..…CHAPTER 22…..
November 12th
The FBW&R, because they controlled witches, had had to make allowances that other government agencies didn’t have to. Not only did they house the witches, they had to feed them, too. So the whole building was dedicated to the presence of witches, from work to medical care to living arrangements. Even tumble rooms.
Oliver escorted Gwen to the cafeteria. He ignored the glances and murmurs of the other witches around them as they strode toward the line. Gwen shrank beside him and he glanced down at her with a smile. “It’s okay, Gwen. They just know we’re stronger.”
She looked startled when she glanced up at him.
Oliver gave her a quizzical glance as they arrived and he handed her a tray. “You know…the pyramid of power?”
She looked blank.
Oliver turned to her, growing shock inside. “They didn’t teach you about the pyramid?”
Another blank look.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he blurted.
His tone and words silenced the whole room.
Sitting only a few feet away, Melinda gave a snorting laugh into the silence.
Gwen cringed away from him and Oliver felt like an ass. He opened his arms. “Oh, Gwen, it’s not you.”
She stared at him.
Everything about her spoke of strict training. She wouldn’t allow herself a simple hug. No, witches weren’t supposed to touch each other, and were discouraged from touching anyone, but that was one rule that fell to the side most of the time. It was one rule he intentionally broke every chance he could.
Gwen had been taught not to touch.
Too bad. Oliver wrapped her up. “Gwen, it’s not you. Your training was…perhaps more stringent than necessary.”
“I know. I was too strong for them to let me train with the rest.”
Oliver sighed and let her go, but held her upper arms in his grasp. “It’s okay. You can touch, you can do whatever you want, here in the House. No one will say a word.”
“True that,” Steven said as he went by them to snag a tray.
“But what’s the pyramid?” she asked, so confused she didn’t know what to do with herself it seemed.
Again, the room quieted and Steven frankly turned to gawk at her.
Oliver waved at the other witches. “They know who is more powerful. It’s an instinct in witches. We know who leads. We’re both level nines. Every witch in this room bows to our power and skills. Now does this always make for a good leader? No. Does lesser power mean they can’t lead? No. I know an Air witch named Reuben. He’s a level eight, tri-skilled. I’m a lot more powerful than him. But he’s a leader, and I will bow to his leadership in a heartbeat. The point is, we know and acknowledge strength when we see it.”
Gwen gulped and shot a glance at the other witches, most of whom were eating and chatting again.
Steven smirked, the fucker. “Alphas, kid. Reuben is an Alpha. Just say it, Oliver.”
He scowled at the other man. Steven was an asshole sometimes, and it looked like he’d picked now to show it. “Alpha isn’t the same as leadership. In magic, an Alpha is someone who leads a spell. Outside of it, a witch might not know how to lead. You know that, Steven.”
The man shrugged and turned to get his food without argument. A subtle show of deference to Oliver, but a show none-the-less.
Gwen looked as mystified as ever.
“Don’t worry about it, too much. Just know, any witch will recognize your strength.”
She nodded without a word.
“And don’t ever let anyone harass you for being an Omega. Your power should help. That’s part of the point I’m making. Some view Omega as a weakness, or lesser. It’s not. I couldn’t perform my job as an Alpha if I didn’t have an Omega to anchor a working. Be proud of your place and your power.”
“Damn, dude,” Melinda said with a grin. “Ever take your own advice?”
Oliver shot her a scowl. “Hush.”
“Yes, Alpha, level nine,” she teased.
Gwen giggled.
Oliver snorted and turned to the line, shaking his head.
Once they’d gotten their food, he sat with Gwen. He wanted to question the girl. She was so severely shy, so… What was the word for this girl? Gwen’s training seemed harsh. Was her shyness a symptom or nature? He hadn’t missed her shock and discomfort with the hug. He’d kept it short because she wasn’t comfortable with physical touch. Did she perhaps have attachment disorder? Was she truly afraid she’d get into trouble for a simple comforting hug?
Was he a douche for forcing that comforting hug on her? Maybe, but he didn’t think so. Gwen…needed and wanted a bond. He’d seen the way she watched Jesse. Watched Randall and Melinda. Watched him and Oscar. The desperate hope and longing in her gaze was too clear.
Yet other times, he could swear he saw guilt in them. What could this innocent girl possibly feel guilty for? She was too new and too inexperienced to have done a thing wrong. At least on purpose.
Ah. She’d fucked up somehow. And now she was afraid?
It all came clear to him then. Gwen was afraid she’d be sent back. Poor girl. Her training had been harsh, and she had learned it to the depths of her soul. Oliver knew what she was afraid of. And she wasn’t wrong to worry about it. Being sent back and fostered a second time was an unofficial mark in a witch’s profile. But he had zero doubt that she didn’t understand that it wasn’t as severe and damaging as she believed it to be. Yes, it wasn’t good. But nine times out of ten, the mark wasn’t negative, was merely fact. Half the witches he knew had been fostered more than once. Usually they were returned for not fitting with the Handler. Some were returned because of unforeseen circumstances. Poor Steven had been outright adopted and loved his family, they loved him. And then a child in the family had become a witch, and they needed to become a Handler for their child and sent Steven back. Steven was still considered part of their family, and Edith—tough nut on the outside, total marshmallow inside—made sure they stayed in touch.
Oliver side-eyed Gwen, who sat quietly listening to the conversations around them. Hmmm. How do I convince her she’s safe and not to worry so much? I know she won’t believe me right away, but over time…
“How are you and Jesse getting along?” he asked casually.
She started, then smiled her shy, polite little smile. “Good. He’s very nice.”
“Yeah, Jesse’s a good guy. Done anything together?”
She blinked. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Oscar takes me with his family up into the mountains a lot. Sometimes we go see a movie with the kids. And Oscar won’t let me get away with not helping out around the house. We built a shelf last weekend.”
Gwen smiled, genuine happiness in her eyes. “That’s wonderful. Um…Jesse took me to eat Greek food at a place called Greek by the Sea.”
“Mmmm…that’s good stuff. Anything else? Has he taken you to see his house yet?”
“No,” she said softly, looking down at her meal, fork moving aimlessly through her pasta salad.
“Anything else?”
She shook her head, and Oliver frowned. Jesse wasn’t trying to get to know her? That seemed…not neglectful, because Jesse wasn’t like that. But… Oliver shook his head, confused, trying to puzzle it out.
Was Jesse just taking his time? Bonding between Handler and witch was a time-consuming process. He remembered Oscar had spent every waking moment with him from the day they met. And Tracy, too. Oscar had slipped Oliver right into their household without a hitch.
Oliver frowned, chewing thoughtfully. He knew Jesse showed up everyday with Gwen in tow. The two were never apart, here at the Bureau, outside of the occasional necessary meetings, errands for Gwen, etc. Oliver turned their time together—that Oliver knew about—over in his head. He was certain Jesse was spending time with Gwen.
“How often do you have dinner?”
Gwen glanced at him, brows coming together? “What? Oh. Most nights. We eat here usually, or out while he’s working a case, or errands, or grocery shopping, or whatever.”
“So, more than just the Greek food?”
“Oh yes. But nothing as fancy as that since.”
Oliver restrained a smile at her idea of fancy. That particular restaurant was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall eatery with unquestionably fantastic food. But it was not fancy. “Good. It sounds like you’re spending quality time together.”
Gwen blinked in confusion. “Quality time?”
Oliver smiled. “Life. Life time together.”
Gwen’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh,” she breathed. Then she suddenly smiled, a brilliant, happy smile. God, this girl was so cute and sweet. “Really?”
“Really.”
For some reason, Gwen was as chipper as he’d ever seen her after that.
And then she glanced at him and became somber again.
Oliver wondered if his hug really had been too much. Why was she afraid of him?