These Charms Won’t Fade (These Witches Don’t Burn)

1

I’m sprinkling cheese on the second pan of soon-to-be-baked ziti—this one vegetarian, the first with hot Italian sausage—when the air brushes against my skin to announce my girlfriend’s arrival.

Relief settles around my shoulders. It’s not like Morgan to be late, especially when we’re hosting the monthly dinner for our friends.

Logically, I knew she was probably fine, but that didn’t stop the string of worst-case scenarios from marching through my mind.

Even knowing her Blood Magic would help her recover quickly from most of those worries couldn’t stop the thundering of my heart.

Outside, her car door slams shut, and I send the air to greet Morgan while I finish prepping the baked ziti for tonight.

The element is delighted to answer my call, racing through the house and out the open front windows.

The soft hum of magic beneath my skin is warm and wonderful, over-shadowed only by the anticipation of seeing her .

We’ve been together for nearly eight years— lived together for five of them—and my heart still soars each time she enters the room.

Laughter dances through the windows as the air tickles against her skin, and then the front door opens.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Morgan’s voice drops to a gentle murmur as she greets our cats, Colby and Jack.

“Chloe’s dad got a flat tire on his way to pick her up, and her other dad was in the middle of teaching, so he wasn’t checking his phone.

” By the time Morgan finishes the explanation, she’s made it through the house to the kitchen. “Fuck, that smells good, Hannah.”

I glance over my shoulder to find her still in her dance uniform: tight black leggings and a tank top that clings to all of her glorious curves, her red hair twisted into a bun. She carries our single-brain-celled orange cat, Colby, nestled in her arms like a baby.

“I’m glad she had you for company until someone could get her.”

Morgan laughs, her nose crinkling. “I doubt she even realized how late her parents were. She choreographed a whole dance for me and made me practice until it was perfect. Chloe has exacting standards for an eight-year-old.”

“She can’t help that she has good taste,” I tease.

After setting Colby on the floor, despite his protests, Morgan wraps her arms around my waist and presses a kiss along my jaw. The warmth of her against my back melts the last lingering bits of tension from my body. “How was your day?”

I lean into her strength, my head tipped back against her shoulder.

“It was fine. The client wants me to take everything interesting out of the branding I put together. So, you know, business as usual.” When I picked graphic design for my major in college, I thought it was a smart way to make art into a stable career.

The corporate clients my work contracts with are just so painfully boring, though.

Morgan hums a note of discontent as she nuzzles into my neck.

“I’m sorry, babe.” With a final kiss on my cheek, she steps away to load the dishwasher and clean up while I get the two pans of ziti in the oven.

“Do you have any fun private clients lined up— Hey! Off the counter, Jack.” She nudges our tuxedo cat, Jack, off the counter where he was batting at the empty bag of cheese.

He headbutts Morgan’s ankle before chasing Colby into the other room.

I close the oven, set a timer, and lean against the counter to watch Morgan work.

“One of my authors got back to me this afternoon with final notes on the series rebrand I’m doing for her.

I should be able to finalize the covers this weekend.

Maybe even get started on a new character commission for another client. ”

This work, at least, is creatively fulfilling.

I love helping authors translate the worlds in their heads—and in their books—into visuals that delight their readers.

Book covers. Character art. Stickers. Even bookmarks.

All of it is so much more fun than the corporate branding I do at work.

In a perfect world, I’d do the freelance stuff full-time. But, alas, health insurance.

Dating a Blood Witch minimizes the need to visit a doctor, but it’s not a full replacement.

“You’re still coming to the summer solstice ceremony with the coven tomorrow, right?”

Morgan reaches for the pans and submerges them in soapy water. “Yeah, I got Jasper to cover my shift at the bookstore. I’d love to get some writing in before we go, too.” She glances over her shoulder at me and grins. “I think I finally figured out the villain’s motivation.”

“For the vampire book or the mermaid one?”

“Vampire. The art you slipped into my lunch today inspired me.”

Heat flushes my cheeks. “Always happy to be your muse.”

Finished with dishes, Morgan drains the sink and dries her hands on a rainbow-patterned hand towel.

“You know, I could use a little extra inspiration.” She crosses the kitchen and leans in for a proper kiss, the first since I left for work this morning.

The air, delighted, swirls around us, tugging at our hair. Our clothes.

Morgan’s fingers skim across the sensitive skin of my neck as she threads one hand into my hair. The other settles against my lower back, tugging me close. She deepens the kiss, her tongue a perfect glide against mine, pulling a moan from the back of my throat.

“How long until Cal and Gemma get here?” she asks, pressing a series of kisses along my jaw. “I need to shower, and I’d love some company.”

My mind is already hazy with desire, my body prickling with the promise of her attention—fingers and lips and the intoxicating play of her Blood Magic. Add in the thrum of water from the shower, interwoven with my own Elemental Magic…

“Long enough,” I say after the briefest glance at the clock. I turn down the oven to avoid burning dinner and then her hand is in mine as I lead us down the hall to the master bathroom.

Coby and Jack protest when we close the door behind us.

* * *

“You two better be decent!”

Gemma’s familiar voice carries through the house as she lets herself in. The cats race toward her, their little meows jolting with hurried steps.

“If you’re that worried about walking in on something, you could knock!” I call back, causing Morgan to laugh so hard she snorts. “We’re in the kitchen, Gem. Dinner is almost ready.”

I’m sliding the loaf of garlic bread into the oven when Gemma comes in, followed by Cal.

“No Jamie tonight?” Morgan asks while I turn my attention to chopping red onion and peppers for the salads.

“He’s away on Council business,” Cal says, the air carrying a mixture of pride and loneliness along with his words.

Cal Morrissey, like his boyfriend, is a long-time member of the Council that oversees the three Witch Clans.

The men, who are both Caster Witches, first met on a case last year and officially started dating four months ago.

Cal opens the fridge and slides in his signature lemon meringue pie. He brings it over a few times a year, and the balance of tart and sweet is always perfect. So perfect, in fact, I’m convinced there’s some Caster magic involved in the process, despite his claims otherwise.

“Jamie just got promoted to MAPC,” Cal says as he closes the fridge. “There’s a Caster Witch in a tiny town in upstate New York selling artisanal soaps and shampoos that dance the line of being a bit too magical for non-witches.”

“Mapsy?” Gem pulls the bottle opener from a drawer and gets to work on the wine she brought as her contribution to dinner. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a new department. Magic Acceptable for Public Consumption or MAPC.” Cal reaches into the cupboard to collect four wine glasses. “It’s part of the new effort to ease up on magical restrictions without outing the Clans.”

“You witches and your acronyms.” Gem’s tone is warm, but I can practically hear the eyeroll beneath that.

“That’s more the Council than the rest of us.” I finish chopping and turn to fully face my friends. “Fuck, Gem. You look amazing.”

She’s dyed fresh streaks of vibrant pink into her blond hair, which she’s curled and pulled half-up so it’s out of her face. Her makeup looks camera-ready with glittering eyeshadow and thick liner that makes her blue irises pop. “Going somewhere fancy after this?”

Gem shakes her head. “I had a sponsored live stream earlier today. It felt like a waste to wash all this off right after.” She flutters thick false lashes at me.

“The tarot reading gig is really taking off, huh?” Morgan stacks silverware onto a set of plates and heads for the dining room.

Though she’s the only one of us who isn’t part of the three Witch Clans, Gemma is the most public about the witchy parts of her life. At least, the Reg-version of what counts as witchy .

By day, Gemma works as a therapist in a community-based practice in Boston.

After a Witch Hunter ran us off the road the summer before our senior year in high school, Gemma broke her leg and lost hope in ever having a professional dance career.

Now, she specializes in helping teen athletes rebuild their sense of self after a major injury.

On nights and weekends, though, Gemma is one of the most popular tarot readers on Instagram.

“With this latest booking, I’m on track to make more from tarot this month than from my day job.

” Gem sips her wine and leans against the counter, trailing a finger up and down the stem of the glass.

“I know my job is important, but all the bureaucracy and insurance admin is killing my soul. I’d love to do the tarot full-time, but I worry about paying for health insurance on my own, you know? ”

“One thousand percent understand.” I reach for my wine. “That’s the same reason I’m hesitant to go all-in on freelance art.”

Gem cocks an eyebrow at Cal. “Why doesn’t the Council provide insurance for all witches? That seems like the kind of resource they should offer.”