“Yes, I’m British, and yes, I work next door,” I interrupt. “Why?”
“Shouldn’t you, like, have seen it coming or something?”
“Ha. Ha,” I deadpan. What an asshole. I get these kinds of jokes all the time from the sceptics and non-believers: “What am I thinking?” Ugh, no-one gives a shit.
“Well surely your voodoo ‘magic,’” (yes, he actually puts inverted finger commas around the word as he says it. Douche canoe.) “would have given you a heads up.”
“You’re giving me shit about magic?” I raise a brow at him. “You, of all people?” I say pointedly.
“What? What do you mean me of all people? Why are you saying it like that?”
“Why are you trying to make out that magic isn’t real, when you have wings protruding out of your back?”
Oh, did I not mention that before? Maybe I do have a concussion. The only distinguishing feature between these two hotties (aside from their polar opposite personalities) is the two pairs of large shimmery and iridescent, beautiful, gossamer-fine wings coming from their backs. If their faces and bodies weren’t distracting enough, their wings certainly are. I cannot comprehend how much I want to reach out and touch them. I don’t though. I would never. But I want to.
“Dude!” Number 2’s bronzite colored eyes are wide in panic as he turns to his twin, his forest-green wings with gold tendrils fluttering in agitation. “She can see us!”
“Duh, I’m talking to you aren’t I?” I quip. What is going on here? These guys are clearly fae and far too corporeal to be spirits.
“I meant, how can you see our wings?” he demands. He’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head or something. Which, to be fair, has never happened to me, but I see things and this is Silver Springs after all.
“I’m half witch,” I tell them simply.
“Shit. I had no idea,” No.1 mutters.
I shrug, because why would he? I’ve never laid eyes on him before, and my shop name doesn’t exactly give me away to the non-supernatural community. I like blending into both worlds.
“So you’re not a con-artist? You really do have powers?” No.2 demands.
I manage to look deeply affronted and livid. I’m not acting; I could punch his smug face right now. Who is he to question what I can and can’t do?
“What are your names?” I ask.
“I’m Rowan,” number 1 says pointing to himself, then jerking a thumb toward his twin. “He’s Linden.” His personality is certainly warmer than his brother’s and I wonder if his face is too—or if I’m just imagining it. Rowan’s wings are a stunning inky-blue with purple veins running through. They’re mesmerising. Everything about the two of them is mesmerising. But I prefer Rowan. Or that’s what I’m firmly telling myself. Linden can go to hell.
“Well, Rowan, it was nice to meet you, even if the circumstances were crummy.” I pointedly ignore Linden because he’s been a bit of an ass, to be honest. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.” I grab my stuff and start heading for the shop in a hurry. The tingling at the back of my head has started, and the last thing I want is to have a vision in front of these two.
“Be seeing ya soon, Jasmine.” I do not like the way Linden says my name, at all. In fact, how does he even know my name? I shudder. Not if I can help it, I think.
“Jas,” Rowan calls out. I like the way the nickname sounds coming from his lips, in his gorgeous honeyed tones. I stop and turn back to meet his dark chocolate gaze. “Can I take you out for a drink sometime? You know, as a sorry for nearly killing you?”
“Maybe,” I call before racing inside with Batfink, a smile on my face. I shut the door, panting hard, back leaning against the cool glass, as I let my belongings slide to the ground. I stagger across the shop space, trying to make it to the chair before I’m engulfed by darkness.
Chapter Six
Same forest. Different trees. Odd how I can tell, but somehow I just know that this is my forest. It’s another nice day, but although the sun is gently warming the clearing I seem to be standing in, it feels like a different season. The sun has a harshness to its warmth, a coolness almost, that makes me think it might now be fall. You know, one of those days where it’s spring in the light and fall in the shade.
I'm standing in the center of a ring of tall trees. I shield my face against the cold, indifferent glare of the sun and take in my changed surroundings. The trees are tall, but no way near as imposing as last time. I guess that they might be around fifty feet. Their bark is smooth and silvery-grey; the leaves growing in serrated pairs which are distinctive and bold. They’re almost lime in color and vibrancy. The clusters of tiny red-orange berries that hang from the branches really pop against the verdant canopy. I like it. While these trees may not be as majestic as the last, there’s a definite magic to them. I can feel the tingle, like a vibration, in the air. It hums, singing to me, calling to me. I feel it like a caress on my bare skin.
I smell the damp and dewy, almost mossy, scent of early fall, and take a moment to appreciate it. The forest is still beautiful; just different. Even the sounds have changed. I no longer hear water and birdsong, but the fluttering buzz of rapid wings beating. I wonder if there’s a hummingbird nearby. I would love to see one again; the only time I ever saw one was on vacation as a child. I remember my dad pulling over on the roadside and using his camera to try to get a picture of it. I was shocked by how tiny it was. I had expected more, but somehow it’s minute size made it even more impressive. When we returned home and had the old-fashioned film developed, we got to relive the magic all over again when we discovered he had managed to capture the tiny miracle on camera.
A slight breeze blows, causing me to shiver slightly. In my white summer dress, I’m not dressed for my visit this time; not that I can ever be. I never know when the visions will hit or where they’ll take me. I just hope I never end up stuck somewhere too long in inappropriate attire. Imagine being stuck in a snow drift in a bikini.
With a chuckle dying on my lips, I’m slammed back into the present day, into the familiar scent of incense in my shop, and I find myself slumped over the counter. I didn’t quite make it to my seat, but at least I didn’t fall on my ass again. I’ll take that as a small win today.
Slowly, I get to my feet and peel myself off the counter. I feel shaky, and I’m not sure if it’s down to the vision or the fall. I never did find out exactly what happened out there; I’m guessing one of the twins pushed me out of the way of the rubble they decided to toss off the roof—seriously, how irresponsible is that?—but hadn’t wanted to say or admit to anything, believing I was human. They wouldn’t have been able to get to me that quickly if they weren’t supes.
I stumble my way through to the back room, convincing myself that I’ve had quite the morning already, and that if I can just sit down for ten minutes, I’ll soon feel right as rain.
Only, when I push past the curtain, I stagger to a stop. Because there, in my favorite chair, is not Batfink like I’m expecting. Instead, there is a guy. A total stranger. He’s hotter than hell, sure, but he’s naked.