“I’m trying now,” Lucien replied, holding on to his same, easygoing tone.
Truth was, he had no idea why Calder rubbed him the wrong way. Part of it was attraction—he was honest enough to admit that. Calder was just his type with his trim, tight body.
Problem was, that attraction pissed him off. Why want something that he couldn’t have? He was supposed to be seeking a soul mate he didn’t even want, and instead, he was drawn to someone who was supposed to be more like a brother. It fucked with his head.
But that was his problem. Not Calder’s. He needed to stop taking his frustrations out on the man. It wasn’t fair to him or the rest of the Circle who had to live with them.
Lucien dropped his eyes to the paint, searching for a roller to use. They could be civil. He knew they could do this. “So, talk to me. Tell me about where you grew up.”
“Southern California, close to the water, which I was always drawn to.” He snorted. Lucien looked up in time to see a smile twist across his lips and his eyes roll in self-mockery. “Now I know why.”
Water Weaver who was drawn to water. Imagine that.
“You surf, right?”
Calder nodded. “Since I was pretty young. Stood on my first board when I was eight, and never stopped after that. I used to skip school to surf, and that was the only thing that could pull me away from school. I loved it. Loved learning.”
“Yeah, I noticed you read a lot. Especially those spell books.”
Calder shrugged as he took the pan filled with paint and one of the rollers to the far wall. “It’s not so much about the spells, but the journals that contain glimpses of our past lives. What we were like. What the pestilents were like. Snapshots of a lost time. Have you read any of them?”
Lucien replaced the lid he’d removed and lightly hammered it with a mallet to save them from a potentially horrible accident later. He gave a shrug. “I skimmed through a couple.”
“I heard there were none from the past Fire Weavers,” Calder said softly.
“It’s not really me.” Calder shot him a questioning glance, and Lucien huffed. “I know it’s my soul in a previous life, but that person didn’t live the life that I’ve lived now. So, it’s me but not.”
“There aren’t any from the past Water Weavers either,” Calder continued, his voice slightly sullen. Lucien’s heart ached for the man standing there looking for a connection and not finding it. Calder suddenly looked at him, brow furrowed again. “Do you think it’s odd that there are no journals from either of us?”
Lucien flashed him a crooked smile. “Maybe we drove each other crazy in our past lives and they destroyed the books, hoping we wouldn’t follow in those footsteps.”
Calder huffed a laugh. “Maybe.”
“But if past me is anything like present me, there’s no chance I would have left a journal. I’m not much for writing my thoughts. I’m one of those live-in-the-moment guys.”
Calder’s smile returned, looking a little easier. “Not one of those deep inner reflection types?”
Lucien shrugged. “Rather be living than sitting around thinking about living.” He paused and watched Calder as he stared at the wall, lost in thought. “Why don’t you start a journal now?”
Calder’s expression darkened almost instantly, and Lucien replayed his question in his head. Had he said something to insult him?
“I’ve thought about it, but…”
“What?”
Turning, Calder set his pan down and rested his hands on his narrow hips. “They’re all so confident that this time will be different. That we won’t die and we’ll stop the pestilents. But all those times we didn’t, we left journals behind to help future generations. What if writing one now jinxes us?”
Lucien grinned because he couldn’t help it. Part of him wanted to cross the room and fold the man into his arms, but that seemed like a really bad idea for too many reasons, starting with not wanting to feel Calder push him away.
“What if that was your reason for never writing a journal in the past?”
Calder’s eyes widened and his sweet mouth fell open, causing Lucien to chuckle. Clearly he hadn’t thought of that angle.
“But I do think that whether you start a journal or not will have no impact on our ability to defeat the pestilents.” Lucien’s smile softened. “When we’re all six hundred years old, you might want to look back at your memory of your first days here. Or your first memories of meeting your soul mate.”
“True,” Calder conceded with a half smile.
Lucien stood and stared down at Calder. Like him, the Weaver was dressed in old, faded jeans and his white T-shirt had a hole in the shoulder. Light-brown skin peeked from that rip, and he had a sudden mental image of seeing Calder naked, with all that lovely skin exposed.