of the small chip.

Like he’d promised, he’d made six small discs with a hole drilled near the top, and had then used his wood burner and etched the symbols Bartholomew had shown him. He remembered what Bartholomew had told him about intention and elements, and thought carefully of what he knew of Bartholomew’s friends as he did so, respecting each one their right to be Bartholomew’s family since his own seemed so terribly fraught with strife. When he was done sanding them and marking them, he gave them one more rubdown. He usually used linseed oil to give the wood a matte sheen, but he had no idea what that element would do to the spell. He hoped maybe Bartholomew’s potion would have the same effect.

He’d already seen that these things weren’t to be trifled with.

For himself, he’d put the rune for joy on one side, like he’d promised, and then a small pictograph of a slice of bread—puff top, square bottom. He thought of the complicated recipe that made up Bartholomew Crosby Baker with every line. And in the center, the X, because he hoped Bartholomew would be around for a while, hoped for that partnership Bartholomew had dreamed about and didn’t want to let him down. He used a jewelry loop to connect the pentagram over the side with the joy mark on it, because he wanted to protect the happiness he had with the gray-eyed witch currently baking shortbread in his kitchen.

When he was done with his own amulet, he made an eighth. He put the joy rune on this one too, but on the other side, he put a tiny saw, one of the tools of his trade. And he put a tiny little X in the center of that one too.

Theirs.

Bartholomew wearing his rune, Lachlan wearing Bartholomew’s. It wasn’t just for high school students, not really.

The thing that came after amulets was rings—he was very much aware.

He took Bartholomew’s disc and pressed it to his lips, feeling a little foolish, and remembering Bartholomew’s elegantly spoken spells, he added his own. It had been playing in his head as he’d worked, and he hoped maybe his intent would outweigh the sad elements of his words.

I had faith from the moment I laid eyes on you.

Please, baby, please believe in me.

With that, he gathered the amulets up in premade velvet bags he used for merchandise and headed for the house.

And oh my God, he could smell Bartholomew’s work before he even walked in through the door.

The shortbread was cooling on the stovetop, perfect little golden-brown cakes of it, the world’s simplest—and most fattening—cookie. On either side of the stove were two cheap pots on hot pads, both of them emitting a different floral, tea-like smell, which made sense because they each had flower petals floating around in them—as well as one hemorrhoid pad apiece.

Bartholomew was sitting at the table, writing on blank pieces of printer paper, chewing his lip.

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