Taryn moved her head against her lover's neck, a motion of negation. "No. You make me crazy. I want to be all mad at you, but then you come near me and all I want to do is crawl into your lap. You think you had it all handled? I'd bury you. I never got tied down by anyone, not even Rhea, and I loved her. Now look where I am."

"Right where you belong." Rosalind tightened her arms. "I just want to squeeze you until the stuffing comes out your ears."

"I'm not a teddy bear," Taryn said, in an aggrieved tone.

"Sure you are. You've got big round eyes, a fuzzy head, and you are very huggable. Textbook case," Rosalind said, and grinned as Taryn pushed up on her elbows, staring down at her in disbelief.

"I do not have a fuzzy head."

Rosalind's hand brushed the black hair down toward Taryn's face, making it stick out at all angles. "Fuzzy. Just like a baby duck. I rest my case," Rosalind said triumphantly.

Taryn pulled her head away and started smoothing her hair back down. "You're lucky I love you."

"Still?" Rosalind asked, serious now.

"Still." One word, spoken in the mostly empty room, carried to the far walls. It was enough. And when Taryn leaned down to kiss her, it was more than enough.

Rosalind felt a barrier give way, a wall she'd built so long ago she didn't remember gathering the stones. Taryn's skin moved under her hands-the head of Alexander, the bull dagger. The abandon came on her and she welcomed it, hearing her own voice whispering like the notes of a muted chime. Know love and remember. Her soul woke to beauty, called out by the handsome girl, and began to climb, recognizing its own at last.

Rosalind luxuriated on the bed like a cat, her headache blissfully gone. "If I knew that was the cure I'd have tried it years ago," she muttered.

"Tried what?" Taryn asked, rolling out of bed.

"Nothing, baby. What in the world are you doing?"

Taryn had gone to the dresser and picked up what looked like a knot of dried gra.s.s and her lighter. "Blessing the room," Taryn said, as she lit the knot.

"I feel like we just did bless the room," Rosalind said, with a saucy grin.

"Right, I don't want to lose that energy we created. It's good magic."

Rosalind watched as Taryn walked to the far corner, stretching her arm above her head. On her back the bull dagger elongated; the Cretan girls leapt between the razor horns. On her left shoulder, the snake in the tree watched Rosalind with eyes of old humor. She thought of the golden snake in the dogwood tree and felt a shiver travel up her spine, more of antic.i.p.ation than fear. Clothed in line work and shadow Taryn stalked the edges of the room, marking her new territory. She was saying something in a low voice, too low for Rosalind to catch.

Taryn went to each corner and held the knot up, letting the smoke drift up, around the windowsills and the door. She crossed the block of shadow back toward the bed, emerging head and shoulders first, as if the darkness gave birth to her.

"The room's blessed now?" Rosalind asked, opening the covers for her.

"Getting there. Rhea came up with the broom and sage earlier while Joe and I were setting the bed up. Once I get it all the way we want it, I'll finish the blessing." She set the knot in a bowl on the floor, next to the bed, and crouched there, watching Rosalind.

The idea that Rhea had helped bless the room left Rosalind stunned. By all accounts, the woman couldn't stand her. "What was that you were saying?"

"Let all who come in peace be welcome here. It's Rhea's welcome. It's her house, so I used it. I'm a little more like, if you want to fight, come on! But she says that's too belligerent for a blessing."

"You practice witchcraft with Rhea, I take it." It was a statement. Rosalind had seen the statue of Shiva dancing, seen Kali Ma with her belt of skulls, seen the altar she kept on the dresser top. They hadn't spoken of it yet.

Taryn sat down cross-legged on the bed, facing Rosalind. "I circle with her. The whole house does. I'm not a witch, though. I don't follow enough of the Craft. Laurel is, and Rhea."

"What about Joe?" Rosalind had a hard time picturing Joe as a witch, for some reason, although she didn't know exactly what that entailed.

"Joe's a sorcerer."

"Do you believe in it? G.o.ddess worship, right? I don't have a lot of experience with it."

"Believe? That's a strong word. I believe that Rhea has power. Whatever is out there, she can reach. I like some G.o.ds. I guess I like the idea of them more than anything. Power we can talk to. The thought of One G.o.d scares me. Are you a Christian?" Taryn said, tilting her head.

"No. I can't say that I am. But I believe in goodness. Whatever that makes me."

"Makes you a good person to know."

"So why the blessing, if you don't follow the Craft?"

"It's respectful. This is a witch's house. And it's ritual. I like ritual. Rhea says it's like cooking. You put the ingredients together in the right order, something happens. Can't hurt," Taryn said, and the words snagged at the edges of Rosalind's mind.

There was something there for her to get, but it hadn't made itself clear yet. She tried to focus on it, but felt the warning stab of her headache returning. It was easy to set it aside and think of other things. "You auction your body off for charity tomorrow," she said, running her hand down Taryn's arm.

"You sure you want to come?" Taryn asked, her eyebrows knitting.

"This body is mine now. I'm not letting it out of my sight. Some shaven-headed femme girl with a rich daddy will s.n.a.t.c.h you up." Rosalind's hand closed on Taryn's arm.

"Most of Buffalo doesn't know I'm not available anymore. It might get-"

"The only reason I'd stay away is if you didn't want people to know I'm seeing you. I'll be front row center with my checkbook, elbowing like it's Christmas Eve," Rosalind said, cutting her off. "Do you not want people to know?" she asked, the idea presenting itself to her for the first time. Funny, she'd expected herself to have a problem with going public. She'd never expected Taryn to. But she had a reputation for not settling down. What would it be like to change that so quickly? Her housemates were one thing; this was a public declaration.

"You're my girl," Taryn said firmly.

"And that means?"

"That you can go where I go. Let everyone know. I love you. It makes me proud you picked me."

"If they knew how sweet you were, they'd never forgive me. I'll be there, with bells on," Rosalind said, dragging her lover's head down for a kiss.

Chapter Ten.

She was supposed to pick Taryn up at five. Rosalind kept looking at her watch, hoping the meeting wouldn't run over. Who had scheduled a departmental meeting on a Friday afternoon? Don't these people have lives? She rolled the agenda into a tube. It occurred to her that she'd never objected to a departmental meeting before, but then she'd never had a compelling reason to rush home. It was getting downright silly how much time she'd started to shave from her day just to spend it with Taryn.

I'm a cliche, Rosalind thought without regret. She'd fallen in love, and it had short-circuited her brain, making anything other than rolling around in bed with the handsomest boy in Buffalo completely irrelevant. It was unfortunate timing that her awakening to desire came her first month into her first real teaching job.

The worst part about being a new professor was the endless committees you got suckered into. Nothing like departmental politics to get in the way of a night out. Dr. Pearson was babbling again about 1947; she could never understand why he fixated on that year. That's tenure in action. She smiled. Means she could turn into a wild old woman and not worry. I'll make them all listen to Joni Mitch.e.l.l once I'm tenured. And I'll make them listen to Billy Ray Cyrus. That led her mind off on a Taryn fantasy, starting with Taryn singing in her boxers, which led to thoughts involving getting Taryn out of her boxers. A pleasant, stoned smile crossed her face, and suddenly Dr. Pearson's rambling was bearable.

Dr. Grey was saying something. She'd missed it in her daydreaming. Was the meeting finally over? Rosalind looked up, right into the steady gaze of the chair of the English department.

"Is that acceptable, Rosalind?" He asked, his voice burring.

"Sure," she answered, not having a clue as to what he meant.

"Good. Why don't we go into my office?"

Dr. Grey stood, the signal for the end of the meeting. Everyone else grabbed their papers and coats and fled for the hills, making her wonder what she'd gotten herself into now. More delay, that's what I've gotten myself into. I still have to stop by the bank before I go to 34 Mariner. Maybe I should call and see if she needs anything- "Rosalind?" Dr. Grey asked, his eyebrows rising.

Lord, he's been talking to me and I'm off on Mars.

"Great. Let's go into your office," she said, hating the chipper sound her voice took on when she was kissing a.s.s.

Dr. Grey was in formal mode, she saw, from the way he motioned her to a chair, then shut the door. Why shut the door, with everyone leaving? Dr. Grey had two chairs, arm to arm, facing his desk. Rosalind always felt like it was a psychological test, choosing a chair in front of him. She sat in the chair on the right and wondered what that indicated about her. Dr. Grey sat down at his desk and folded his hands, a bad parody of a schoolmaster from an English film Rosalind had seen once, years ago.

"Is something wrong?" Rosalind asked, not wanting to add his t.i.tle for some reason.

Dr. Grey removed his gla.s.ses and set them in front of him. "I tried to call you about this matter, several times, but received no word back. There's no easy way to broach this. You know that we are very impressed with you here, Rosalind. The feedback from your students has been very positive."

Rosalind felt her stomach clench. His tone was too soothing. "Thank you. I've enjoyed them a great deal." Now get to the 'but,' you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You're ruining my evening, her mind hissed. She told it to be quiet.

"We've had a complaint about you. Nothing formal yet, so I felt I could have a private chat with you. Maybe straighten this thing out."

A cold hand reached in and squeezed Rosalind's heart. "May I ask the nature of the complaint? A student was unhappy with a grade?"

Dr. Grey moved his gla.s.ses around on the desk, and Rosalind thought of a boy playing with a toy car. "No, not exactly. You understand that this is never an easy topic to broach, but we do have to manage it before this becomes a formal complaint filed with the university. A person has accused you of sleeping with a student."

"Excuse me?" Rosalind asked, unable to help herself.

"That's the accusation. You see how it could get complicated. We have policies against this sort of thing. It can be considered hara.s.sment, if the complainant decides to take it to the university. It's my job to investigate the complaint before it becomes formal," Dr. Grey said, driving his gla.s.ses around the desk.

"That's ridiculous. I would never sleep with a student. Who got a crazy idea like that?"

"You know I can't tell you that. I am pleased with your reaction, however. Am I to understand that this complaint is without merit?"

"It's completely without merit. I haven't done anything that could be misconstrued on that level. It's a vicious, unfounded attack," Rosalind said firmly. Her mind raced. Who could have said something like that about her?

"Good. That makes things much easier. In cases like this, it's usually a misunderstanding. You know how young people can be. Just to be on the safe side, it's best to do a little good PR. Be seen with an appropriate escort at an event, a concert or a play. Just to keep things straight. You understand what a close community a university can be. Are you...er...romantically involved with anyone?" Dr. Grey said, putting his gla.s.ses back on.

A host of reactions danced through Rosalind's mind, but the first one was incredulity. "What?"

"Seeing anyone. I understand that you are divorced. It would be easier to present a positive image, put these rumors to rest, as it were, if you had a steady escort. Just a friendly question, you understand."

Just an illegal question, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The answer came to her lips, unbidden. "Yes, I am seeing someone."

"Splendid. Go out to some public event this weekend, friendly advice. That should handle this nicely. I'm glad we don't have to take this any further. I know these charges are painful. It's terrible, the amount of power they exert over our lives. Just be circ.u.mspect for a few weeks. Don't give any fodder to the rumor mill, eh?"

"Right. Be circ.u.mspect," Rosalind repeated. She left Dr. Grey's office like she was moving underwater.

Her life had taken a left turn sharply away from circ.u.mspect a week ago. There was cause for concern. Any complaint in her first semester would be scrutinized. That was perfectly rational, especially for someone as eager to please as she knew herself to be. It was almost a disease, her desire to be liked, to be a good girl. It came out whenever she was faced with an authority figure, a response so automatic she rarely questioned it. It came to her now that what she was doing was reacting like she'd been caught stealing from the collection plate. She hadn't done what she'd been accused of doing. That didn't stop her from feeling as guilty as if she'd actually committed the offense.

This was not the time to go Freudian on herself, but she couldn't help it. She walked through the hall toward the parking lot, feeling naked. A man held the door for her. She jumped aside. Was he mocking her? What did he see in her face as she walked? What did her body give away? Get a grip, Ros. They can't tell who you're f.u.c.king by looking at you.

Her mind contradicted that immediately, presenting her with a picture of Taryn in all her glory. Taryn never had to say a word; her body, her stance, her clothing all spoke for her. Even her devil's eyes gave her away, the way they looked right into you and promised profane knowledge. Women did not look at women the way Taryn did, not with that explicit hunger and appreciation.

There was a pay phone in the parking lot. For years her mother had been after her to join the modern era and get a cell phone. Rosalind always agreed that she would, then put it off. Cell phones were too intrusive, much more likely to cut into the time she set aside for thinking. The world was drowning in methods for communicating; what it needed was more time for reflection.

There was a humming like bees in her head. She had trouble focusing around it. She saw herself drop the quarters in, heard the phone ring, but it was far away.

"City morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em." It was Joe's voice that finally broke Rosalind's trance. She looked down at the phone in her hand, amazed. "Joe?"

"Rosalind? That you? You sound funny. You know that boy of yours is using all of my aftershave. You have to buy her some of her own. I tell her Christmas is coming, but does she listen? You on the way?"

"Could you do me a favor?" Rosalind asked, not recognizing her own voice.

"Sure," came the immediate response, not waiting to see what the favor might entail.

"I'm stuck in a meeting here at school, and it's running late. Could you give Taryn a ride to the auction?"

"Well, okay. T loves the convertible. It'll mess her hair out of all that gel. Too bad about that meeting. Don't those people have lives? You want to talk to her? I think I hear her singing up in the bathroom."

Joe's voice pulled away from the phone, and Rosalind could see him, in the kitchen, about to shout up the back stairs. "No! Don't disturb her if she's getting ready. It's a big night."

"Gotcha. See you there."

"See you there," she echoed, and hung up.

She drove around North Buffalo, up Parkside, past the zoo, around to Delaware Park. She left the Saturn and started walking, along the path from the Rose Garden, down by the lake. The wind blew leaves around her feet; the lake was green and brown in the early evening light. It was the last week of September. All the leaves would be coming down soon, the fall was in full gear. Winter was coming.

Rosalind looked off toward Forest Lawn, across the road. Hills covered in mausoleums showed through the trees, white and gray stone mixing with spots of red and amber. She stared at them, thinking of nothing.

A flash of light on metal drew her eye to the left. She looked up at the statue of David on his hillside. She saw the set of his broad shoulders, his n.o.ble head turned toward the giant he was about to fight. He paused, forever on the brink of action, eyes calm and quiet in the planes of his face.

There was a pay phone outside of the Casino, at the foot of the stairs. Rosalind walked toward it, not hurrying, but still moving. "Ellie? I need to talk."

It seemed like an eternity between Ros's saying the words into her best friend's answering machine and the phone picking up. Ellie fumbled with the receiver, dropped it, swore concisely, then picked up.

"Hey, sweetie. Great news. I'm coming to your auction! I talked my friend from the department into meeting me there. I told her it'd be right up her alley. Actually, Taryn would be right up her alley, but that's a moot point now. Can you stand it? I was thinking of bringing her to see the show at Marcella's, before I brought you. Right place, wrong woman. I give myself one point for instinct, at least." Ellie paused at the expanse of silence on the other end of the line. "But that's not what you wanted to talk about, is it? What's up?"

"Can you meet me?" Rosalind asked, closing her eyes.

"Sure, honey. Where are you?"

"Delaware Park, by the Casino." Rosalind leaned her forehead against the smooth metal casing of the phone.

"You don't sound good. What's going on? Did you fight with lovergirl?" Ellie's voice was deliberately light.

"No." A tremor went through Rosalind's body, shoulders to heels. She hadn't fought with Taryn. But the thought of her, on her way now to the auction, made her weak, in more ways than she liked.

"Never mind. Sit down on the steps. Pretend you smoke, smoke about three cigarettes. I'll be there before the last one is out."