December 22, 2010Â 4:00 p.m.
After we warm up with a steaming mug of hot cider at the bazaar, we make the icy trek across the parking lot. In front of Levi's car is a tall, narrow building made of brown stone. It looks nondescript, despite the fact that the number of cars in the lot has grown, and their occupants are currently making a beeline for the door.
"We've done this before," Wolf explains. "There's a rather dull video on the second floor, but the real interesting bit about the Weighhouse is that the original weighing scales are still here. We can even get certificates affirming that we aren't witches." He flashes me a rare grin.
No one mentions Diana's conspicuous absence. We all traipse through the double doors, stamping on the floor mat to shake off excess snow clumps. A blast of air hits me the moment the door closes behind us and I close my eyes, relishing the warmth. It feels hot as a sauna, but I don't mind; especially not if it means regaining the feeling in my fingers and toes.
As we acclimatize ourselves, I take a moment to study Wolf. His face is relaxed, almost boyish, and his cheeks are pink from the cold. His hair is a little damp from the snow, and the ends of his curls coil tightly on his forehead. He and his brother have both been genetically blessed with supermodel hair; the kind that looks good no matter whether there's rain or sleet or shine. Just like the Pony Express. Levi's hair is shorter, his curls cropped. He catches me looking at Wolf and silently raises an eyebrow as if to say, really, Charlotte?
I avert my gaze, blushing furiously. I don't know why it embarrasses me to be caught ogling his brother - it's not like I've been replaying that kiss over and over again in my mind. Okay, maybe I have. But so what? It was a good kiss. The kind of passionate kiss all women want.
It was the best kiss of my life, a little voice pipes up. I try to squash that traitorous voice, stat.
It wasn't like Steven was a rotten kisser, he just wasn't all there. There was a screw loose with his kissing, just something shy of being an Oscar-worthy, toe-curling kiss to write in my proverbial diary about.
"Come on, the crowd's dispersing," Graeme squeals. She tugs on Xander's arm and leads him towards a grey-haired, matronly woman sitting at a desk. "We'll get the tickets," she announces over her shoulder, like at any second we're going to fight her for the privilege.
I'm left with Wolf and Levi, both of whom stay studiously silent. I brush some snow out of my hair; the movement raises my shopping bag to eye level.
"What'd you buy?" Levi asks. He looks at the white plastic bag with interest.
"Just a few little souvenirs."
Wolfram narrows his eyes. "You overpaid."
"Probably." I'm surprised he knows the concept of the value of money. My voice comes out just a little bit sharper than I intend, and Wolf looks surprised.
"I'm not criticizing." He peels his gloves off and shifts them from hand to hand.
Levi rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but one of the employees beats him to it. "Hallo, welkom in Museum de Heksenwaag," the lithe, flaxen-haired woman greets. She beams beatifically at us, smile stretching broadly across her long, narrow face. Xander and Graeme rejoin us, both of them holding onto pamphlets.
"Goedemiddag," Wolfram responds, unsmiling.
What follows is a burst of Dutch that I can't understand. "She just said 'Hello, welcome to the witch scale museum," Levi translates. "And Wolf said 'Good afternoon' and just told her we want to skip the video and just go straight to the scales."
"I got this for you," Graeme says, thrusting the glossy pamphlet at me. "I thought you might want to keep it."
I accept it with as much reverence as if she'd handed me the Holy Grail. "Thanks." I feel oddly touched as I rifle through the brochure.
"Okay, we're good to go," Wolfram says, turning to us. The employee gives us a little wave and then scuttles back to the desk. "I told her since we've been here before, we're more than capable of leading our own little tour." He winks at me.
With the ease of a border collie, Wolf herds us like sheep toward an authentic set of scales. A twig-like girl stands there, no older than sixteen and flat as a board. Her family, two heavy-set parents and an older brother who towers over them all, stand off to the side. One of the Weighhouse staff spews out a stream of Dutch and the girl laughs, hopping off the scales.
"She's been pronounced a witch," Wolfram murmurs to me and Xander.
Graeme takes one look at the girl's black outfit and pink dip-dyed hair. "I'm not surprised." Her words are droll.
"In the sixteenth century, people came from all over Europe to Oudewater for a chance to prove their innocence." Wolf gestures to the scales. "To avoid being burned at the stake, they would be weighed and if they proved to be heavy enough to pass the test, they were given a certificate that verified that they were unequivocally not in league with the devil, and were therefore safe from the witch burnings."
"It wasn't rigged?" I ask.
Wolf grins. "It probably was, but it was in favor of the accused. Oudewater never convicted anyone of being a witch. They defied the Church by never condemning anyone as a witch, even as all over the country people were being hunted and burned."
"Or drowned," Levi pipes up.
Xander gives him a quizzical look, so Levi elaborates. "They'd tie your hands to your feet, or something like that, and toss you into a pond. Those who survived were proclaimed witches and those who died...well, they were declared innocent. Not that it matters when you're dead, obviously."
"So what does witchcraft have to do with weight?" I question.
Wolf folds his arms across his chest. "The belief was that in order to fly on a broomstick, witches had to be exceedingly light-weight. If you weighed too little, you were a witch. If you weighed a healthy amount, you were exonerated of all charges since a broom could never hold your weight."
"So either Oudewater was really brave in helping people prove their innocence, or everyone was a fattie," cackles Levi.
His sister swats his shoulder. "Levi."
He turns innocent, who me? eyes on her. No one is fooled.
"Want to hop up?" Wolf asks me.
"Ha!" No way am I hopping up there and letting everyone know that even a sixteenth-century scale knows I'm no size-two. "I'll pass. Xander should totally do it, though." I smile at him, totally putting my best friend up on the chopping block.
"Fiiiiine," he drawls out, like it's a huge imposition, but I can tell by the quick way he moves toward the scales that he's at least a little bit excited.
"Geen heks!" crows one of the employees who is waiting in line behind us with a large group of seven.
"Not a witch," Graeme says to me with a smile.
All four of us cheer, and with an embarrassed laugh, Xander steps off the scales.
"Me next," Graeme declares, skedaddling onto the scales with a victorious look at the small child behind her who had been edging close.
Wolf catches my eye and grins. I guess I'm not the only one who noticed. Sharing a secret smile with him is definitely not part of our agreement, but I smile back like I'm just a normal girl smiling at the boy who likes her and who she likes back.
Taking it a step further, Levi stands closer to the scales and pretends to stroke his nonexistent beard. "Are you in league with the devil?" His voice is low and gravelly. Weirdly sexy, too, if I'm being honest.
Graeme's eyebrows shoot up. But Xander is openly grinning and Graeme is nothing if not predictable. From the way she pauses, I can tell she's swallowing her surprise. "No, sir, take pity on a poor maiden," she moans piteously, extending her hands to us and fluttering her eyelashes dramatically. There's a few giggles behind us, but to Graeme's credit, she doesn't flinch.
"Do you have a cat familiar?" Wolfram calls out, getting into the game.
"She doesn't have a familiar, but she has a pussy," Levi snickers. Xander bumps shoulders with him with a mock scowl on his face and even Graeme's lips twitch as she tries not to laugh.
"Luckily no one behind us heard that, or else they're too busy watching Graeme's dramatics to notice the peanut gallery," Wolf whispers in my ear. His breath is hot and unexpected. I feel my stomach lurch as I realize that somehow in the course of our jesting, he's moved closer to me.
"Do you have a frog familiar?" Xander tries, giving Graeme a stern look.
"I do." Graeme hangs her head. "But it's not what you think."
The titters behind us have grown and as I glance back, I'm surprised to see that there are a few more people standing in line. They're not mad that we're holding up the line, but relishing in our performance. Wolf's hand drops onto my lower back and I almost jump out of my skin. Okay, that was definitely not part of our arrangement either.
"Diana's not even here," I whisper.
"What?"
Is he seriously going to act like he doesn't know what he's doing? Or the effect that it has on me? I decide that I'm just going to ignore it. It's just a hand, for crying out loud. At least it's not a more dangerous appendage.
"I....I kiss frogs sometimes." Graeme raises her head, giving us a mournful expression. Playing to her audience, she sways slightly, like she's about to swoon. "Oh, I'm so ashamed!" She arches her back, bringing her hand to her head as she tilts her neck backwards. "Mama and Papa would be appalled!"
There's a smatter of applause behind us that makes my ears turn red. "She's missed her calling," I mumble to Wolf.
"I only want to meet my prince," Graeme bleats.
A part of me wonders exactly how much of this is playacting. Even though she's exaggerating for the audience, I notice Graeme's eyes never leave Xander's. They train in on him, like she's willing him to understand.
"I have no choice but to pronounce you a witch!" proclaims Levi in a gruff voice. "See, she weighs too little." He gestures to the scales with an elaborate flourish. "She is the devil's bride!" He deepens his voice, the words ending on a growl. "A witch."
Bitch would probably be more appropriate than witch, but as Graeme proceeds to dissolve into a cacophony of fake tears, I forget her earlier hostility. I join the others in a bout of enthusiastic clapping as Levi helps Graeme step off the scales.
She grins at her brother in an entirely disarming way and together, they clasp hands and raise them above their hands before taking a deep bow.
"That's the first time I've seen her smile at him," Xander says softly, too soft for Wolf to overhear.
That doesn't surprise me, and I hope my raised eyebrows can silently convey that to my friend.
After a couple more exuberant bows, Graeme and Levi motion for Xander to join them so they can get their certificates. I'm about to follow after them when Wolf catches my elbow. "Are you sure you don't want to try? After we just entertained them, I doubt anyone would complain if we took up a few more minutes of their time."
"Um, I don't..."
"Come on!" He doesn't take no for an answer and tugs me insistently towards the scales. Unperturbed by the gremlin glare I send him, he offers me his hand. I hesitate only a second before giving in, taking his hand and stepping onto the scales.
Instead of grandstanding the way Levi did, he stands directly in front of me, blocking the audience from my view. "Are you ready to be questioned?"
The heavy look in his eyes already renders me mute, but after he tenderly tucks an errant lock of my hair behind my ear, he successfully steals whatever breath is left in me. I feel my resistance whooshing out of me as our eyes meet and I can only give a jerky nod.
"Are you having fun, Charlotte Wright?"
I nod again.
I don't normally give into cliches, but as Wolfram smiles at me, I feel like the air around us is crackling with electricity.
"Are you still cold?"
I shake my head side to side. "No." I start to step off the scales. "Those aren't the questions you're supposed to ask."
He stops me, sticking his arm out to stop my descent. "Want something harder?" His eyes glitter.
Yes, please. "No," I reply.
"Why did you agree to be my fake girlfriend?"
"You're my host."
"That's not the reason."
I give him a severe look. "I think I'm in a better position to know my reasons, Wolf."
"Except that you're not as likely to lie to yourself, are you?" He shoots me a jaunty, victorious grin. "You think it'll give me power over you if I know that you're into me. Because that's the real reason, isn't it? You want to keep up the pretense that you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart. But that's not it."
"Like hell!" I hiss. "Your inflated ego aside, I am not in the least bit attracted to you."
"Then why did you suck in your breath when my fingers grazed your cheek, your ear?" Wolf glances meaningfully at the tendril of my hair that threatens to spill out of my hair once again. "You like me." He rocks back on his heels, sufficiently pleased with his latest revelation.
"Your capacity to add two and two and come up with five is truly enlightening, Wolfie," I snark right back at him. I can tell he despises the nickname from the way his jaw tightens. I make a mental note to call him Wolfie more often in future.
It feels like everything has come to a head. I'm kicking myself that I ever found him sexy - and worse, that my body language gave me away. I'm just another stupid Wolf groupie, one of the hundreds that have probably gravitated in his orbit over the years. No wonder he likes teasing me; it's sport to him.
I abruptly tear my eyes away. They're welling with tears and I don't want him to see.
"Hey." His voice is concerned. "I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun of you."
"Weren't you?" I still don't look at him.
"You can ask me something if you want?" he suggests, voice soft.
If he hadn't said he was sorry, I would have made good my escape and sought sanctuary with the others. But since Wolf sounds genuinely remorseful, I raise my gaze to meet his. Concern is etched onto his features; from the pursed lips to the crease in his brow, I can tell he sincerely feels bad.
"Why do you like picking on me?" The words burst out of me before I can modulate my voice.
"I...." He looks flummoxed. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets. "I don't. I mean, I'm not."
"Very convincing." My voice is dry. "Forget it, let's go."
"No, wait." Wolf chews his lower lip. "I'm sorry."
While his apologies are balm to my wounds, I would much rather he not have anything to apologize for in the first place. But that's not up to me.
"You asked me why I agreed to be your fill-in girlfriend, right?" I square off against him, hands on my hips. "Is it so hard to believe I was just being nice?"
"So you'd have said yes to anyone who asked?" Wolf asks doubtfully.
"No. When you weren't being a jerk, I saw an actual human being in you. Guess that was my mistake."
"Pity, then. Because of what I told you about Levi." His voice is flat.
"Why does it feel like no matter what my answer was, you would have been unhappy with it? Why don't you just tell me what it is you want me to say, so I can say it, and we can be done with this stupid conversation?"
He has no response to that, so I get off the scales and brush past him. I hardly notice where I'm going, I just want my eyes to stop stinging and my heart to stop racing. In the midst of my undignified fleeing, I barely notice when Wolf catches up to me. His stronger grip manacles around my wrist and he stops me from taking another step.
"Charlotte." His voice is quiet. "Please. Look at me."
I don't want to, but I do. He's looking at me with a strange look in his eyes, one that I could mistake for vulnerability if I didn't know better. "What, Wolf?"
"I'm sorry."
The bad habit of eye-rolling seems to have rubbed off on me. I scoff and let my eyes do the talking for me.
"I really am, Charlotte."
"So you keep saying." I run my hands through my hair in frustration. "Would it bother you so much if I say that I think you're hot? Because, fine, I do. You're good looking and you know it. You don't need my validation for that."
He musters up a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "If you're into me, then why are you flirting with Xander?"
"Are delusions genetic?" I demand. "As I told Graeme, I'm not into Xander. Oh my god."
Uncertainty wars with the repentance in his eyes. "From the way you two act..." he trails off.
With sudden clarity, I remember what Rhona said to Xander when I first met her. This is the first time Wolf brought a friend home. I know what to say. I know what will hurt. I know what will penetrate the crusty, armored exterior and hit the soft, squishy insides. "Just because you don't know how friends act around each other doesn't mean the rest of us are as disadvantaged, Wolf." And with that, I tear my arm free from his hold.
Author's Note: AND THE SPARKS FLYYYY~! *_* Is Wolf genuinely an ass or is he just rubbish at talking to girls who aren't in his social sphere? Did Charlotte go too far with what she said at the end or did it need to be said?
Please don't forget to vote! It's a truly disheartening statistic that only about 10% of readers actually vote :(
Sometime soon I'd also like to go back to Chapter 1 and start dedications, so I guess if you need an incentive to be an interactive, there you have one :~p
Either way, thank you all so much for reading! I really appreciate your support, no matter in what capacity you give it. Thank you! *sends ya'll a ton of e-karma*