I squeeze into my seat at the table. The one nearest the wall, smushed in so I can’t escape, has always been my spot at the Michaels’ family dinner table. To my left, my sister sits, smiling at our father, talking about some amazing thing she’s done since the last time we saw them.
Laney has always been the golden child, the raven haired prodigy with a fire affinity which rivals the eldest members of our community. I, on the other hand, have always been completely fucking normal. Sure, I can practice magic. I can say the right words, sprinkle the right herbs, do the math required to make some magic happen . . . but I have no natural affinity. My father is one of the strongest Telekinetics to ever be born and my mother is a famed Medium. Everyone expects their children to be great and yet, here we are.
“Alandra?” Mom hisses across the table. “How was your week, sweetheart?” She looks to the side for a second and a chill rushes down my spine. It’s unnerving, knowing spirits are always around her. It bothered me as a child and it still bugs me. I mean, honestly, what’s to stop some pervy ghost from telling my mother something she has no business hearing? I shudder as thoughts of ghostly peeping toms drift through my head.
My hand slides nervously up my neck and bumps into Beezlebub. He chitters against my ear before flitting off across the dinner table. That moth might be my familiar, but he has absolutely no manners. “It was okay. I managed to land a new client.”
“Oh? That’s exciting!” Dad murmurs, setting his fork down. “Anyone we’d know?”
“Uh,” I mutter, looking to Laney for help. She has her nose buried in her cell phone—texting Marcus no doubt—and doesn’t make any move to save me from the inquisition. “I doubt it, honestly. He’s a pretty new rapper, but everyone seems to expect big things from him. He uses classical music as backdrops to his freestyles.”
Dad blinks at me across the table. If it wasn’t for the growl that echoes beneath us, I’d never know he was upset. He’s always been amazing at compartmentalizing his emotions and saving the reactions for a later, more strategic date. Diego, however, doesn’t care about social niceties. The wolf beneath the table lets out a quiet whuff, ending on another growl and my father clicks his tongue, commanding the animal to stop.
Familiars are tied to their witches and their magic. The more powerful the familiar, the more powerful the witch, or so they say. Or maybe the more powerful the witch, the more powerful the familiar. I watch Beezlebub dart around the kitchen. He’s extremely large for a moth, and clearly magical with his exaggerated and oversized features, but he’s still an insect. Mom’s raven isn’t in the house, she likes to sit outside, but I know she’s lurking around here somewhere.
“That sounds—” Mom pauses, glancing to Dad before she clears her throat. “Promising. Have you considered our offer to put you into the herbalist program in Mont Pelier?”
My teeth grind together as I shake my head. I have absolutely no intention of going to school to be an herbalist. There are plenty of herbalists in our community. I should be used to this by now, what’s wrong with me? As my phone vibrates in my pocket, I quickly realize the answer. I’ve been on edge since Jess left. It’s not like that should be some huge realization, honestly. A breakup like that one will probably stay with me for a while.
“I think it’d be wonderful if you took on a more traditional role, like your sister,” Dad interjects, drawing my eyes back to him.
“I’m not very traditional,” I remind him, straightening my spine. I try to ignore the cold blue eyes that meet mine, but it’s impossible. Sterlen Michaels commands attention, no matter what he does. It’s one of the things that has made him so successful. Magical law can be tricky to practice, but my father has found a foothold in our community that’s unprecedented.
“And maybe that’s part of the problem—”
“Sterlen!” Mom snaps, turning to look at him. I roll my eyes and start to shimmy out of my chair. There’s not much room between the table and the wall and my hip bumps into the former, sending a cup of tea rocketing onto its side. Everyone jumps up quickly, the table sliding into my hip again from all the commotion.
“Fuck!” I snarl, shoving it away as I slide out from between the wall and the deathtrap as quickly as possible. My hands slip into my back pockets—a nervous habit—and I shrug apologetically. I’d do something to help, but Dad already has a towel swirling around the table, sopping up the mess I made. He clasps his hands in front of his mouth, as if in deep thought while the towel moves across the surface of its own volition.
“I just worry, is all. We want what’s best for you, Bug,” he finally whispers, meeting my eyes again. His are much softer now.
“I know, Dad,” I sigh, looking away. I hate the pitiful look he gets when we talk about my magic, or lack thereof.
“Things are different for you. I just want you to have a fulfilling life.” I know he means it. The pained look on his face, the proof of his sincerity, doesn’t make me feel any better about his pity.
The truth is I’m perfectly happy with the amount of magic I have. Could I be more fabulous with an affinity? Sure. But this is who I am. There’s nothing I can do to change it, which I know because my family has tried for years, and I don’t know any different. It’s hard for them to imagine being average, but for me? It’s everyday life.
“I know, Dad.”
“I just—”
“Sterlen, stop,” Mom pleads. She’s always felt the same way he does, but she’s better at hiding her disappointment over my normalcy. Michaels are expected to do great things. Laney teaches children how to control their affinity and tutors fire affinities privately. She’s highly respected in Waitsfield and across the witching community.
I’m just a musician. And not even a serious one. Sometimes I wonder if I joined an opera if my family would be happier with my career. A part of me knows they’ll always want me to do better, though. I push my hair behind my ear, trying to ignore the quiet bickering between my parents.
Laney pokes my side and I lean against the back of her chair. “I’m going to head out, I’ll see you at the house.”
“Bye, Bug,” she whispers with a sad smile. At least we’d taken separate cars.
Wiggling my fingers in goodbye, I turn toward the door as I unclip my keys from my belt loop. The soft feeling of Beezlebub landing on the back of my shoulder comforts me. He sends all of the positive energy he can muster and it flows through my back and into my being. He can’t speak to me, but I can feel his sympathy in the warm gesture.
“At least she isn’t a null,” Mom whisper screams to my father.
My hand stills on the door handle and my shoulders sag under the weight of my family’s expectations. If they could just accept me for who I am, things would be so much easier. I shake my head and pull the door open, ignoring the sounds behind me.
No doubt, my mom would call and apologize later. Null. How could she? Snow crunches beneath my boots as I trudge toward my car. I steel my spine and hop in, cranking the engine fast. I don’t want to deal with their apologies tonight. I’m maxed out emotionally, something I’m finding happens a lot more frequently than it used to. Between everything that happened with Jess and her big move across the country and my usual family drama, I’m just tired. Bone deep tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix.