Chapter 21
21
ROMAN
J osephine hasn’t left my thoughts in two days.
“Are you going to say anything? We’ve already run three miles, and you’ve barely muttered two words.” Bram startles me out of my thoughts.
The two of us run together at least twice a week. Sometimes more if he’s feeling the darkness creeping in. He says the physical activity and pushing his body helps keep the anger at bay.
I’m not fit company today, though. I’ve been replaying every encounter I’ve had with Josephine in my head on a loop. Dissecting why she’s different. Trying to figure out what it means that I can touch her. Wondering about how her family is using their magic, which should be none of my business. Yet, I can’t stop thinking there’s something very wrong going on.
Of course, there is. We’re all cursed. And we simply accept that this is normal.
“How did we end up like this?” I’m sure that’s not the answer Bram’s expecting, but it’s a thought I can’t shake.
The rhythmic beat of our footfalls on the path through the woods is a comforting sound. Usually. Today my mind is swimming with too many questions, and it reminds me of a ticking clock. I wish I knew what it was counting down to.
“Well, for some of us, it’s genetics, but I won’t say that I don’t work hard for this.” Bram gestures toward his body, and I roll my eyes. It’s early morning, and the sun is just starting to filter through the bare branches of the trees. We’re running along the lake that’s part of the resort.
“Have you heard of magic sharing between family members?” I don’t bother acknowledging his ridiculous remark.
“What, like group spellwork?” Bram hops over a fallen log without missing a beat.
I slow to a walk, wiping my forehead with the hem of my shirt. At this rate, I’m going to trip over my own feet. That’s how distracted I am.
“Josephine mentioned that her family performs the new moon ceremony together. I’ve never heard of that before.”
“To be totally honest, we really don’t know what their coven does. For all we know, renewing their power as a family could be standard.” Bram jogs in place, like he’s not quite ready to walk.
“Maybe.” I hedge, not really believing that. We grew up hearing about the sanctimonious, puritanical Lumen coven. The judgmental bastards who look down their noses at us because our magic is different from theirs. Except that’s not been my experience with Josephine. Is she really an anomaly in her coven? Her friends were worried about her the other night. They cared enough to call me without hesitation. It spoke of an open-mindedness that I’ve always been told the Lumen coven doesn’t possess.
Then again, these pronouncements came from my coven, which is riddled with its own set of problems. It’s almost as if humanity can be full of shitty people, regardless of what side of the river they grow up on. Surprise.
“Did you ever ask your mom about your curse?” Talking about Bram’s mom is a sensitive affair, but I can’t ask my parents. They won’t tell me anything useful.
Bram stops in place, his hands braced on his waist. “Why are you asking?”
A flicker of dark shadows snakes across Bram’s eyes. It’s already cold enough out to see our breath, but the temperature drops another ten degrees.
I drag my hands through my hair, leaving them on the back of my head, and tipping it back to stare up at the lightening sky. “I feel like we’re missing something. With our curses. Why have we never tried to break them? I can’t believe that in hundreds of years, no one has tried to figure out how to break their curse.” As it is now, curses pass along to the next generation when the first child is born. It’s a shit deal, but people still need to procreate unless they want all the witching lines to disappear. Maybe they should.
“I’m sure someone has. That doesn’t mean they were successful,” Bram says. He hasn’t answered my question about his mom, and it’s clear he isn’t going to.
“You could always have a kid,” Bram tosses out as if it’s no big deal. Knowing any child of mine will be born with a curse is an ethical dilemma I’m not ready to have. When I don’t respond, Bram goes on. “This is about Josephine?”
I drop my hands and lower my gaze to look at my brother. In the last few years, we’ve started to grow apart. It doesn’t matter that we run together or that our offices are mere feet from each other. It’s been a challenge to keep the bitterness from growing, and I haven’t been entirely successful. To lose the ability to feel a soft touch, a comforting hand, or a lover’s kiss has turned me into an angry person. I know Bram’s curse affects him in different ways that are no less damaging. We should have been leaning on each other, but we rarely talk about our curses. That makes the reality of our situations too real.
But now there’s hope. The most dangerous emotion of them all. Besides, if I can so suddenly feel Josephine’s touch, couldn’t I lose it just as quickly?
“Why is it different with her?” The question is more for me than Bram.
“Why does it matter? Can’t you just enjoy the fact that you figured out a way to work around your curses? To know that there’s someone out there that can keep the twisted magic at bay.” It sounds like Bram is talking about my situation, but I know he’s thinking about his own worsening curse.
“I’m not trying to shit on a gift that’s fallen in my lap,” I snap and scrub my hand over my face and try to calm down. “It just strikes me as odd that we’ve never stopped to question our curses. The coven told us this is the way things are, and we’ve gone along with it all these years. We’re not mindless sheep, Bram. I think it’s time we start digging for better answers than the ones we’ve been getting.”
Bram stares at me for a long moment. A flicker of interest sparks in his eyes, but that darkness that lives inside him takes over when he blinks.
“We should get going.” He takes off before I can respond.
The run back is just as quiet as the way out.
The lobby of the Grand Mystic Resort is quiet—not surprising for a Tuesday morning. There are a few people checking out and a handful of others coming into the spa or to grab a coffee at the cafe. I’m still tangled in my thoughts when a cane slashes out and knocks against my shins. The sound is obscenely loud.
“What the hell?” I jump back and follow the end of the offending stick up into the smirking face of Agatha Fitzsimons.
“Crone. There are better ways to get a man’s attention.”
“As if I could catch your eye, Blackthorn. Sit.” She gestures at the chair across from her.
I look at my watch, more out of reflex than to see what time it is. “I really should be getting to my office.”
A vine from a nearby plant curls around the leg of the chair and yanks it out.
“Sit. You can make time for an old woman.”
I glance around the cafe. Did anyone see that demonstration of magic?
“Oh, don’t get your undies in a bunch. There aren’t any humans around. It’s fine.”
I sit down with a glare. “I feel like I’m rewarding a toddler for their bad behavior.”
Fitz chuckles, picking up her dainty cup of tea and taking a sip. “Or you just know when you’ve been defeated. You’re smarter than most of your family.” Fitz is wearing her typical matching sweatsuit; this time, it’s a unique mustard color. Her long braid curls over her shoulder and touches the top of the table.
I lean back in my chair, raising one eyebrow. I’m still distracted. My run didn’t do anything to clear my mind, but maybe stumbling into Fitz is fortuitous. She’s been around Mystic Hollows for over a century. She knows things.
“I saw you at the founders party.” Fitz’s skin is papery thin but mostly smooth except for the wrinkles around her eyes. A sign of her quickness to laugh and smile. Or smirk. That’s an expression she’s perfected.
“Yes. I remember. We spoke.” Maybe she’s more senile than I realized.
“No, dummy, I saw you at the Delvaux party. That Josephine is a beautiful girl. Shame her mother is such a raging bitch.”
I choke back a laugh and then narrow my eyes. The cafe has a counter where you order and pick up your drinks, but one of the workers appears at our table, batting her lashes.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackthorn. Would you like a drink? I’d be happy to get you anything you’d like.”
Fitz rolls her eyes and swipes out with her cane. The woman barely jumps back in time to avoid a whack to her knees. “If we wanted something, we’d get it ourselves.”
“I’m good, thank you.” I dismiss the woman with a bit less sharpness.
“Okay, well, just flag me down if you need anything.”
“Git. Go away.” Fitz pokes her cane at the woman. She jumps back and skitters away with a yelp.
“That was rude.”
“She’s the one who interrupted. As I was saying. Have you got a few more brain cells than the rest of your coven? Have you figured out Tenebris and Lumen are nothing more than names? That Josephine is a good match for you.”
“I didn’t take you for a romantic, Crone.”
The cane snaps against my shin again. I suck in a breath at the loud sound. It doesn’t hurt; I can’t feel a thing, but that doesn’t mean Fitz can smack me. My nostrils flare. “Was that necessary?”
“You seemed to forget you weren’t talking to one of your buddies. I’m not here to gossip about your crush or plan your wedding.”
“Why are you here?” I lean down and pull up my pant leg to look at my shin. That’s going to leave a bruise.
“For breakfast. Why else?” Fitz jerks her head toward her pastry and tea, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“I should let you get back to it before your tea gets cold.” I stand, eager to get away before she lands another smack. This time, the cane whips up, halting in front of my chest and stopping me before I can step away.
“You never ask the right questions.”
I examine the old woman’s face, wondering what I’m missing. A lot, if her exasperated look tells me anything.
“If I must spoon-feed you.” She sighs and takes a bite of her pain au chocolat. I wait for her to wash it down with a sip of her drink, my irritation growing by the second.
“Why are your curses subdued around each other?”
This is her idea of spoon-feeding me?
The blood drains out of my face. I lean down close enough that my whisper can be heard. “How do you know that?” Every word is enunciated and precise. Fitz pokes her finger against my forehead, pushing me back. I don’t feel the touch, which only makes me angrier. What is she playing at?
“I know lots of things, Roman Blackthorn. Stop treating this as though it’s a mirage that will disappear the moment you look into things. Find out why. Dig up the dirt, and maybe you’ll figure out the answer to more than one question.”