A Year to Eternity

Part 1

"No," she slammed her hands back on the desk. Her favourite pen jumped and dropped towards the ground.

He caught it without breaking eye contact.

"Caroline..."

She cut him off before he could begin with the flowery appeals and snatched back her pen and using it to stab at his chest.

"Absolutely not."

"Were I not desperate, I would not ask," his hand darted out, fingers curling around her wrist. "Please Caroline."

"They're children," she shook her head, backing up as she did until her thighs hit wood, and exhaled through her nose.

"They're siphoner witches; I could easily argue that this is what they were born to do." He gestured with one hand, making a circular motion. "Siphon magic from one thing and put it in another."

"And what exactly are they supposed to do with it when they take it out of Hope?" Caroline rolled her eyes. The very idea was insane. "You can't just shove a demon in a jar and shove it on a high shelf."

"You're misunderstanding, love," he shook his head slowly with a wry smirk on his full lips. "They'll put it in me."

"Right," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "I can see it now. You can take up yoga and practice mindful meditation while we all cross our fingers and hope you don't develop some sort of malicious temper." She looked him up and down and amended with raised brows: "a more malicious temper."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, a ghostly imitation of amusement that failed to reach his eyes. She hugged her elbows, sensing his next words, and tasted something foul on the tip of her tongue.

"Do you remember when you and your friends threatened to chain me up, drown me in cement and drop me in the deepest ocean?"

Recognition flickered in her wide eyes.She shook her head.

"I was just a kid back then," she whispered.

"When your daughters put the magic in me, I need you to make good on that."

Words, promises made a lifetime ago, echoed in her mind. 'Great cities, and art and music' drifted off on a breeze, 'your last' seemed impossible.

She was meant to have a century or perhaps two before she let herself remember what the attraction had felt like when someone capable of terrible things for some reason only cared for her.

Decades were supposed to pass where she tried and failed to stop thinking of him, to forget the way his affection consumed her, but not a day went by where she managed to banish him from her thoughts completely. Snow fell and she thought of his lonely painting. Her fingers brushed the dress box and she remembered their dance. Autumn leaves crunched underfoot and she felt the scrape of bark across her shoulders.

She looked at Hope, beautiful, thoughtful, clever Hope, and she saw her father.

How could she take him away from her?

How could he make good on all of his promises?

How could she give him a chance when his social circle consisted of a school of fish?

And maybe it made her selfish, maybe it meant she was a terrible person, but after a lifetime of giving everything to her friends and the kids and the school she thought she deserved to be a little selfish.

She deserved to get one thing that she wanted; just one thing.

Dammit all!

She deserved to have however long it took to decide she wanted it.