A Forbidden Alchemy (The Artisan Trilogy)

by Stacey McEwan

Ma used to say it was one thing to be down, and quite another to dig yourself a grave.

I’d read poetry that had described romance as being a descent into madness. A kind of precursor to pain.

“It isn’t your business to know who I love.” But I said it to the ground, where there was no brilliant blue. Beneath my skin, blood raced. Silence. Sounds suffocated on the hot air. Patrick waited an interminable moment, until it was impossible not to look at him again. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said, low and exact, “I’m inclined to make it my business.”

“I intend to put the rest of these boys to shame and spoil you for anyone else.”

“You’re too beautiful to be real,” he said suddenly, softly. With my ear pressed to his chest, I could feel the words, too. “There’s your compliment.”

“I drew pictures of you,” I told him, giving him this one small piece of myself. “In school.” He didn’t speak. Just pulled me round and round in a small orbit. I swallowed. “I was scared to forget you.” The sound of his heart beating made me think of caves under leagues of sea. “I never had a hope in the world of forgetting you, Scurry girl.”

For the recess of head and heart.

“In old town Kenton, come quick, While Gunner boy swings his dick. And the ladies will sigh, For his balls have gone dry, And his cock is the size of a prick.”

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” he said gruffly. “So you’d better fuckin’ come out, Nina. Promise me. Now.” I blustered. “I… I promise.”

“What have you done to me?” He shook his head once, jaw flexing. “No,” he groaned. “What have you done to me?”