Chapter 2
Renata
Before I open my eyes, I sense I’m not where I hoped: the familiar meadow during sunset that I’m often brought to in my dreams. The one with tall grass that sways against my shins and the golden sunrays that warm my skin, where it’s always early summer.
It’s the only place I ever see the man with the obscured face who finds me in my sleep and brings me more comfort than anyone else in my life—even if I can’t see him.
Hell, I can’t even talk to or touch him.
Somehow, that’s never mattered. It always felt like we knew each other despite that, like we were connected through a greater force. Since my sixteenth birthday, he has found me in our dreams at least twice a week. Sometimes more than that.
Peeking my eyes open, I startle at the dark field in front of me. I’m in the middle of brittle grass, surrounded by ominous trees. All of the plants are dried up skeletons of their former selves. And it’s cold here—my breath comes out in puffs in front of me.
This is not where I meant to go.
Divination Witches are the only ones who can dreamwalk. It’s one of the most mysterious abilities, so I don’t understand the logistics of how it works—which can be said about a lot of magic. It means he has air magic and that he’s the one who controls these visits.
It’s been over a month since he’s come to visit me.
It was foolish to try to find him, especially knowing I’m prone to nightmares. I couldn’t stop myself. His presence is like a balm to my soul. I’ve dreamed about meeting him—imagining what his features look like with his dark brown hair and tall, lean body.
It’s a peculiar thing to be so connected to another soul without any ties to their physical bodies, yet I find myself called to this man with the obscured face more than any person I’ve met in real life.
His magic allows me to pick up on his emotions while we’re in dreams together, so on some plane of existence, I do know him.
I’m positive about it. It’s not in a way that can be explained, so he has stayed my secret for eleven years now.
I hoped one night with him would give me the courage I need to leave before my mother wakes up. Even a few seconds might have been enough.
This feels like a sign.
Not a good one.
A single tear falls down my cheek, mocking my loneliness.
Twisting my lips to the side, I slowly spin in a circle, the spell to wake myself up on the tip of my tongue. A blood-curdling scream comes out first.
When I turn back around, there’s someone standing in front of me…
Not someone.
Me.
My mouth gapes open as my scream dies off.
I mean, she looks like me—identical, even. But she doesn’t feel like me. There’s a heaviness and maturity to her soul that hasn’t found mine yet.
She’s a stranger wearing my face.
It reminds me of the strange woman who stopped at the apothecary a few years ago, the one who said I look like her dead great-grandmother.
Her comment left me with a strange sensation for days, but it’s the regret of letting a Gray Witch walk away that lingers years later.
One of the few I’d ever met, and I didn’t even try to ask any of the questions that continue to plague my soul.
I tilt my head, and so does she.
Whispering, I ask, “What do you wan—”
“Now, Renata,” she says. Her voice has a slightly higher lilt than mine. It’s almost unnoticeable. “You have to go now. And don’t come back.”
“What?” I ask as she grabs my shoulders and shoves me backward.
The next moment, I’m in my bed, flying into a sitting position and gasping for breath. A minute later, my phone starts vibrating. I know without looking it’s my three a.m. alarm.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, my leg shakes as I watch the clock.
It didn’t take me long to grab a few last minute things.
I packed before going to sleep. It all fits into one suitcase and a tote bag—plus the small emergency duffel bag I always kept in my car on the off chance I was ever brave enough to leave.
I’ve been sitting here for the last forty-five minutes, trying to convince myself I am courageous enough.
Glancing around my room, I consider whether there’s anything else I want to take. Not a single thing catches my attention.
Around my neck is the silver choker with a small black tourmaline charm that I wear every day.
It was the last gift I received from my father before he passed away.
He wasn’t afraid of my magic, or even the curse looming over me.
He wanted me to be happy. Safe and protected, sure, but mostly just happy.
It’s the only thing I have from him a decade later.
I take one last look around, engraving in my mind the few happy memories I have of this bedroom, and stand.
Hexate perks up from her place by the window and slithers toward me.
She’s usually hunting at this time of night but stayed in, knowing I’d need her companionship if I was going to make it one step out of the door.
As my bonded animal, she would find me anywhere.
She’d travel across the world if I was ever taken from her.
My soul would call her to Briarhollow if I left while she was out.
My courage to leave is tangled with her presence.
Not letting myself overthink it, I pick her up and lift the suitcase so the wheels don’t make noise on the wood.
Like a thief in the night, I sneak through my childhood home, the only one I’ve ever had, and don’t waste a moment on sentimentality. Not that there’s all that much to hold onto. For every happy memory outside of my bedroom, there are three I’d love to forget.
When I step outside, I close the front door as quietly as I can and let out a sigh of relief. The crisp night air prickles my skin, seeping through the thick sweater and long skirt I’m wearing. It feels good.
It feels like freedom.
I’m already off the porch when I hear quiet sniffling from around the corner.
Biting my lip, I look down at Hexate, and then at my old Volkswagon Bug parked at the curb. It’s only four a.m. but my mother runs on very little sleep, and sneaking out of her house was never an easy task.
The sound carries through the air again, this time with a raspy sob, and I know who it is before I round the corner.
“Agatha?” I whisper and squint through the moonlight.
She looks up from the swinging bench, cupping something small in her hands with tears running down her cheeks.
For the first time in my life, Agatha looks younger than me. She’s always been bigger than life in my mind. My heart cracks a fraction at the sight. When I take a step closer and see what—who—she’s holding, it crumbles.
With quick steps, I kneel in front of her and gently cup her hands, which are holding Thimble. He’s not moving and there’s a small pool of blood in her hands.
“What happened?” I ask, already positioning my hands over his body. I’m confident I can resurrect him, but I’ve never done this for a familiar before. I don’t know what happens to their bond if he dies, even for a few seconds.
She lets out another sob and shakes her head, trying to speak. Closing my eyes, I focus on Thimble and sense his life source. It only takes a second before I feel his weak heartbeat pulse through my body.
I don’t bother asking any other questions before I rise onto my knees and gently turn him on his back, still in Agatha’s hands. Her sobbing quiets and I can feel her eyes glued on me.
I’ve never been able to turn my back on a creature I can save—especially the small, harmless ones that are misunderstood. My spirit magic has never been pushed further than a few rabbits—not sure I could harness the power needed to perform a full resurrection—but I can do this.
With a deep breath, I blow a puff of air over him, offering him a fragment of my own life source.
For a creature as small as Thimble, I can hardly feel the drop of my essence drain from my body.
Other animals, like rabbits or birds, take a little more out of me.
It’s like when you open the front door on a cold winter morning and the chilly air slams into you.
It doesn’t linger like contact with a ghost does.
Our life force wavers, stronger some days than others, but it’s always there. At least until the fates decide.
Thimble’s legs twitch and he lets out a squeak, turning onto his side. “Renata,” Agatha says in a watery voice. The gratitude is evident, but her surprise is as well.
“I wouldn’t leave him to die,” I say, but don’t meet her eye. Taking another breath, I blow another puff of air over him, hoping to heal some of his injuries.
Agatha has better healing abilities than I do. My magic can bring someone back to life, but I can only fix mild ailments—and I’ve never been that skilled at potions or elixirs. It’s enough to ease his pain until she can clean him off and better assesses what’s wrong.
Sitting back, I watch her hold him to her chest and try not to shed more tears in front of me.
“Agatha,” I whisper. My tone is tired. Even a little harsh. “What happened?”
She looks around, embarrassed, before meeting my eye. That’s one thing I’ll give my sister—she never lacks courage, even when she’d rather hide.
“I was with Monty,” she admits.
I grimace, not hiding my reaction from her. Monty is her high-school sweetheart she’s perpetually on-and-off with. My parents never liked him, insisting he wasn’t good enough for Agatha. I agree wholeheartedly with both of them.
My mother’s opinion quickly changed once his father became Hemlocke’s mayor a few years after Dad passed away. After that, it didn’t matter what Agatha wanted anymore—only the power gain my mother saw for her legacy.
She ignores my reaction but continues, “He wanted to go to the Alechemy, so we did.” The local bar is the last place I’d expect to find Agatha, unless her personality drastically changed in the few years of distance between us. I doubt it.
“What did he do?” I ask flatly.
Monty has always been a hot-head. He’s never taken his anger out on Agatha, as far as I know. He does, however, love to start a fight. Unfortunately, he’s not as good at ending them.
“I don’t know—it all happened so quickly,” she admits with a small hiccup. “They were playing a game of poker with some college guys stopping through for the night when one of them accused Monty of cheating.”
He probably was, I think to myself but stay quiet.
“He got mad and threw his beer, then the other guy got mad and punched him. When he…” She bites her lip and actually looks scared to say the next words out loud.
“When he stood, he accidentally pushed my stool back. Thimble was in my pocket, but fell out when I did. Of course his boneheaded friends had to get involved, and I don’t know—someone must have stepped on him. ”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, not wanting to provoke Agatha when she’s being so honest with me.
“How long have you been out here?” I ask, still kneeling in front of her. “Alechemy closed at three.”
“A little over an hour,” she says in a small voice and finally breaks eye contact. “Monty was still reeling after we were kicked out and needed to ‘let out some steam.’ So he brought me here.”
I scoff in anger. It’s no surprise he left Agatha in distress. It makes me want to send a hex his way as a final goodbye.
“You should have come to get me,” I scold and stand.
She looks to the side, where Hexate is waiting by my suitcase. “Good thing I caught you on your way out, I guess.”
Her tone is disinterested but there’s a hint of hurt in her eyes that I try to ignore.
“I’m leaving,” I say.
She nods slowly, looking at me intently. Like she’s trying to remember what my face looks like—as I’m doing with hers.
“Good,” she says in a low voice. “You should leave.”
I’m unsure if it’s a grievance or encouragement, but I don’t let it affect my already waning nerves. I turn on my heel and grab my suitcase.
“And Renata,” she calls before I turn the corner to the porch steps, “Don’t come back.”
This time, her voice is quieter and filled with sincerity. There’s a hint of envy in there too.
My brows furrow, thinking back to the woman in my dream.
“I won’t,” I say. “And break up with Monty already—fuck him and his dad.”
She lets out a soft snort, but I don’t stay long enough to let her respond.