“Only because they wanted something from her.” Morgan’s tone settles over my skin like frost. “There aren’t any Casters with a story like hers. If there were, I’d bet anything they’d use the Caster Witch instead. Their Elder certainly didn’t want my help, despite Alice and I being in the same Clan.”
There’s something bitter and hurt in her voice, and it pulls at my heart. “Do you want to help?”
“Do I want to help my girlfriend recruit another Blood Witch?” Morgan turns the intensity of her blue gaze on me. “Of course I do.”
Gemma glances between Morgan and me, confused. “Why would they ignore perfectly good magic?”
Morgan waves a hand in my general direction. “You tell her. I need more of my boys, and I’m ninety percent sure the one guy is bi, which you know I love.” She reopens her book, but there’s tension around her jaw as she reads now instead of the carefree expression she had before.
“It’s kind of a long story, but I can give you the highlights.” I glance anxiously at Morgan, but she’s focused on her book. “Have I explained where witches come from yet?”
“I know how babies are made, Han.”
“Where our magic comes from.” I roll my eyes at Gemma, but I know she’s only teasing. Probably to deflect from how desperately she wants to know about everything. “The Mother Goddess who guided the creation of this world has three daughters, known as the Sister Goddesses. Once humanity was well on its way, the Mother Goddess disappeared to tend to other realms and left her daughters in charge. After a few thousand years, they grew restless in their task and started issuing each other dares.”
“Dares?” Gemma raises a brow at me.
“That’s how my parents explained it to me. Though I was only eight at the time.” I shrug. “Anyway, the Eldest Sister created the Caster Witches, and when it was the Middle Sister’s turn, she wanted to create a flashier magic. So, she covered the world with storms. Those who danced in the rains became Elementals.” I grin. “That’s why we tend to see rainy days as good luck.”
“Weirdos,” Morgan mutters affectionately under her breath, but I’m not entirely sure if she’s talking about my Clan or the guys in her book.
“So, then the last one made the Blood Witches?” Gemma guesses.
“Yes. Except the Youngest Sister wasn’t strong enough to make witches on her own, so she had to break into the Mother’s garden. But when she stole a rose of immortality, she pricked her finger on a thorn. She lost her immortality trying to create Morgan’s Clan. When the Mother Goddess found out what happened to her youngest daughter, she punished all three sisters and banished them from Earth.”
Gemma’s brow furrows. “You hate Blood Witches because of a celestial game of truth or dare?”
“Not exactly.”
Morgan huffs out a breath. “Close enough. And the Youngest Sister didn’t accidentally touch the thorn. She meant to give up her immortality to bless us. She wanted her witches to be safe from the ones the other goddesses made.”
“That’s not the way Lady Ariana taught the story.”
My girlfriend closes her book again. “Lady Ariana isn’t a Blood Witch.”
Heat blossoms in my cheeks. “Fair. But then why did the early Blood Witches use their magic to turn people into puppets?” And not just the early ones, either . . . But I don’t mention the one who took control of my body. Morgan already knows the basics of what happened, and I’m not exactly eager to go through it all again.
Morgan sits up and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. “Your goddess had time to teach your ancestors what to do with their magic. The banishment happened before mine had a chance to learn anything. We had to figure it all out on our own.” She crosses the room to us, draping her arms around my shoulders. “We figured it out eventually.”
The warmth of her power hums through me, and I let my magic dance and play with the air, swirling Morgan’s loose curls back behind her shoulders. I wish it could always be like this, so easy and free. But when Morgan stands, she cuts off her flow of magic and I drop mine, too.
Gemma is very purposefully staring at the final unturned card when we separate fully. “Is it safe to assume the whole turning-people-into-puppets thing had more to do with the creepy stereotype than the banishment of your goddesses?”
I look to Morgan, letting her answer. She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But that’s still a shitty reason not to ask for our help. Especially when things are this bad.” She shudders, and her stomach lets out a loud groan.
“Hungry?” Gemma asks. “I can grab some snacks.”
“You don’t have to—” Morgan starts, but Gemma is out the bedroom door before she finishes. Morgan sighs and wraps her arms around me again. “Ask me to come with you.”
The whispered words play against my skin, and they simultaneously worry and warm me. I lean into her touch. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. None of this is safe.”
“I’m a Blood Witch, Hannah.” Her voice is whisper soft, and I’m suddenly very aware of her warmth against my back. “I heal pretty quickly.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “Ask me.”
I bite my lip, worried despite her reassurances. But when I turn to meet her gaze, there’s no hesitation. “Will you come with me to New York?”
She answers with a kiss. It’s soft at first, sweet, but quickly becomes desperate and wanting, and when she threads her fingers into my hair, I forget how to breathe.
“All I could find was some white cheddar pop—” Gemma cuts off when she sees us, and her voice springs Morgan and me apart. “Popcorn,” she finishes, the bag dangling from her fingers. “Should I come back later?”
“No, sorry.” I stand and take the bag from her, tossing a handful of popcorn in my mouth. “Should we finish the tarot reading?” I don’t particularly want to know what other bad news the cards have in store for me, but it’s the least I can do for turning my best friend’s room into a make-out spot.
“Next time you want to sexile me, just put a hair tie on the door.”
“Gemma,” I groan, even though we fully deserve her teasing. “We’ll keep our hands to ourselves. Promise.”
“If you say so.” She takes her seat and lets out a slow breath before turning the final card. A naked figure leans over a pool of water. They hold a jug in each hand, pouring liquid into the pool and onto the ground. The script at the bottom of the card says The Star.