Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Page B

responded, feeling mildly
chastised. “I’m just really having a hard time with all of
this.”
    “That’s kinda obvious.”
    For the second time during our conversation,
silence reared its head, bringing all conversation to a halt. I’m
sure by now Ben was thinking I was worse off than he’d originally
imagined, but so far he was tactfully keeping the observation to
himself. I would almost have agreed with him were it not for the
fact that I kept reminding myself of the old bromide about not
being insane as long as you had enough wits about you to wonder if
you were.
    “So anyway,” my friend finally put the brakes
on the swelling pause with a change of subject. “How ‘bout that
Yule thing of yours… That’s this Friday, right? What time were ya’
wantin’ Allison and me over?”
    He was correct. Yule was only two days away,
and as usual we had invited some non-Pagan friends to our
traditional gathering. This was the first year that any had
accepted.
    The switch in the focus of the conversation
was awkward, much like any shift that occurs in a chat such as
ours. Even with its abruptness, it gave me something tangible and
far more pleasant to grasp. Finally there was something familiar
among the discord.
    “You’re welcome any time,” I answered. “The
official ritual will be around six-thirty or seven. I’ve already
spoken to the group, and they are fine with the two of you joining
in if you’d like.”
    “We don’t hafta do anything weird, do
we?”
    “You don’t have to do anything at all,”
I returned. “But if you do anything weird it’s going to be of your own accord,
because we don’t have anything weird planned. Just a simple Yule
ritual.”
    “Well, you know what I meant.”
    “You know, for a Native American you sure
have a bizarre view of alternative spirituality.”
    “Like I’ve said before, it’s a long story,
Kemosabe, and ya’ don’t wanna hear it. Trust me… But hey, at least
I’m tryin’,” he replied, then chuckled. “So what happens after the
ritual? Do we like commune with ghosts or somethin’?”
    “No, wrong Sabbat. That would have been back
in October for Samhain.” I referred to the traditional holiday
non-Pagans call Halloween. A night when the veil between the worlds
is at its thinnest, and we honor those who have passed before us,
which made his comment closer to the mark than he
realized—especially since he had intended it as a joke. “Actually,
after the ritual we have a late dinner and wait for dawn.”
    “Why, is she gonna be late?”
    I winced as he delivered another joke in an
attempt to further lighten the mood. It wasn’t terribly effective
in its intent, but I still responded in kind. “Yeah, Ben. She’s
probably not going to arrive until morning.”
    “So ya’ want us to bring anything?” He
returned a serious question, thankfully leaving the pun to die a
quick death before the exchange could deteriorate further.
    “We’ve pretty much got it covered,” I said.
“If there’s something special you want to drink, you might want to
bring it along, but other than that, just yourselves.”
    “Okay, so what’re we eatin’?”
    “Food.”
    “Yeah smartass, what kinda food?”
    “It’s a surprise, Ben.”
    “You’re not gonna try ta’ make me eat nothin’
but vegetables or somethin’, are ya’?”
    “No, Ben.” Even with my current mood I had to
at least chuckle at the seriousness of his query. “There’ll be meat
on the table.”
    “Beef? Pork?”
    “You’ll find out Friday.”
    “It ain’t gonna be somethin’ strange, is it?”
he pressed.
    “You’ll find out on Friday.”
    “Jeez, Kemosabe…” He let out an exaggerated
sigh. “Okay, be that way, but don’t be surprised if I bring a sack
of Whitey burgers as backup.”
    “Felicity will kill you.”
    “So I’ll leave ‘em in the van, and sneak out
if ya’ try ta’ feed me tofu ala whatever kinda shit.”
    “Uh-huh. And, if you stink up the van with