Made of Matter

Chapter Three

I knew better than to mention what had happened with Stephen and me to Lee.

It had been a mistake, me going into Stephen's room. I had been callous and disobedient and for what? I laid in bed the next morning, my sleep had been interrupted by soft dawn light coming through the cracks of my half-shut curtains and upon checking the clock on my bedside, I discovered I had slept nearly twenty hours.

I made no effort to move, my palms pressed against my forehead as I let out a deep groan. How soon would I have to face Stephen, how would he approach me about finding my bracelet in his room, in his bed?

Would he even know it was mine?

Yes.

Obviously.

And as a spark of hope ignited in my chest - maybe he thought I had lost it doing our awkward rendezvous the previous day - it was quickly stamped out by the simple fact that I had been on his floor, nowhere near his bed and certainly not fucking lying on it.

I let out another groan and flung the sheets from me as I stalked to my bathroom to ready myself for the day. I took a scalding hot shower first to wash impure thoughts of my mentor from my mind and to beat any possible 'what if' situation from my mind had Stephen been in bed last night and stumbled upon my bracelet.

Had he laid there, the simple chain fiddled with between his long trembling fingers? When he found it did it anger him, did he think I was deranged, obsessed with him, putting a spell on him by hiding my things in his resting place hoping that he dreamt of me?

It was too late anyway, I told myself as I made up my face and finished dressing in civilian clothes; my robes were in need of dry cleaning desperately and although there was a laundry in the basement of the Sanctum, we were forbidden to throw our robes into the machines.

So I rifled through the small wardrobe and found a basic black dress, buttoned down the front with long sleeves, the hem hitting me mid-calf. It was appropriate and wouldn't bring me any unwanted attention. From Stephen and the other apprentices.

I made my way into the hall, eager to grab some coffee and get an early start upon a spell I had caught my eye on a few days ago. It wasn't exactly a spell my Master would have approved but I doubted Stephen would be awake or want to see me after our awkward rendezvous the previous day.

There were some practices that I had taken up in private which weren't exactly mystic arts. To put it simply it was witchcraft. Spells focused on short outcomes using resources from the earth and incantations written in long-dead languages.

Although none of them had worked so far, most times anything I had burned in my small cast iron cauldron had stunk out my room or the words I had to repeat got tangled on my tongue. I still enjoyed it, my own practice of magic. Far from Stephen's judgemental looks and smart-arsed comments.

I managed to slip in and out of the kitchen for some coffee, my arms full of dried herbs for my spell before I headed upstairs back to my room. There were a few questionable looks from some Masters and apprentices in the kitchen but that was the one great thing about the Sanctum, our practice was not questioned - well as long as the outcome was positive. And mine was positive although it didn't totally align with what I was meant to be learning. The spells the sorcerers of the Sanctum used were physical, drawing upon power and energies from alternate universes. Witchcraft relied on connections to earth and womankind.

And maybe there was a small part of myself that took joy in knowing Stephen Strange could not perform such magic. Even if he was a Master of the Mystic Arts. Why couldn't I do both?

I struggled to open my door as I juggled the herbs in my arms and shuffled inside dumping them on my desk before heading back toward the Sanctum library to find the book I needed. Once there I browsed the shelves for the tome I needed but came up short. It wasn't where I had seen it several days earlier. I let out a groan and gave up my search before two arms snaked around my hips and turned me around.