Chapter 11
11
JOSEPHINE
M y phone has been burning a hole in my pocket for the past week. I added Roman Blackthorn’s number the second I got home and threw away his card like it had teeth. Then I fished it out of the garbage and compared it to the number I’d input to make sure I hadn’t entered any digits wrong. After which, I threw the card away again. Only to retrieve it one more time. I ended the whole indecisive fiasco by hiding the slip of paper at the very back of my underwear drawer.
Did I text him? No.
Do I have any plans to text him? Ugh, I don’t know.
Why didn’t I give him my number? That way, the ball would be in his court. Now, I’m the one completely responsible for deciding whether we hook up. Because, let’s face it, that’s exactly what this is. I wouldn’t be sending him a message to get to know him or flirt. It would be a green flag that I’m down to fuck. Which my body is one hundred percent on board with. My brain is also very clinically telling me to get some. My heart, however, is a hesitant bitch.
I’m not sure I’m the kind of person who can casually have sex and not get attached. How could it be more than that? We’re literally from two different sides of the river. Our covens have taught us to stay away from each other. There’s no future for us.
“Why do you keep looking at your phone?” Ava’s lying on my couch in a pair of baggy shorts and an oversized I love New York T-shirt. She’s officially moved into Stellan’s apartment but is at my place or Piper’s half the time.
She’s restless. Any time Stellan isn’t home, Ava is knocking on one of our doors. Not that I mind. She’s always good company, but I’m worried about her. She’s putting on a good front, but there’s a distant look that sneaks into her eyes and worries me. Her curse is a different kind of torture.
To be forgotten.
Right now, it takes a long time for us to forget Ava, but if she goes weeks without seeing us, the memory of her starts to fade. Eventually, it will only take days, and then minutes. She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know it’s always in her thoughts.
I haven’t told her what happened with Roman last weekend. Piper won’t say anything. That woman is a vault. You tell her a secret, and she will take it to her grave. Ava will blab to Stellan the second she gets hold of any information. It’s been on the tip of my tongue to tell her a dozen times this week, but I don’t know how to drop it into conversation.
Ava sits up and shifts over to the corner, giving me a clear no-touch zone on the couch.
“Spill. You’ve been on the verge of telling me something all week. What is it?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Ava has empathic magic. She can read people’s moods and auras. If she digs deep enough, which she rarely does because it’s an invasion of privacy, she can determine their motivations.
The TV is playing an action show with a massive beast of a man beating up a bunch of people. The volume is almost all the way down, though, so I only catch an occasional grunting sound.
“I hooked up with Roman Blackthorn Saturday night.” I expel the words in a rush of air.
“What?” Ava screeches, and a pillow hits my face in the next second. “You kept that from me for a solid week? How? When? Where?” She wiggles her fingers in the air. “Just lay out all the important details, especially the one that explains how the hell you were able to touch him.” Ava’s up on her knees. Her eyes are lit with an excitement I haven’t seen since before Jamie the fuck face cheated on her.
“Ah…I’m not going to answer the how part, but, um…my parents’ house. The night of the founders parties. I don’t know why, but I can touch him without pain.” My voice dwindles down to a whisper.
“Jojo,” Ava says softly, and I tear up.
“I know.” I swallow thickly and look at the TV for a distraction. Wow, that man’s thighs are thick.
“How is that possible? Is your curse broken?”
After a week of my mother inflicting her painful touch at every opportunity, I can confidently confirm that my curse is as present as ever. I shake my head.
“Still, this is incredible. We need to figure out why?” Ava’s hands are clutched to her chest.
“Why?” I frown. Like, why would Roman hook up with me? Or…
“Yes. Are the curses failing? I mean, I’m pretty sure mine is just as strong as ever, but maybe yours is going away.”
I give her a sad smile. As much as I wish that were the case, I don’t think it’s what’s happening. I’ve been thinking about it all week, desperate to find some answers. “What do you know about our curses?”
“Like, our specific family curses?” Ava settles back into the couch, propping her bare feet on the coffee table. I don’t know how she’s not freezing. It’s nearly Thanksgiving and there’s been a cold snap with temps close to zero for the last few days. My apartment is drafty and poorly insulated.
“No. I mean, the curses in general. Why do we have them in the first place?” My question is directed at myself as much as Ava.
“We all know the story of the Briar Witch.”
“Do we, though?” I sit up, an itch to find out more, making me antsy.
“What are you thinking?” Ava watches me as I push off the couch.
“How do you feel about stopping by Fitz’s house?”
“This is a bad idea. We should have baked something, or brought her chocolate, or a plant. Old people like that ribbon candy that clumps together into one giant lump. We should have brought that.” Ava fidgets next to me as I lift the knocker on Agatha Fitzsimons’ front door. She lives in a home just outside of the city limits. Her house is outside any land claimed by one of the two covens. It’s a sweet French rustic style house with a natural stone exterior, an arched doorway, and sloped roofs. Despite the fact that it’s November, overflowing flower boxes adorn the windows of the picturesque cottage. Fitz has an affinity for the elements and there’s no question these plants are magically boosted.
“How am I the calm one in this situation?” I ask, then slam the knocker three times. I’m not really all that serene inside, but I’m definitely in better shape than Ava.
“She scares me,” Ava whispers just as the door opens.
“You’re smart to be scared, girl.” Fitz cackles at the look on Ava’s face. “Best get inside before someone sees you hovering on my doorstep. You never know what kind of trouble you’ll be inviting if you’re seen with the likes of me.” With that, she turns away from us, leaving me and Ava to step inside her house. I can’t help but look around, wondering if someone really is watching us. Amazing how a suggestion can plant a fear like that in your head when it didn’t exist before.
Fitz is wearing a matching velour jogging suit and her feet are covered by a pair of Spiderman slippers. Her long white hair is tied back in a thick braid. Fitz’s house is everything I imagine a witch’s house to be. It’s crammed with books. Shelves are lined with bottles of dried herbs, and bundles of flowers and bones tied together with red string. There are candles on every surface, and that’s just what we can see in the living room. The couch is good quality, but it’s definitely older than me. There’s a rocking chair facing a wood-burning stove, but Fitz walks us past all of that. We follow her through the house to the back door and outside.
The garden is breathtaking. It’s not huge, but large evergreens form a perimeter around the yard, creating a natural privacy fence. There’s a small patio with a table and chairs. Stone pathways shoot off the patio and meander through the flowers. Like the front of the house, everything back here is fully in bloom. A spectacular array of colors that are both chaotic yet soothing.
“What do I owe the honor of a visit from houses Delvaux and Vandenberg?” Fitz asks as she takes one of the seats around the wrought-iron table.
Ava and I look at each other. Her eyes widen at me, as if to say, this was your idea, you talk . Except now I’m wondering if this was a mistake.
“Don’t get shy now. You already did the hard part and knocked on the door. Ask your questions.” Fitz kicks off the ground with the toe of one slippered foot, causing her chair to glide back and forth slowly.
“We wanted to learn more about the curses, Miss Fitzsimons.” I’m proud that my voice doesn’t waiver at all.
For a second it looks like Fitz is ecstatic, but as soon as I blink her face is back to its usual bored mask. She hums and picks up a bundle of twigs from the table. Her fingers mess with the sticks, rearranging and organizing them. I don’t know how she’s not frozen. I’m bundled up in a coat, scarf, mittens, and I’m still chilled. She must have a spell that allows her to sit out in the cold without feeling it.
“Call me Fitz. I only make people I hate call me Miss Fitzsimons. And my accountant. He’s an asshole and could use a good humbling. And sit down. I don’t need you staring down at me like a pair of dense birds. Don’t those good-for-nothing covens teach you children basic manners anymore? I know your daft parents certainly don’t.”
Ava and I sit down, and she gives me an accusing stare before exaggeratedly turning to look at Fitz’s hands working the bundle of sticks. One of the nearby flowers snaps at Ava’s fingers and she yelps before sitting up straighter. Fitz chuckles under her breath.
“Go on. Tell me what you know.”
Ava licks her lips and recites the story that we’ve been told since we were children. About the young witch who stole the heirloom and threw it into the river. Which in turn led to the covens cursing each other.
Fitz snorts and looks up at us, her fingers still working on her creation. “Are they still peddling that bullshit?”
I lean forward. “If that’s not true, then what really happened?”
“I know I’m old, girl, but I’m not that old. It’s not like I was around when the Briar Witch was thrown in the river and the covens were cursed.”
“But you’ve heard a different story?” Ava prompts, looking less nervous as her interest gets the better of her.
“Perhaps. I’ve been around a while. I’ve heard lots of stories.”
“Any that you want to share with us?” I prompt.
“Use your brains,” Fitz says, like we’re idiots. “What was the name of the witch? What was this magical heirloom she supposedly stole?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. They only ever call her the Briar Witch.”
Fitz looks unimpressed. The bottom of her slipper scuffs against the ground. “Did you know that there weren’t always two covens in town? That Tenebris and Lumen used to be one big happy family.”
“What?” Ava blurts out, just as I say, “Really? But I thought the two covens cursed each other.”
The ancient woman hums again. Her gaze floats down to her sticks, which look a lot like a little doll. She’s wrapping twine around the bundle, which very clearly has arms, legs, and a head now. “The Lumen coven worships the Maiden, do they not?”
Ava and I nod. Growing up, we were taught that magic has several manifestations: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. Our coven worships the purity of the Maiden, the innocence of light magic. It’s what allows me to use my healing power and Ava her empathic abilities. They’re all gifts of the Maiden. The Tenebris coven worships the Mother, which is why their magic is dark. The Mother desires obedience and punishes when her needs aren’t met.
The Crone is a symbol of what happens when magic is abused. The loss of vitality because of a misuse of power. No one worships the Crone. She’s like the devil in Christianity. A warning about what happens when we’re too proud or abuse our magic.
“Many covens outside Mystic Hollows don't believe the Maiden to be better than the Mother, or that the Crone is evil. They understand them to be manifestations of power at different points in our life, or even different aspects of ourselves.”
I try to wrap my head around that statement, but I don’t know how to reconcile it with what I know. The Lumen coven uses light magic, led by the Maiden. All the witches in our coven have light magic. The Tenebris coven has dark magic and is led by the Mother. If the Maiden, Mother, and Crone are simply the representation of magic at different points in our lives, or various pieces of our identity, then why do we only worship the Maiden or the Mother?
“It’s said that when the founders first settled in Mystic Hollows, there was only one coven. It’s thought that disagreements on how to handle the curses created a rift. The two sides split and formed the covens as we know them today. They moved away from worshiping the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. What a shame.”
“Why is it a shame?” Ava flinches as she speaks like she’s expecting a caustic reply, but Fitz chuckles.
“Because your magic is incomplete. There are gifts to be given by all three of the triad. I mean, when was the last time you heard of a fated bond happening between two witches?” Fitz points a crooked finger at me. Fated bonds? Really? “What are you missing out on because you’re only focusing on one facet of your magic?”
I sink back and lower my eyes. Why does it feel like I’ve personally done something wrong? I shake off the sensation. While that’s fascinating and blowing my mind a little, something else Fitz said sparks a question. “But in the story of the Briar Witch, it’s said that the covens are fighting.” I pause. “Doesn’t it?”
“No.” Fitz barks out. “The story, which is just that, mind you, says that the powerful families of Mystic Hollows were fighting.”
“Wait, what do you mean there were disagreements on how to handle the curses?” Ava swats at a vine that keeps creeping over her knee.
Fitz smiles at the two of us. “Caught that, did you? Ironically, despite the way the covens split, one worshiping the Maiden, the other the Mother, both covens have maintained the very same method of dealing with the curses that their parents used and their parents before them. I’d even say they’re not all the different from one another.”
Fitz pulls out a small stuffed cloth tomato full of pins. She slowly extracts a long needle with a red pearl on the end. With a giggle, she jabs it into her doll of sticks and straw. I stiffen, and Ava turns to gape at me.
Fitz just made a voodoo doll. Who the hell is the victim?
“I don’t understand...” I hesitate.
“Don’t worry, she deserves it.” Fitz waves around the doll.
I clear my throat. “I mean, about the handling of the curses? Are you saying there’s a cure?”
“Do you ever spend time looking through the old grimoires at the coven house? There are some really enlightening entries in some of the older books. You young people always forget your history. There’s much to be learned from the past. Fitz stands abruptly, much more spry than I’d expect from someone her age. She drops the doll on her seat and makes a shooing gesture.
“That’s enough visiting for now. Go away.”
Ava stands up and immediately falls on her face. “What the hell?” Her voice is muffled by the ground.
Vines are curled around her ankles, tying them to the chair. Fitz starts laughing as Ava kicks free, losing a shoe in the process.
“Why?” she huffs as she swipes up her shoe and stuffs her foot back inside before standing up.
“Just a little reminder. Sometimes the things that hold us back are sneaky sons of a bitches.”
I don’t know which one of us the reminder is aimed at. Maybe both of us.
“Yeah. Sure. Okay. Thanks, I guess.” Ava brushes off her clothes, inching away from Fitz.
The two of us hurry out the garden gate, nearly escaping before Fitz shouts after us. “Don’t come back until you’ve found something interesting to share.”
About what? The Briar Witch? The notion that the Maiden, Mother, and Crone are all different aspects of our magic? Or that Lumen and Tenebris used to be one coven? Or how about the fact that they split because of a disagreement over our curses? Which makes it sound like there’s something that could be done about them. I can barely think.
“We should have baked something,” Ava mumbles as soon as the gate shuts behind us.