Kissed by Ice(57)

"No problem." I glanced at Inigo out of the corner of my eye. He was finally back in Portland with me where he belonged, and yet nothing felt as it should. Although that cold, bitter Inigo I'd first seen at the castle was gone, things were still awkward between us. Like two kids on a first date who didn't quite speak the same language. I didn't know what I could do or say to make it better.

"Kabita hired someone to clean your place," I blurted. I wanted to smack myself in the head. Before…everything, Inigo and I had practically been living together. We'd spent almost every night at my place. Or rather, almost every day, since I tended to work nights. He still kept his apartment in the Northwest District near 23rd Ave, the place I was taking him now. With things the way they were, taking him back to my place, while I would've preferred it, felt wrong. I knew in my heart of hearts he wouldn't have gone for it so I didn't try. I guess I didn't want to face certain rejection.

"That's nice." It didn't sound like he thought it was nice. It sounded like he didn't give a shit. He certainly wasn't urging me to take him to my place instead. I'd admit it. That hurt.

"Don't want to lose you amidst all those dust bunnies." The joke fell flat, so I focused on driving. It was probably the safest option. Both for the car and for my heart. The rest of the trip passed in silence.

Fifteen painful minutes later, I pulled up in front of Inigo's apartment building. I started to get out of the car. "Let me help you with your bags," I said.

"No! I don't need your help. Stop babying me. I'm not some sort of invalid." The words snapped out in sharp, ugly blotches that lacerated my heart. I cringed away from them. From him.

"Sorry," I said. I shut the door and sat staring at the steering wheel. I didn't want to look at him and see that same harsh ugliness in his eyes, staining his soul. "I know you've been through a lot. I'll just give you some space."

He heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Morgan. You didn't deserve that. You don't deserve any of this."

I almost protested, but then gave myself a mental head slap. He was right. I didn't deserve it. I wasn't the one who'd hurt him. I was the one who'd stood by and loved him.

"I agree," I said. "I think I deserve a little respect. I think I deserve to be treated like a human being instead of shit on the bottom of your shoe." I turned and looked him straight in the eye. "I deserve to be treated like someone you love. That is, if you still love me." When in doubt, rip the Band-Aid off and pray to the gods you don't bleed to death.

He swallowed. "Of course I love you," he said. "I just… I need…" He shook his head.

"Space," I finished for him.

He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry." I could tell from the tone of his voice even he thought that was lame.

"Okay, then," I said turning back to stare through the windshield. My gut was churning, and my heart had fallen to somewhere in the vicinity of my toes. "I've got a psychopath to find so I'll see you later, all right?"

Inigo nodded and climbed out of the car. Once both he and his duffel bag were on the sidewalk, I took off. The last thing I needed was to glance back in my rearview mirror, but I did it anyway. He was already gone.





I drove straight from Inigo's apartment to Sellwood, where Kabita's Witch friend lived. Although I tried not to, the entire drive, I thought of nothing but Inigo. Things were still totally messed up between us, but at least I had some hope.. And that was better than nothing. Right?

Kabita's friend lived in a grand old Victorian that would have made a fabulous Painted Lady, but had definitely seen better days. The shingles were weather-beaten, the porch sagged, the front yard was a mess of weeds, and climbing roses had overtaken the rusty cast-iron fence. It would not have been out of place in a horror film. If I could've picked out the quintessential place for a Witch to live, this would've been it. It was so stereotypical, it was ridiculous. Nothing like the clean lines of Kabita's ultramodern condo or even my cute little Craftsman.

Slamming the door of the Mustang, I let myself through the gate, which squealed like a dying pig, and picked my way up the cracked walkway. The sun had nearly set, making the path treacherous in the gloomy twilight. The front steps had recently been replaced, and the fresh wood gleamed softly under the afternoon sun. At least something in this place wouldn't kill me. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same about the front porch. The floorboards creaked ominously under my boots. I was sure that at any moment, I would go plunging through to my death. Or at least to a broken leg. The front door swung open before I'd even raised my hand to knock.

"Morgan Bailey! So lovely to see you again."