The light from my headlights reflects off the small house as I pull into the drive. It’s a modest sized home for upper Vermont. Most of the houses in Waitsfield are bigger than ours, but Laney and I like it. It was one of the few houses in our price range when we moved out of our parents’ home that was still close by.
For some reason, living completely across town seemed daunting at the time. Now, I wish we’d moved to Timbuktu.
“I can’t believe she compared me to a null,” I hiss into the wind as I step out of the car and slam the door behind me. Beezlebub bumps into the side of my cheek before taking off toward the house. He hates the snow. I love it.
I unlock the door, drop my keys into the bowl on the tiny table Laney insisted we buy, and stomp through the house to the back door. Pulling it open, I glance over my shoulder for Beezlebub, but he’s nowhere to be found. “Thanks, bud,” I whisper sarcastically as I step out onto the covered patio.
You really can’t beat the views in Vermont.
I take a deep breath, watching the snowflakes fall around me as I stare at the heavy moon in the distance. Yule will be starting soon. The sun sets earlier and earlier each day. Nighttime has always pulled at something deep inside my bones, like what little magic resides inside me recognizes something equally ancient in the darkness.
My phone vibrates in my pocket again and this time I pull it out, staring at the name on the screen: JessyBae. My nose wrinkles as I swipe away the notification. I don’t want to talk to her. She left, and I don’t necessarily blame her because it’s amazing that she’s chasing her dream, but things are different now. We aren’t together, and calling and texting me constantly to remind me our situation sucks isn’t going to make it easier for me to move on.
Laney is right. I need to let her go, to rip the Band-Aid off and just end all communication. It’s going to be hard, especially at first, but I think it’s what’s necessary for me to heal. Even as the thought concretes itself into my mind, guilt stifles my chest.
“What the hell else am I supposed to do? I can’t go be with her,” I whisper to the quiet night. But no one answers me. There’s no one to listen. Just the moon.
I adjust the headphones so they fit snugly around my ears and press play. This track took me forever to compose because my client has a specific sound in mind. It should be frustrating, going back and forth, but honestly, I love the dude’s vision.
He wants what he wants. I can respect that. As I drag the recording of his vocals and drop it onto the classical background, I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the music for a moment. He’s new. He’s talented, but not talented enough that he’s going to blow up on his own. No, he’ll need to promote the hell out of himself to get anywhere in the industry. These lyrics, though.
My head bobs with the rhythm of his words even as they work against the music I created. It’s volatile. It’s uncomfortable.
It’s perfect.
I glance at the screen and attach the file in an email, say a silent prayer to the Goddess he loves it as much as I do and wait. The wait is the worst part of anything, as my Grandma used to say. I miss her, sometimes. She never questioned me, my decisions, or my magic.
“There’s a strength in you that wouldn’t exist if you were like your sister.” Her voice rings in my head, as clear as day. I like to think moments like this are more than memories, that it’s her way of reaching out to me from the other side, but I know I’m not a medium.
“It would be easier if I were,” I sigh as I click through my screens, looking for something on social media. A small red notification appears in the bottom right corner of my screen and I flinch. It’s like being prodded over and over again by something sharp enough to hurt, but not sharp enough to break the skin.
Jess sent me an email. I hover over the notification with the mouse and read the message preview:
Landra, I miss you. I know what we said, but I just really need to talk to someone who gets it. Will you please call me back? Text me? Email? Smoke signals? Something. I feel like you hate me now. We were best friends before we were together . . .
My finger hesitates on the mousepad. I’m more than a little tempted to read the rest of her message, even though I know I shouldn’t do it. A clean break is the only way to deal with something like this. Jess and I hadn’t broken up because of anything wrong in our relationship. That’s what makes this so fucking hard, I think to myself for the thousandth time. We were planning on moving in together in a few months, but then she got the job offer which changed everything.
A research position in California. It was great for her, but it also meant the end of our relationship. The only witching communities in California are Hellenistic and they aren’t a fan of other sects.
Being a human, Jess couldn’t wrap her head around why I didn’t want to move out there. She didn’t understand that being a solo practitioner was hard, especially for someone like me with no natural affinity. Sure, most humans are fairly tolerant—or they possess a healthy amount of fear that prevents them from screwing with our kind—but when you’re on your own with no reflexive magic, things can get scary. Fast.
My head tilts to the side. I know I didn’t hear anything in the house—the rooms are all soundproofed with spellwork—but something tells me there’s someone here.
As I creep toward the door, more cautiously than I normally would, I grab my cell phone from the dresser. “Laney?” I call out once the door squeaks open. There’s no answer. I glance down at my phone and cringe. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. With a sigh, I pad down the hallway toward the living room and kitchen.
I freeze at the corner, taking in the sight before me. Laney is sprawled across the couch, her legs draped haphazardly over the end with one shoe barely dangling from her toes. My eyebrows draw down into a scowl as I march toward her, ready to lay into her for drinking so much on a Monday.
“Shhh, she’s sleeping,” someone hisses in warning from the kitchen.
I jump, spin around, and raise my hands up as if I know some kind of karate. I don’t, but whoever the hell is in my house doesn’t know that. “Who the fuck—”
“It’s just me, calm down,” the voice laughs, stirring some herbs into a glass of tea. My eyes take a second to register the person standing in front of me is in fact Marcus, Laney’s boyfriend.
I lay a hand over my chest and shake my head, just staring for a second. “You’re too damn big to be sneaking up on people like that,” I mutter.
Marcus’ eyes crinkle as he smiles, stirring the tea with a swirl of his finger above the cup. He’s a Telekinetic like my father. It’s annoying on an entirely different level. I narrow my eyes on him, dismissing the threat I’d originally registered when I entered the room. He really is tall, I note, as if to make myself feel better for panicking. Laney had said he was like six foot four or something ridiculous like that. I squeeze into the small kitchen beside him and open the refrigerator, searching for something to drink. I hadn’t realized I was thirsty until I saw him making tea.
“She went a little too hard tonight.” Marcus props himself against the counter. His eyes bore into the side of my head until I turn to face him. My fingers twist the cap off a fizzy water and I shrug, meeting his pale blue gaze. Marcus has a tendency of looking intense and it makes me uncomfortable because I feel like he’s seeing more than he should. His dark hair, slightly crooked nose, and pale skin don’t remind me of a vampire villain, but the way his skin clings so tightly to his cheekbones does. It gives his face this illusion of being all angles and makes him look more like a weapon than a man.