Chapter 13 Dean #2
Missy reaches for another star but her gaze slips backs to my face. She lowers her hand. “Or, is it not? Real, I mean.”
“It’s real.”
“The entire town?”
“Runs on magic, yes.”
“And your actual job is?”
I swallow hard, hands fisted in my pockets. Here’s the moment of truth. “Head Warlock of Magnolia Cove.”
She mouths the word ‘warlock,’ eyes wide.
I steel myself. I’m a complicated person to imagine dating even for magical beings—most find my power intimidating, my dedication to rules frustrating.
For a human musician who values freedom and creativity, who still has an entire world of stages and spotlights ahead of her…
She crosses to me and presses her lips against mine. I’m almost afraid to touch her, certain this can’t be real. The shock will wear off. The panic will come.
“Missy, aren’t you afraid?”
She looks up at me, mischief and starlight dancing in her eyes. “Would it make you feel better if I was? I’m a mediocre actress but I’ll give it a try.”
Her eyes go comically wide as she clutches her hand to her chest. “Oh no,” she gasps with all the dramatic flair of the lead actress in a middle school play.
“Magic! How terrifying! What shall I do?” She pretends to swoon, then ruins the effect by giggling.
“Was that scared enough? I can try screaming if you’d prefer, but the acoustics in here seem excellent. I’d hate to deafen you.”
The laugh that bursts from me feels like breaking chains. I pull her into my arms, spinning her through starlight until we’re both dizzy with it.
We end up on the floor by the telescope, my back against the wall and Missy curled against my chest. I tell her everything I can—how Magnolia Cove’s food and scenery pulse with magic that subtly enhances them, how wards keep most humans from noticing but there are exceptions like her and Alex, how we have an observatory because magic runs on seasonal changes and planetary alignment.
While she was studying music theory in college, I was learning astrology and magical law.
I explain about Emma, about magical children who can’t leave magical pocket communities unless they master their powers.
How there are some members of our community who want to see her rise into magical leadership, but I don’t want that forced on her.
I want her to follow her passion if possible.
But sometimes, for people like us, magical beings who can access so much, it isn’t possible.
“When did you start playing?” she asks, fingers tracing patterns on my arm.
“After my magic manifested. My parents thought learning to resonate with it might help me control my powers.” I offer a half-smile at the memory.
It didn’t help as much as they’d hoped, but maybe they were on to something.
Missy’s playing certainly steadies my abilities.
“I mostly used it to annoy Nell with terrible covers.”
“I can’t imagine you playing terrible covers.”
“I was very committed to being misunderstood.”
Her laughs make the stars dance, and I wonder what she does to the magic. About all the things I don’t know. About the future she’s opened up to me I’ve never considered before. Her next question makes my breath catch, though.
“Was that why you couldn’t tell me before? About Nell? Because whatever happened involved magic?”
I force myself to meet her gaze. “Yes. Nell fell in love with a human her senior year of high school. He had a… normal reaction to learning about magic.”
“Oh?” Her lips twitch. “You mean he didn’t give you an amateur dramatic performance?”
“Your acting is terrible,” I say, but then the humor drains from my voice.
“He panicked. Spread the information quickly. Our Head Warlock was away, and we didn’t have time for a careful solution.
” I pause, jaw tightening. “You have to understand—when word gets out about magic, it never ends well. Humans don’t typically respond with wonder.
They respond with fear. And fear turns into control. Containment. Violence.”
I meet her eyes. “We’ve seen it happen across continents, across centuries.
One town whispers about miracles, and the next week they’re burning witches or jailing anyone with magical affinity.
” I pause, the words bitter on my tongue and tainted with the sting of mint-flavored memory magic.
“We can’t risk exposure… even if it came from the person my sister was dating. ”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “They asked you to handle it?”
I swallow hard. Nod. “I was twenty and barely learning to control my power.” A bitter laugh escapes.
“Sometimes I think I may never truly master it. I needed to use memory magic, but I… I cut too deep. Instead of erasing specific memories, I took years. Nell lost her entire circle of friends in one night. Because of me.”
“Dean.” She touches my cheek, her fingers impossibly gentle. “That wasn’t your fault. You were practically a kid, and others made those decisions. You did the best you could.”
I brush hair back from her forehead, marveling at how she can take a decade of guilt and make it feel lighter.
“Maybe. But I broke my sister’s heart. I had migraines for weeks after using that much high-level magic.
When I finally came out of the haze, I saw what I’d done to her.
She didn’t just lose her boyfriend—she lost her entire world.
Her friends didn’t recognize her anymore. How do you come back from that?”
She leans into my touch, starlight still gleaming in her eyes. “Maybe you start by forgiving yourself.”
The simple words hit harder than any magical act.
I pull her closer, breathing in her sweet scent and press a kiss to the top of her head.
I’d love to imagine a world that’s as simple and trusting as her words.
It doesn’t exist, though. Nell made it clear the last time I saw her that the only road to healing for her was to never see me again.
“Playing the guitar is something you did with Nell?” she asks, whisper soft.
“Yes.” My voice has gone hoarse. She’s dredging up painful memories long buried, but I somehow know she’ll handle them with care.
“I didn’t realize what a gift you’d given me when you shared your playing, Dean. Thank you.” I look down at her and kiss her. She sighs before speaking again. “Maybe playing more could be the first step to forgiving yourself.”
“Maybe.”
She smiles, but it’s gentle. “Do you think you might play more, then?”
“Only for you.”
The words slip out raw, and honest, like everything about us has become. Maybe she has a point. Getting to know her has changed me—changed how I see myself. The rigid walls I’ve maintained, the isolation I’ve chosen, it all seems less necessary now.
Maybe I’m becoming something new. A caterpillar ready to wake with new wings.