62. The Witch’s Lair

Laura - The house in the suburbs
The wind chimes sing harmoniously and soothingly at our window as I wake up. My face is strangely heated up. If it’s from what we did last night or from Paul’s hot chest where my cheek rests, I do not know.
What I do know is that I'm torn apart. Whatever it is between us brings me peace to a level I've never felt before. It doesn't really matter whether this is love or anything else. Nonetheless, I can lose myself in it.
It's almost like a drug. I gaze outside at the beautiful morning sky.
On the one hand, there is peace and tranquility, but on the other, a violent storm threatens my entire life. This situation is going to drive me nuts. How long will I be able to maintain my sanity?
Slowly, I try to get out of bed undetected. The hand on my arm tightens its grip. Apparently, there is no way to skulk away from a wolf.
“Why do you want to sneak away?” he asks softly, his voice a mix of happiness and concern.
An arched eyebrow and an inquisitive gaze accompany his question.
“It’s late.” I pick up my phone from the nightstand. “It’s almost lunchtime. Isn’t now an appropriate time to pay a visit to the gypsy witch?”
"There’s no other way to put your mind at ease, I see." Paul gives me a small smile, and his grip on my arm mellows. "I’ll have a quick shower and drive you there. Don’t sneak away in the meantime. You were the one who wanted me to go with you to this so-called witch."
***
Paul drives fully focused on the road ahead. There’s an awkward silence born of our peculiar situation. Neither of us knows where we stand, and he clearly doesn’t have high hopes for this meeting.
The witch’s lair—as I like to call her small hideout—is nothing more than a tiny hut at the edge of a forest, half an hour's drive from Bucharest.
After passing through a small gate surrounded by a stone wall covered in ivy, we enter a woody area.
If she were to be a fraud, as Paul most likely thinks, she would strive for a place in an area with more traffic and, therefore, more clients. But this place is far from the main road, and it seems like she only gets a few people to her home.
“Who was the guy who drove you to your apartment yesterday?”
I must confess that I was prepared for almost anything but an interrogation.
“Just a guy.”
“Aren’t you omitting some details there?”
I sigh. "I wanted to fuck him, but his thoughts were too twisted for my liking. So I ended up glamouring him to sleep so that I could rest as well."
“That’s one way of fucking him, I suppose.”
This wasn’t the answer I expected from Paul and a smirk sticks on my face.
“Did you ever have a steady relationship?”
My smile fades away. He seems to want to go into more private topics.
"No. I mean, how could I?" I examine his countenance, but he's all poker-faced. "I never fucked the same person twice because explaining how I became a virgin again would have been exceedingly difficult."
After saying those words, I realized that Paul is the exception to that rule. I’ve already lost count of how many times we did it, and he’s still here next to me. Is this what people would call a steady relationship?
"So, you don't believe in love?" Paul stares at me suspiciously, as if I am playing a trick on him.
It amuses me but also saddens me.
"It's of no importance if I believe in love or not. What matters is that there's no room for it in my life."
We arrive at the witch’s hut, and I get out of the car. Holding tight to the edge of the door, I freeze in place. I don’t know why. Am I scared she’ll be able to convince Paul to kill me? This is ridiculous. I can’t think of any way to die better than next to him.
“Are we going inside or not? Have you had a change of heart?”
I shut the car’s door with a slam. “Of course not!”
This was my idea, and I'm not going back on it.
The white pebbles at my feet glitter in the late summer sun. An unusual wind blows in my face as if it wants to push me back. I believe in omens, but this time I trudge forward despite my superstitions.
I thought twice before coming here the first time. I've heard plenty of stories about witches. And although they're considered evil creatures, I'm not afraid of them. Not anymore. Not after meeting her.
I take in a lungful of air and knock at the wooden door.
“Come in, Laura!”
My first instinct is to turn to Paul and give him a look saying, “I told you she’s the real deal.” But then I change my mind. He’ll most probably just assume she peeked out the window when we pulled off on the driveway.
From what I can tell so far, he’s not into magic and things that cannot be explained. I wonder how he can manage this degree of realism in a world full of strigois, wolves, shifters, and other beings, all with abilities beyond normal limitations.
I go inside first. Madam, as the gypsy witch prefers to be addressed, is not what you would anticipate. She's tiny and plump, with a pleasant voice that could easily pass for sugar.
A little shiver crosses my spine as I step inside. The dark wood flooring and red and black wall carpets contrast with the bright sunshine streaming through the large windows. It’s like entering a different world.
The room's decor is old-school; vintage pieces of furniture turn the vibe into a grandma’s kind of house, pretty much similar to Paul’s childhood home. So maybe he will feel more at ease.
“Please, sit.” Madam points toward two simple chairs.
Her attention alternates between Paul and me as she looks at us both. To my surprise, her gaze lingers primarily in the space between our chairs.
After a few minutes, she smiles.
“Oh, my. I’m so glad you both came. Otherwise, I couldn’t have seen these beautiful strings that tie you together.”
Paul looks at her with visible distrust. “What do you mean?”
“Your souls are bound to one another through time and space, destined to be together. But the edges are smudged in black. The curse interferes with the bond and prevents you from reincarnating simultaneously. If it weren’t for Laura becoming a strigoi, you wouldn’t have ever been both alive at the same time.”