From this entry forward, all information in this journal will deal with an alternate canon for Charlotte Blaine and be 'Friends Only.'

Wish me luck!

Charlotte was a wreck. Shopping with Farah had been a wonderful way to spend a long day, but they hadn't accomplished all Charlotte felt she needed to. Her plans for Christmas day still felt awkward and incomplete. Never mind they'd be spending half the time in church, she knew she would end up disappointing somehow. She was an intelligent, competent professional. How could she feel so lost?

It didn't help she wasn't sleeping. A good portion of the night was spent staring at the ceiling and she was always up early. Very soon she was going to start drinking, which would be a bad, bad choice. The kittens were starting to shy way from her because they were tired of blinking away when she petted them too hard.

Up early, again, she flopped onto the long couch and groaned. "Maybe New Year's will be easier." Vivianne looked at her from under a chair and meowed softly. "Thanks, that's encouraging."

Charlotte barely slept. Between the upcoming holiday, her discoveries about her family and Farah's impending visit, there was no way she could close her eyes. She sat up for hours just watching John sleep, petting one or the other kitten as they rotated in and out of the warmest spot between them.

Before even going to bed, she'd run out for the best pastries she could find as well as fresh sausage. She even bought fresh coffee even though they had excellent coffee in the apartment. When John woke, Charlotte had been up from the bed for almost two hours. She made a fruit compote, re-cleaned the kitchen and made sure all the Christmas lights were on.

She wasn't really sure why she was so frantic about it all. Farah was easily the sweetest woman Charlotte knew. John was certain to love her. How could you not? And John? He would smile and be gracious and Farah would blush. All would be well. And then, of course, the women would shop and all would be even better than well.

She paced the living room, waiting for John to wake, randomly abusing kittens as she went. As she wandered, it occurred to her that she had no idea if Farah would arrive right into the living room or outside the apartment door.

Charlotte slept wrapped so tightly around John she wasn’t sure where she left off and he started. She didn’t remember being so tired, not since the first days on her own. That sense that everything could come down around her ears was the same, too. Her dreams were disjointed, filled with images of her childhood home and their flat in New York.

When they both woke at dawn, Charlotte didn’t let John stay up. He didn’t look much better after sleep than he had when they went to sleep. With firm kisses she informed him that if she saw him again before noon, she’d kick his ass back to bed. She was stunned when he went without complaint, both kittens following obediently behind him.

She knew she should go with him, but instead she went to find her computer and make a stab at keeping up with her business. What she ended up doing, instead, was having a long overdue chat with Eothian. What happened next she chalked up to too little sleep and too much worry.

After talking to Eothian’s mysterious friend, she sat with her head on her arms for a long time, absolutely and completely undone by the fact that she’d done something so outlandish. Finally she lifted her head and went looking for a shovel picture as some small bit of penance.

Charlotte never wanted to spend another minute in a hospital. She'd had the good sense to bring a book when she took John to his battery of tests in Harlem, but even during those few times she was alone, she did no more than stare at the title page. The cards they brought got more use, including a three handed game of rummy with one of the nurses. By the end of the day John had been scanned, probed and poked.

Rather than taking him upstairs, Charlotte left him sleeping in the car while she went to the apartment to pack. Not that she told him that, she only told him to wait, that they would get dinner out and that she wouldn't be long. He was half asleep, anyway. Upstairs she got two bags packed, then chucked the kittens into a third. Before they figured out what was up, she warded the bag so they couldn't get out.

Only when she had everything secure in the car and the car on the road did she tell him where they were going. She told him it was to be safely way while they waited for the test results, but there was more to it. When he was rested she'd explain how much more there was to it, what she hoped to find, but for the drive he might as well sleep. He wasn't going to like it anyway.

Charlotte slept badly, dreaming of marching to gallows and falling on swords. For once she had to force herself to stay against John in the night. The urge to put distance between them was strong. Not as strong as her wish to comfort him, though, so she stayed. They woke once and she made him eat something light, then she gave him the last of the healing energy she had and encouraged him to go back to sleep.

Her dreams the second time through were of the call she almost made and the possible cost of it.





When she woke again, she had to get up. She went about the business of morning—showering, making coffee and looking for something for breakfast. When she realized she’d made sausage, pancakes and fruit compote, she stopped. She laid out the table, complete with two syrups, put a heavy ward over it to keep the monsters away, and went out on the balcony to smoke one of John’s cigarettes.

Looking out over the city, she tried to imagine what he’d say when she told him Dagny could have injured him. What would he say about her hiding it from him? She looked at her hands, fingers still bare of any ring, and let out a lungful of smoke. Would it send him back to his employers, his conviction in their wisdom revitalized?

Worst of all, would he see her for the coward she was? Full of big words about what was right, but lousy at doing anything about it.

She ground out one cigarette and lit another.

With all the other changes in her life, Charlotte decided it was time to order new business cards. Given how often she handed them out, she went through them like candy. Changing perception took so little, a change in color or font, minimal differences.

Given that, it took her a ridiculous amount of time to go from the old to the new.

Call it stereotypical if you will, but I live with cats.

We had no pets when I was a child, only working animals--guard dogs, hunting dogs, near wild cats who kept down rodents. It wasn't until I had a flat of my own in London that I had anything resembling a pet. Stanley is a force of his own making, however. My responsibility was to rescue his sorry kitten ass and get him through his first year. The instant he was big enough to routinely scale the staggered balconies in my building, he was gone. At least I had the good sense to fix him or I'd have faced some municipal fine and the enduring hatred of my neighbors.

Almost immediately upon deciding to make a second home in the States, I was presented with the opportunity to host unique kittens. The little monsters darlings are perfectly normal in every respect except that they can teleport. They pop in and out of rooms, appear underfoot, much like any other cat. Don't ask me how they do it, they just do. I'm getting used to it, slowly.

The Salem tourist witch culture was cloying, laying over everything, making it impossible to avoid even when trying to enjoy the historical sites. Below that were the modern Neo-Pagans who got so much right but were afraid to take the last step. The combination made Charlotte more inclined to shield John than tease.

Right up until they discovered a little store on a back street run by someone who knew what she was doing. Like a kid in a candy store, Charlotte filled two baskets with ‘necessities’ before she realized she’d done it. Only when she put a cauldron on the counter and saw John’s face did she edit her purchases. She still spent a fortune, even after carefully removing those things that simply couldn’t be in the home of a Catholic or the frivolous things like the cauldron.

Charlotte was quiet on the trip back to Boston, carefully cataloguing everything she’d seen that day, filing it away with her memories of childhood. In much the same way she’d been physically sensitized to John in his home, she was mentally overwhelmed by the freedom to explore the things she’d given up so long ago.

When they got back to John’s house, she gathered her things, carrying them in clutched tightly against her chest.

Blind. Hands down.

I could, if I had to, develop a kind of sonar. I think. At least for those things near me. I could get around a room, get around on the street, generally make my way. I'd have no way to compensate for losing my hearing.

I'm surprised how easy the choice is, how practical.

Charlotte made a simple dinner, but she did make it rather than getting take out. It was still warm enough to serve it out on the patio, so she set that table complete with wine and candles. She wanted dinner to be as pleasant as she could make it.

The kittens cooperated, thanks to a healthy serving dished up in the kitchen just for them. Over the meal, Charlotte made herself tell a light, amusing story about an old client. When they were done, she cleared the table, leaving John to enjoy his wine and the sunset.

She cleaned up in the kitchen, letting him decide when he was ready to come in and talk.

Charlotte found what she needed for a better healing than she'd managed with Eothian, but even that wasn't as strong as she knew she could have done if she'd stayed in practice over the years. There was no point in even discussing her scrying. That had been nearly pointless.

Without a fresh set of eyes, and skills, she wasn't going to move as quickly or as far as she needed to. It took her a while to convince herself it was no difference than going to a lecture on Pre-Colombian art or attending a show for a new artist. That didn't keep her from stepping out onto the patio to make her phone call. More politic not to be chatting about spell components in the living room.

She sat in one of the new outdoor chairs and dialed the number she had for Kate.

Betony, Chervil, Dill, Fennel, Garlic shoots, Mugwort, Plantain, Rue, Wormwood.

Bless it all, burn it all, wave it all. Send it away down the river.



At least it will do no harm.






Elf Shot Intensive Magic Remedy, pg 509, Element Encyclopedia

Despite days of calls and worry, Charlotte made every effort to provide a stress free front that night. She got beer as well as two pizzas. During the weekend, between those calls and visits to Eothian's hospital bed, Charlotte's living room furniture arrived. A large sectional, plenty big enough for two tall people to stretch out on, and a real coffee table had been assembled. She hadn't bothered putting them where she wanted, so they sat at awkward angles to each other in the middle of the room.

There was a real dining table, though. Three chairs sat around the round table where she arranged the food. The table, at least, looked remarkably civilized. Of course, once the food was out, the relentless battle started with the kittens. Even after putting the pizza into the oven for safe keeping, the kittens weren't convinced. Charlotte had to stand in the kitchen watching the oven just in case one decided to pop in there.

With no clear idea when John would arrive, she started cursing under her breath. It took a fair bit of effort to make sure she didn't absently curse the neighbors with her muttering. The kittens, on the other hand, were fair game.

Age 16—He was more nervous than she, but only because she had no idea he planned to kiss her. During hours every day with the herbs tutor, he’d talked to her constantly, stood close to her, and asked her opinion on things she didn’t care about. It was done at her father’s command.

Age 18—Almost a year away from her family. Months gone by with no sign at all of anyone following her. For once she let down her guard and let a man chat her up enough to ask her out. He kissed her good night after a pleasant dinner, but she never let him see her again.

Age 19—One of her first professors, not so much older than she. When the course was complete, she asked him out. She was never in love with him, too much had to be kept secret, but she did desire him. Losing her virginity held no mystery for her, but it did feel damn good.

Age 23—Two years with no lovers and she wanted one. Not a boyfriend or a buddy, just a lover she could visit when she wanted. She chose a married man who made a habit of sleeping with younger women. It was a cold blooded exercise.

Age 27—He was a client, so she said no time and again. Only after he proved that he had another appraiser coming did she give in. She was a notch on his bedpost.

Age 30—She let a woman take her to bed just the one time, as much so she could say she’d done it as anything. The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, enjoyed sex immensely, and, best of all, had a great sense of humor. They still talk occasionally, but she had no urge to ever sleep with another woman.

Age 31—After her birthday, drunk in her hotel room for no good reason, she kept the room service delivery boy in the room. Best birthday in years. At least it was spent with someone.

Age 38—He was a stranger, a man with enticing eyes and a wicked sense of humor. All she wanted was to let off some steam. She took one look at him and knew she could expect enthusiasm, creativity and discretion. She got enthusiasm. And creativity. And she got back a part of her soul.

Age 38—Just kisses. Kisses with the promise of something more, some day. She has no idea why she hesitates with him, but she knows it’s best. Or maybe she’s just a coward?

Age 38—The challenge was about something else entirely. She hadn’t teased him about that for some time. Still, he ends up in her apartment, in her bed. There are no words, she has no idea why or how.

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