“You think that’s all it is?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe a bit of fate. Maybe a bit of magic.” Dorian’s lips turn into a devilish grin and I know he’s toying with me.
“That’s right, because you believe in magic.” I’m on dangerous ground. My head is screaming ‘Abort! Abort!’ but my mouth keeps on freaking moving. “And your explanation for that is?”
“How can you not believe in magic? Science and logic can’t explain everything. You’ve heard of those people that can move objects with their minds? Or can see things that others can’t because they have unlocked a dormant part of their brain, right?”
“Yes,” I say cautiously. Where is he going with this?
“What if I told you that it had nothing to do with their brain function? That they were simply destined to do those miraculous things?” Dorian’s eyes are wild with excitement. He brings my hands up to his mouth to gently kiss my knuckles. “Magic brought us together. Can you explain it any other way?”
I’m baffled. This is the most impulsive, illogical, and animated I have ever seen Dorian. But I know what he’s saying is true, as ridiculous and far-fetched as it sounds. I shake my head nervously, knowing I should shut this down right now. This conversation has gone far enough. Talking like this will only get us both killed. But I can’t help myself; I need answers. And Dorian appears only too forthcoming at the present time.
“Dorian, what do you know about Haitian Vodou?”
Dorian furrows his brow and cocks his head to one side. He shrugs. “It was birthed by Africans enslaved by the French. They worship different deities, one in particular though. Mostly it’s a bunch of chanting and dancing, though it got a bad reputation by some more extreme followers. It’s pesky; I’ve known some that have pissed off the wrong Vodouists and had a real headache on their hands,” Dorian chuckles. This is the most lighthearted I have seen him, even considering the serious nature of our conversation. “Best to avoid them at all costs. They’re not worth the trouble. That kind of magic is unnatural.”
“How do you know all this, Dorian?” I ask suspiciously.
He shrugs with nonchalance. “Common knowledge.”
Our entrees arrive before I can ask any more questions, though my appetite has dissipated. All I can think about is the mass of information I have learned over red wine and breadsticks. Dorian is saying so much yet it can be misconstrued as casual conversation. Should I look at it as such? Is he just making small talk? Surely, if he was affiliated with either the Light or the Dark, he would not provoke me. He would be aggressive, murderous even. Dorian wants me to trust him. He wants me to know him. He wants me to love him.
“Since you brought it up, tell me about your friends, Gabriella.” Dorian says with a smile.
Geez, he’s in a good mood today. I don’t see why; the light drizzle has transformed into a torrential downpour. There goes my perfectly flat ironed hair.
I perk up into a cheerful grin. Finally, something I can comfortably discuss. “Well you’ve met Morgan. She’s fabulous. Poised, beautiful, loyal to a fault. A bit of a spoiled princess but I can handle that. She’s dramatic, pretentious, loud, and sometimes as shallow as a kiddie pool.” I smile genuinely. “Her brutal honesty makes up for it. I like someone who can give it to me straight, no chaser. Makes me respect them more.”
“She sounds like a handful,” Dorian observes, taking a bit of pasta on his fork.
“Oh, that and then some. We’ve been best friends for a few years. An odd couple to most outsiders but we seem to work. We balance each other out. Any time with Morgan is sure to be a blast.”
“And the boy?” Dorian asks. His solemn expression tells me who he means. Jared.
I reach for my wine glass and finish its contents in one large gulp. Dorian has promised me honesty. I owe him the same respect.
“Jared.” I nod my head, confirming Dorian’s thoughts. My eyes stay down on my plate as I recall my most intimate friend. “Jared is probably the one person who knows me the best. He’s caring, funny, easy to talk to. I never have to hide who I am with him. Being around him is soothing. He has one of those spirits, you know? It’s like, when I’m with him, it’s easy to breathe.” I look back up reluctantly to meet Dorian’s eyes. He’s thoughtful, as if trying to make sense of what I’m saying.
“And you love him,” he says simply.
“Huh?” Whoa. How the hell did he come up with that?
“You love him,” he repeats. He isn’t angry; he’s simply stating a fact. A fact that I’ve tried like hell to keep concealed.