4
Tristan
Two women, who are absolutely and without a doubt witches, spend the afternoon and early evening walking around my house, burning sage and incense, muttering to each other in low tones about energy and vibes.
I never really thought much about my energy, but according to the witches– Kitty and Mickey– my house is full of sadness and longing.
Honestly, I can’t really argue about that, but I’d rather it be a little less obvious.
Even a dead man needs a little pride.
My house is full of people and noise. There are probably a dozen folks from town helping Demi move in.
A woman with wild red hair barks orders at the lot of them, and Demi watches in quiet amusement as everyone follows the commands.
I’ve learned the redhead is named Blue and she’s Demi’s sister.
The witches are Demi’s aunts, and the rest of them are curious Ivy Hollow residents using move-in day as an excuse to explore my house.
Except the tall guy with the neck tattoo. He only has eyes for Blue and follows her around, hanging on her every word. She barely notices him—poor guy.
I’m not much better. I find myself following Demi and her gigantic cat around.
It keeps looking at me, purring or tilting its head with an almost curious expression.
Those golden eyes are so aware, they unnerve me.
I feel exposed, like somehow that cat will anthropomorphize itself just to tell Demi I’m here, creeping around behind her.
Along with Blue, Demi supervises a group of guys who carry a huge bed up to the primary bedroom on the second floor. It’s a beautiful, four-poster bed with intricate filigree and carvings throughout. It smells like fresh-cut wood, as if it were made very recently.
Demi sits in the cushioned bay window, criss-crossing her legs, and looking out at the backyard.
She gazes at the overgrown garden that’s nearly burying the old greenhouse conservatory with a small smile at the corner of her mouth.
I wonder what she’s thinking. What about this place makes her smile so contentedly?
The guys get to work on putting the bed together, so Demi’s sister joins her in the bay window. Their knees touch, and something about their casual affection makes me feel a little heartbroken. They take it for granted, I think. They don’t even know what a gift it is to touch.
I would give anything for it.
I hear a muffled buzzing sound, and Demi shifts, lifting her hip and pulling her phone from her pocket. The smile that was on her face a moment ago fades, replaced by a cool look of annoyance.
Curious, I move closer and peek down at the phone screen. It says Unknown Number, but the mood shift and the way Blue sits up a little straighter, as if on alert, tell me something is off.
“Is that him?” Blue asks, the tone of her voice taking on an icy chill. Her expression hardens, and her eyes blaze. This woman looks like she’s about to go to war for Demi.
Him?
I don’t like the sound of that.
Demi gathers her long hair in her hand and pulls it to drape over one shoulder, then nods nonchalantly.
“Yeah. He keeps calling and texting from different numbers,” she replies.
Who is “he”?
Blue holds out her hand. “Give me the phone. Let me talk to this fucker.”
As quickly as the annoyance came over Demi’s features, it leaves. Now she looks amused, like she’s holding back from laughing at Blue’s protective reaction. She pats her sister on the top of the head.
“Down, girl,” Demi says dryly.
Blue huffs. “Listen, I know you’re the cool, go-with-the-flow gal. But your ex stalking you isn’t a go-with-the-flow situation.”
Everything inside and around me bristles. Demi rubs her arms, and I notice she has goosebumps again. I take a step back from her, afraid that it’s me, my energy, causing her to react.
“I get that,” Demi says. “I’m choosing not to give him attention. He’s not worth my time.”
“Which is all very evolved of you, but he’s not going to stop until he gets your attention.”
Who is this person they’re talking about, and why do I suddenly feel so protective of my new housemate?
I don’t like the idea of a man not taking “no” for an answer in any situation.
Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve always been a firm believer in just being a respectful fucking dude.
Something about the way this concerns Demi’s sister and the way Demi herself plays it off doesn’t sit right with me.
This guy sounds like he’s going to be a problem .
“Owen isn’t handling the breakup very well,” Demi says.
“That sounds like an Owen problem. Don’t tell me you feel bad for that asshole.”
Demi shakes her head with a gentle smile.
She has this sort of quiet amusement about her, like nothing is as serious as other people make it out to be.
Blue seems to be the opposite, at least when it concerns anything that might affect Demi’s comfort or safety.
I like their dynamic, but I think I side with Blue on this one.
Not that they asked. Not that they even know I’m here, having an opinion, at all.
“No, I’m just saying that it’s new and I’m sure he’ll back off once he gets used to the idea of me being gone,” Demi responds.
“Guys like him don’t ever just back off.”
Demi takes Blue’s hand and entwines their fingers.
I notice the small, dainty tattoos on Demi’s hands.
Fine-line designs run the length of her fingers, which are manicured with long, sharp nails painted black.
A thought that feels more like a desire than an idea invades my mind.
Those nails running through my hair, gently scratching my scalp, tickling down the nape of my neck, digging into my back.
Jesus Christ, Tristan.
“I’m holding your hand when I say this,” Demi says with a cheeky smirk that makes Blue roll her eyes. “I don’t need you to be my mommy-”
“Gross. Don’t say mommy.”
Demi laughs, and the sound nearly takes me out. It’s so pretty, that laugh, so genuine, so alive.
“Fine,” she continues. “What I’m saying is, please just trust me to handle my shit. I’ve got this. ”
Blue looks down, a little admonished. “I know. It’s just that you’re all–” she cuts herself off, and I can feel the sadness roll off of her in a great, awful wave.
“I’m all you have left?” Demi adds softly.
I suddenly feel incredibly invasive. This is obviously a very painful, very private moment between two people who’ve spent their whole lives together.
I don’t know what happened to make Demi’s sister so sad, or to make her feel like Demi is all she has, but I can sense the tragedy between them.
I can feel it because I’ve experienced a tragedy of my own.
It has a definite feeling. Sharp, final, insurmountable.
“You know that’s not true, right? You have me, but you also have the aunts and Mike.”
Mike?
The corner of Blue’s mouth lifts. “I love that goddamn dog.”
“And Noah-”
“Okay, okay, I get it. This isn’t about me, anyway. This is about you and that fuckwad ex of yours.”
Demi smirks. “Yes. Let’s steer it back to the fuckwad.”
“I trust you to handle yourself, to handle him. I’m just saying, be careful. And if you need backup, tag me in.”
“If I tag you in, we’ll probably need to hide a body,” Demi deadpans.
Blue shrugs. “And?”
Demi examines her long nails. “This manicure won’t survive a burial.”
“I’ve got a woodchipper, and I live next to the sea. We won’t need to bury him. ”
“Nice,” Demi says with a nod, as if the conversation they’re having is perfectly normal.
My god, the St. James sisters are terrifying.