Chapter 6 #2
“I…fuck.” Morgan swears softly under her breath and gets to her feet. “Listen, Gwenna, I’m the wrong person to tell you all this. You should talk to someone. Emrys. When you’ve gotten some rest.”
“Emrys?” I echo. My Latin professor. My former Latin professor, I amend. So he’s all part of this too…somehow.
“Yeah,” Morgan says. She steps over to the coat rack, grabs a long pea coat and stuffs one arm into it. “He should know you’re back by now. Said he’ll be in his classroom tomorrow if you want to stop by, and he’ll explain what he can.”
Explain. The prospect is tantalizing and grounding all at once, and I’m just starting to feel the faintest glimmer of reassurance when I realize what Morgan’s doing.
Bundling up. By the door. Like she’s leaving.
Because she is leaving.
“Wait.” I frown. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“I’m…” Now it’s Morgan’s turn to bite her lip. “Dammit.” She sighs. “I…have to go out.”
“Out?” I say, a little forlornly. “Now?”
I’m as much confused as I am hurt. She’s not dressed for a party—not even remotely. And it’s past midnight, easily. Far beyond even fashionably late.
She nods. “I wish it could wait, but…you know.”
I give my head a slow shake. I don’t know.
“Because it’s a full moon,” Morgan elaborates. “And it won’t be for much longer.”
And that matters because? I think. “So you’re a…werewolf?”
Morgan pauses. Then she laughs—and groans.
“No. No. I’m…I’m a witch, Gwenna. Okay?”
I blink.
“A witch?” I repeat. Stupidly.
“Yeah,” Morgan says, scooping her long waves of hair from under the jacket collar. “Magic. Spells. Blessings and hexes, potions and perfumes—”
It’s all real. Magic. Miracles. The holy spirit. Whatever the fuck you want to call it.
That’s what Kai had said. The last night I was here.
But also…
The tea.
That scent in the director’s office.
All of Morgan’s weird little mystical trinkets and trappings.
It’s not just for aesthetics. For show.
It’s real.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” she goes on, stuffing a foot into a boot. “I really am. I know you’re already so mad at the four of them for not telling you things, and you should be, but—”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m not mad.”
Morgan pauses, one boot on, and looks at me. “Really?”
I pause, give myself a second to truly inventory my feelings.
I should be mad. I could be mad. No one would blame me for being pissed that my friend kept such a massive secret from me.
But…
But no. I’m not mad. Not at Morgan. This is different—what she did is different.
What they did was…
I can’t finish the thought.
This is different, is all.
“Yeah,” I say. “Really.”
Relief rushes over Morgan’s pretty features. “Thank goddess,” she says. “Anyway, I’m sorry about this, but it’s a full moon, so I have to go…”
“…do witchy shit?” I finish for her. Morgan cackles.
“In so many words,” she says. “Technically, I have to charge up these bad boys.” She holds open her jacket like a shady back-alley dealer presenting his wares, revealing a host of tiny bottles filled with clear liquid.
“It’s just water. For moon water. But I obviously can’t put it off any longer, so… ”
“Go,” I say, waving her away. “I’m fine.”
“You’re absolutely not fine,” Morgan says, buttoning her jacket back up. “But I will.” She nods at the rest of the suite. “Just…try to relax, okay? Take a shower, get some sleep.”
A shower. A real shower, with hot water that doesn’t run out, and no counselors watching me to make sure I don’t try to off myself with my Gillette Daisy.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. Morgan nods back, cinches a scarf around her neck, and points at the tea in my hands.
“Finish that, too,” she commands, jingling around for her keys. “It’ll make you feel much better, and—oh!”
She skids to a stop in her own doorframe.
There’s someone out there.
Not just someone.
Callahan.
His face is serious, almost grim, and yet I can’t help but notice how handsome he is, like it’s been so long since I’d seen his face that my brain needs to process it all over again.
Broad jaw, full lips, loose waves falling over his forehead and grazing the top of his glasses. A Renaissance statue come to life.
Immediately, Morgan puts her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?” She darts a glance back at me, like she’s checking that I’m okay. “Did we leave something in the car?”
“I…no, you didn’t.” Callahan shakes his head. He’s still in his coat, although it’s unbuttoned, and he’s not exactly in front of the door like he was waiting for us, more…off to the side. “I’m here to…keep watch over you.”
Morgan scoffs. “Callahan O’Brian, I am a grown woman and perfectly capable of going into the woods without—”
“Not you,” Callahan clarifies. And glances at me. “Gwenna.”
Morgan opens her mouth, closes it, and looks from Callahan to me. My heart thrums up in my chest again despite the heaviness weighing down all of my limbs. “What?” I manage. “Keep watch?”
It’s so ludicrous a concept, a phrase, that I genuinely think I must have misheard him.
But Callahan just nods. His hands are clasped behind his back, I notice. Like a soldier at attention.
“Why on earth—” Morgan clutches her keys, then groans. “Was this Kingston’s idea?”
“No,” Callahan says. “Not—it was all of ours.”
The thought of all four of them, together, talking about me, makes my face flame. Suddenly, I feel strangely self-conscious, like I’m overhearing a parent-teacher conference I’m not meant to be privy to. I fold my arms over my stomach, less defiant and more…protective.
“What? What for? There’s nothing that could—”
“I—excuse me,” Callahan says, ducking his head slightly when he realizes he’s interrupted. But Morgan pauses, so he continues. “You know what for.”
Again, he glances at me.
“What’s going on?” I say, my voice suddenly high and thin.
“I can’t…” Callahan looks pained. Like there’s more he wants to say, but can’t. Or won’t. “We just want to make sure you’re safe,” he finishes.
That does it. One simple, utilitarian reason and I just…
I can’t stomach it, almost. Can’t handle it.
Sure, Morgan said the same thing before, but that didn’t affect me the same way.
No one’s ever cared if I’m safe.
Not primarily. Not as the full-stop, be-all-end-all, alpha-and-omega goal in and of itself.
Calm, yes. Complacent, sure. Seen and not heard. That’s what people wanted for me. I’d be safe as a result, certainly: at school, at Renfrew, wherever.
But caring for my safety, about my safety…
No one does that.
“…one single step out of line and I’ll hex your bloodline into oblivion,” Morgan finishes up, inches from Callahan’s face. She glances at me. Then him. Then me. “I’ve really got to go,” she says. “I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s fine,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’m just going to…shower. And bed.” I nod a few times for emphasis.
“Okay,” Morgan says. She throws Callahan one last look, and to his credit, he doesn’t take the bait. Just presses his lips together and nods in understanding.
“Good night, Morgan.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor as he says it. “Good night, Gwenna.”
I don’t answer. I…can’t answer.
The door clicks shut.