Chapter 7
Archer
Shooting up in bed, I try to catch my breath, but my twin sister Sybil comes crashing through my door at the same time.
Before she’s even spoken a word, I know she’s in one of her trances from the unfocused gaze that’s currently set on the wall behind me. Her prophetic magic is some of the strongest I’ve ever heard of.
Her powers are what most Divination Witches dream of. As we’ve gotten older, I see the downsides to such magic and why it’s not to be carelessly envied either.
“Sybil?” I gently push once my consciousness has let go of my dream world and moves back into this one—the real one without the faceless woman.
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I take the time to rub the sleep from my eyes and glance at the clock. It’s not even five a.m. I release the firm hold I keep on my magic and let it probe through the space between us. I pick up on her tell-tale apathy when she’s in this state.
My magic always wants to wrap around her and bring warmth back to her spirit. I don’t let it, ashamed at the thought of manipulating her emotions.
It doesn’t scare me when she’s in this state—not anymore at least—but there’s a strange hollowness in my chest when Sybil’s emotions are so empty. Despite her quiet nature, she feels everything and our twin bond makes her emotions the easiest for me to pick up on.
“We need to leave,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. There isn’t an ounce of fear in her voice. It’s laced mostly with confusion, but that’s normal for her current state.
Too many things are going through my mind, so I don’t make a move to get out of bed.
Something is calling us to them, though I have no idea what.
The energy was niggling at me as I watched the faceless woman lie down and rest next to me.
It was a whisper in the wind, finding me even in my subconscious, demanding I leave.
After a month away from her, I fought off my instincts for another minute—maybe an hour if I was so lucky. Anxiety kept me rooted in place, unwilling to wake and lose her again. I’m to blame for that but never again.
“Now, Archer,” Sybil tacks on sharply.
Not even her magic could hide that familiar annoyance reserved only for me and our other three siblings.
Our family doesn’t understand Sybil’s magic as well as I do. Not only are we twins, but we are the first Divination Witches born in our maternal family in the past five generations.
“Oh,” she turns around suddenly and places a small stack of tarot cards on the dresser next to the door. “I think these are for you.”
Throwing the comforter off, I reluctantly climb out of bed and grab the cards.
The Chariot—indicating a new journey. One that is written in the stars and cannot be avoided. The best course of action is to push forward, to see this new path to the very end.
Ace of Cups—a reminder that it’s time to let go of the emotional baggage and start living my life for myself. It’s a sign of hope that a long period of loneliness is finally coming to an end.
And the Hanged Man—the most worrying of all three cards. A great sacrifice will need to be made. Often spiritual, but it’s time to pay for previous wrongdoings.
Peculiar draw…
The first card is easy enough to figure out since Sybil and I woke up with the same awareness that something—someone—is calling us to them.
However, the Ace of Cups and the Hanged Man could mean a million things.
A part of me is anxious that the “baggage” I need to let go of is the faceless woman, in hopes of meeting someone else.
There’s no question that whatever Sybil is seeing is true. She’s never been wrong about one of her prophecies.
On an average day, Sybil’s magic aligns with the humans’ idea of a fortune-teller. She doesn’t need assistance to make predictions but she’s fond of tarot and astrology. Otherwise, our magic is similar.
However, they aren’t identical. She sees prophecies.
Some come to her in dreams, and we aren’t sure what they mean until it comes to fruition.
Those types usually involve people or events outside of our family’s coven.
When she’s in her prophetic trances, she’s drawn to the source of her vision and it’s more personal to her, or sometimes to me.
When we were kids and she’d come out of her third one, she explained it like hunting for a treasure and only having one of those maps with the dotted line and X to mark the spot. She’s stuck in this limbo of awareness and instinct.
Prophecies of any kind are less common for me, though they happen on extremely rare occasions while I’m dreaming.
My powers lean toward a natural sense of perception. They give me a certain level of charisma that most Divination Witches don’t have; most are often characterized as awkward and spacey.
I can’t read people’s minds, but I’m able to sense their emotions and read their body language.
Sometimes, I might as well have access to their thoughts.
Sensing emotions isn’t my only ability. I can control them, to an extent.
Depending on my intentions, I can tamper down or heighten someone’s emotions.
To sum it up, my magic allows me to emotionally manipulate the people around me. It makes dating hard, to say the least.
For some unknown reason, the faceless woman from my dreams is even more of a problem for my attachment issues than trying to explain my magic to a partner.
I rub a hand down my face, trying to swipe the remaining sleep and memories of her away.
It doesn’t work.
It never does.
Sybil and I have dreamwalked with each other for as long as I can remember, and as I got older, my powers grew along with my ability. I often stumbled across random people’s dreams and nightmares until I gained better control over it. It’s something no Divination Witch can ever truly master.
About five months after we turned seventeen, I came across a woman with an obscured face who had no voice—at least not one I could hear. The setting of our dreamscape has always been the same and exclusive to her.
It’s a cruel nightmare every time I find her there.
To see the person I’ve spent the last eleven years with but can’t speak to—can’t even see her.
That’s not the part that fucks with my head.
It’s the hold she has on me regardless. There have been partners over the years—men and women—and I’ve even loved some of them.
I’ve never been in love with any of them, because there’s a piece of my soul stuck in my illicit dreams. The only reason I classify them as such is because of how often I’ve been more excited to sit in the hours of silence with her than I was to see my actual partners.
Which leads to disappointment when I wake next to someone who isn’t her.
And that’s really fucked up, especially with all the added complications of the situation.
Turning the shower on, I step in as soon as the water is spraying and don’t wait for it to heat up. The bitter cold is a good reality check after a night with her—and the shock to my nervous system I need to get my head on straight.
The unexplainable hold she has on me is exactly why I’ve done everything I can to not find her in our dreams for the last couple of months.
It took an extreme amount of effort, and I had to give up restful sleep, but it was the only way to start my life—and to have some possibility of a life with someone.
It wasn’t the exhaustion beginning to weigh on my bones that pushed me to let my guard down and get the rest I needed.
I just missed her.
And I was worried. There’s always a strong layer of despondency lingering under her other emotions—no matter how happy or content she is some nights, it’s there.
Just like last night. Buried under the anger and betrayal, sadness clung to her like a cat’s claws.
There’s no way to be sure, but from the way she bowed over, holding her head in her hands, and the dry, ashy taste of grief that coated my throat, she was crying.
It became clear that the weird limbo we’re stuck in is better than avoiding her.
Right now, I don’t have time to think about it. Or her.
Part of my perception includes the ability to see when there are big changes coming. Like my sister, I don’t always understand exactly what that means until I find it. Something in my gut is tugging me out of this house and town.
My mom gently holds my cheeks and looks me in the eye with a somber expression. There are many unspoken words flitting across her expression, but she’ll never voice them.
If only because she knows how important it is for Sybil and me to follow our powers—to trust them.
As a Hearth Witch, like the rest of our siblings, my mom doesn’t quite understand this wanderlust that has plagued Sybil and me our entire lives.
It’s the curse of Divination Witches—to always be searching for more, for what comes next, until we finally land where the fates want us.
My mom’s and siblings’ natural instincts are to build a home, or maybe a tavern, apothecary, or healing clinic like the one she runs from our house. It’s their innate need to take care of those around them.
Our father’s side of the family are a long, respected line of Hearth and Green Witches.
They’ve owned the apothecary in Junimere since it was established.
He doesn’t have any magical abilities—it happens randomly throughout generations—but Sybil and I have always felt like he had his own capabilities, even if they’re not strong enough to result in his own powers.
Maybe it’s her magic, or because she’s our mother, but she’s always sensed what Sybil and I needed, and has never made us feel any less a part of the family than our siblings. That’s not always the case for all Divination or Gray Witches.
“You’ll take care of each other?” she asks.
Nodding, I promise, “We always do.”
“I know, dear,” she murmurs, a single tear sliding down her aged cheek. “I’m going to miss you. Your father and I have accepted that this wouldn’t be your home forever.”
A small ache starts in my chest. “This will always be our home,” I insist.
“Yes, because your father and I are here. But you both need to find your home—where you can thrive. That’s not here.”
“I’m not even sure that’s what we’re searching for right now,” I admit, suddenly reluctant.
“I do,” she says in a resolute, firm voice. “I don’t need your powers to know that—a mother’s intuition is the strongest type of magic.”
With a small smile, I wrap my arms around her and place a soft kiss on her head. She smells like evergreen trees and candied apples. I wish I could bottle it so I’d have her comfort wherever we end up.
“I think I’m going to need a little help letting you two go,” she murmurs and tightens her arms around me.
Understanding what she means, I pull back and look down at her. “Mom, I can’t.”
“Your magic is a gift, Archer, not a flaw,” she reminds me for the millionth time in my life.
With a sigh, I let my magic loose between us.
She’s filled with grief and loneliness, already feeling the weight of our absence before we’ve left.
Underneath it is a thick, strong current of pride.
I focus on that, bringing it to the forefront, and let mine and Sybil’s love for her be a balm to the ache in her heart.
I pick up something else, much more subtle. Curiosity and longing. It’s projected toward my twin and me, like she’s aware of this force calling us away, but she doesn’t have the need to follow it herself.
We hold each other for a long moment before she moves to Sybil, holding her and whispering something in her ear.
She’s still in the prophetic trance, but there’s more recognition as my mom’s words and protective charms settle over her. Without saying anything, she holds my mom by her shoulders and just stares at her.
My mom doesn’t break eye contact, communicating in that silent way only our mother has ever been able to do.
By the time we get in the car and drive away, it’s unceremonious to leave the last twenty-eight years of our life behind. Neither of us turn back.