Chapter 20
We pick up doughnuts on the way over to Joelle’s.
I let her plug her phone into the aux, and she babbles the entire drive about her intensely curated playlists.
She has a song tied to nearly every occasion in her life.
I’m impressed but also way too deep in my thoughts for most of the drive to contribute much.
Instead, I’m thinking about my birthday, only five days away. It could be my last if Joelle follows through with the future foretold in my vision. There has to be a spark to ignite this stick of dynamite. The only question right now is, Where’s the match?
When we get to the house, she hands the box of doughnuts to me before rummaging through her bag for her key.
Inside, the apartment is arranged in a simple layout: There’s a dim hallway with rooms branching off the left side.
At the end stands the kitchen with updated stainless-steel appliances and a bay window overlooking a tiny patch of brown grass.
An essential oil diffuser sits atop the counter, emitting a steady stream of lavender-scented mist.
A cardboard box open on the floor reveals various framed photos and art prints.
I pick up the first frame and my heart skips a beat.
It’s a painting of two women clutching each other in a meadow filled with wildflowers.
Each woman is dressed in white, which accentuates the warm undertones of their umber skin.
The brushstrokes are gentle, which gives the painting a slightly hazy appearance.
It makes me feel like I’m disturbing a secret moment.
“Wow.”
She peeks over my shoulder. “That’s the only piece of art I didn’t buy in a Marshalls or off Etsy.” She reaches out to touch the gold frame. “I saw it at a festival and immediately fell in love with it. I ended up talking to the artist for so long that another customer got annoyed and stormed off.”
“I don’t blame you,” I say. “This demands your full attention.”
We stare into each other’s eyes for an overly long period of time.
Joelle looks away first, returning her gaze to the painting. “You like girls, too, don’t you?”
I nod. “I’m bi.”
Her smile stirs up a flutter in my chest.
She jerks her thumb toward herself. “Lesbian.” The corners of her lips quirk up. “Two sapphics walk into a room. They either end up together or become best friends.”
“Who says they can’t do both?” I murmur.
Without responding, she turns away to grab two sodas from the fridge. We park ourselves in front of the living room TV and Joelle turns on an episode of The Vampire Diaries.
“Really?” I ask, licking raspberry jam off my fingers as I finish off a doughnut. “Do you only watch shows with witches in them?”
She shrugs and rests her legs on a plastic storage bin that she’s using as a coffee table. “Guilty as charged.”
Joelle’s thigh is pressed against mine, but I make no move to shift away and neither does she. We end up watching an episode from season four set in New Orleans. A smile spreads across Joelle’s face when Bonnie appears on-screen.
“She’s one of my favorite witches,” Joelle says. “I love that she’ll do anything for the people she loves. I like to think that I’m the same way.”
I stiffen, thinking of my vision. “So, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do?” I ask. “Even kill?”
She turns to face me, and we stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. When she finally speaks, her voice is low. “If that was the only option, then I would in a heartbeat.”
“For your mom?”
“Of course,” she whispers. “I’m afraid that I’ll lose her. She’s my everything.”
Now it’s my turn to bare my inner wounds.
“My grandmother was mine,” I murmur. “She left us last year, and none of us have been the same since. Part of me is embarrassed to carry this grief with me because she was my grandmother, and that’s what old people do.
They die. But still, she was my grandmother—one of the most important people in my life.
I’ve got this giant hole in my heart that she once filled.
Meanwhile, the world keeps turning and life goes on. ”
Joelle places a hand on my cheek. The room is warm, but a cold shiver runs down my spine like I’ve been dunked in a frigid pool. I can’t help but lean into her touch.
“Do you ever think you were meant to cross paths with someone?” she asks. “Like there was some guiding force that drew me into your shop last week?”
“I think the beginning of our stories was written long before we ever existed,” I say. “But the end is still in flux.”
Joelle’s phone beeps with a text. She swipes it open before standing. “I’ve gotta go call my aunt really quick. I’ll be back.”
Once I hear her bedroom door close behind her, I jump to my feet and creep into the kitchen.
I chuck my soda into the trash and grab another one as an excuse before opening up every single drawer.
The only blades in sight are butter knives and two ceramic kitchen knives.
Even though I didn’t get a clear look at the dagger in my vision, I can tell none of these are the one.
I head back into the living room and kneel down before the short bookcase beneath the window.
It’s mostly empty; another cardboard box rests on the floor nearby stuffed to the brim with more books.
I reach inside and root around. There are a few fiction books, but I’m more interested in her collection of magic books.
I recognize some of the titles from the store, but one of them in particular catches my eye.
The Complete Book of Witchcraft. It’s a thick tome with yellowed pages and a pentagram etched into the leather cover.
As I flip through it, my breath hitches.
It’s clearly written with a mortal audience in mind.
The beginning of the first chapter says Magic is more than a state of being. It is a display of strength. One must take it by force; siphon it from the energy displayed in the elements around you and channel it into your own body.
Joelle’s laugh echoes down the hall, and I’m reminded that I’m on borrowed time. I flip through a few more pages and stop when I see a sentence that chills me to the core.
Sometimes blood must be shed in the pursuit of power. Magic is not owed to any of us. Even the witches of old had their sacrificial lambs. Use this spell when confronted by a witch who will not be tamed.
The so-called spell goes on to instruct the reader to use a small sample of blood to channel the other person’s energy into magic.
I’m disgusted by this pure mortal trash. None of this is real. I’m not sure the author even believed what they wrote.
I jump at the sound of Joelle’s voice behind me. “Hey! You found my collection.”
“Oh, uh…”
She joins me on the floor and takes the book from my hands, only glancing at it briefly before tossing it back into the box. “I got some of these from estate sales and thrift stores,” she says. “If there was even a hint of magic, then I bought it. No questions asked.”
“Have you read them all?” I force a breezy tone, careful not to make eye contact.
“Not all of them.”
All of my sappy feelings from earlier have disappeared. I’m back in interrogation mode. “Do you have any magical objects, too? Like a crystal ball or a dagger?”
She looks up sharply. “Why would I have a dagger?”
“In the old days when more people believed in the existence of magic, some witches would carry protection at all times in case their magic failed them. They would enchant daggers to strike true.”
I finally look up to stare deep into her eyes, searching for hesitancy or a sharp intake of breath. She doesn’t even notice that I’m inside her head.
“You learn something new every day,” she says. Her gaze drifts back to her bookshelf. “I just read books. Other than the potions, I’ve never tried to practice.”
False. A memory appears at the forefront of her mind—a younger version of her kneels before a pool of water. Moonlight reflects off the surface. Her lips move as she clutches a piece of clear quartz. I’m not sure what spell she was trying to cast, but she clearly has attempted to practice before.
This is the first time Joelle has lied to me—or at least, it’s the first lie I’ve caught her in.
The buzz of my phone wakes me from my trance. Orion’s cocky grin stares up at me from my screen.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Let me see what he wants.”
I walk out into the hallway before answering. “What is it?” I hiss into the speaker.
“Aye!” His voice ricochets through the line, stabbing my eardrums. “I’m at a party with the boys, and you’ll never guess who’s here.”
I roll my eyes. He interrupted for this? “Who?” I sigh.
“Aria Hightower. Can you believe it?”
A rush of adrenaline flows through my bloodstream. What are the odds that Orion would run into her so soon after our encounter at Crescent Moon? I’m not sure whether this is a lucky coincidence, but there’s only one way to find out.
“Where are you?” I ask. “I’ll come meet you.”
He yells out the address over the heavy bass in the background. As I hang up, I whirl around to find Joelle peeking into the hallway.
“Is Orion okay?” she asks.
“Everything’s fine. He was telling me about a party he’s at.”
Her eyes widen. “A house party? We have to go!”
“Actually—”
“Let me change really quick and I’ll be ready!” She darts down the hall to her bedroom before I can make up an excuse as to why she shouldn’t go with me.
The two competing crises of my life—Joelle and the Hightowers—are on a direct collision course. This should certainly make for a night to remember.