Sixteen
MORGAN
The days pass in a blur of work and sex. Sunday dinner becomes an exercise in torture, trying not to let on that Zach and I are having as much sex as possible, whenever possible. Each time, we sneak off to snoop for the pages missing from Mom's Grimoire, we end up spending more time making out than searching.
I go to his place almost every day after work. We agreed his apartment is safer than my house, on the Goode family estate where my mom, grandma, sisters, aunts, and cousins all live too. And my sisters are nosy as fuck. The whole family, really.
I never sleep over. We have an unspoken understanding that spending the night, despite doing it our first two hookups, is a step too far for this situationship. I saw that word on social media and it seems to fit us. If we weren't thrown together to plan our parents' wedding—the situation—we wouldn't be hooking up .
What’s weird is, each day we spend more and more time talking. Hanging out. After sex and sex-adjacent activities, my favorite thing we do together is watch TV naked. We end up there almost every evening. He stretches out on his couch and I sit between his legs and lean back on him. He has a large fleece blanket with a giant cartoon badger on it, and we cuddle under that. And watch TV. We're re-watching Bob's Burgers together and it feels really good to laugh with him.
Which is disturbing. I don't want to actually like Zach. And I think I'm starting to.
Tonight, however, I'm at home. I needed a break, one night away to clear my head and think more clearly. I'm so consumed with lust when I'm around him, it messes with my head. So I sent him to a party supply store in a nearby town to get some things for the wedding, with a very detailed list so he can't mess it up.
I'm at home, eating dinner on my front porch while Bowie hangs out on the railing.
I fork a bite of macaroni and cheese into my mouth.
I can hear you thinking over here.
Who knew owls could be smartasses?
Actually, me. I know. Because I've had an owl familiar since I was a year old. Witches are to be gifted a familiar on their first birthday. The gift comes from the deities and basically just arrives on our doorstep. No idea how the deities choose which species goes with which witch.
Bowie is my second owl. When the first one, Olivia, died, it sucked more than, I think, a nulla losing a pet would suck. Because we can talk to our familiars. We know them on a deeper level than we know other animals.
"Yeah, what am I thinking about?"
I'm not psychic. You tell me. I'll give you wise counsel.
I snort and take another bite. Am I carb loading because I know tomorrow I'll give in and be back at Zach's for more aerobic exercises? I'm not not carb loading .
"Why am I so into this guy, Bowie? Why can't I get him out of my system?"
Because, despite his stubborn insistence that magic isn't real, he seems like a pretty decent guy.
"Yeah, but that insistence is pretty significant. Magic is part of who I am at the very core."
"Not to mention he thinks you're a con artist." Maria sits down on the chair next to me.
"Rather insulting of him." Vanessa, who has been hanging around the past few days, leans against the porch railing next to where Bowie's perched.
Spirits have a strange relationship with the physical world. They can interact with inanimate objects, as they sit or lean or touch. But they can't manipulate them without expending intense amounts of energy. So Maria could lean on the front door, but she can't open it. Electronic devices are the exception, because of how their energy interacts with the energy of the spirit.
"Exactly!" I point my fork at Vanessa. "Why do I want to spend any amount of time with someone who thinks so lowly of me? And hell, why does he want to spend time with me?"
"Attraction is a strange thing," Maria says. "I couldn't stand my husband when I first met him. He was so arrogant, thought he was better than everyone because he was rich. We used to fight so much, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking about him when he wasn't around."
"So how did you end up together?" I ask. Not that I want that path for me and Zach. But at least it would explain some of this.
"One day, we were fighting and he kept stepping into my space, and I was backing up, and eventually I hit the wall and couldn't back up anymore." Her expression turns wistful. "He was right there in my face, and I was so tired of fighting, I kissed him. Surprised the heck out of both of us. After that, we were inseparable. Got married right after high school graduation."
Vanessa smiles gently at the other spirit. "You miss him, don't you?"
Maria nods. "I've looked all over for him since he died, but I can't seem to find him."
Something resembling sadness pangs in my chest. She's never talked to me about her husband before.
"You know I could probably summon him for you," I say. How come she's never asked?
She shakes her head, expression sad. "No. If he wants to find me, he will. I prefer to leave that up to fate."
"If you're sure. But the offer stands if you change your mind."
She reaches over and pats my knee. I can't feel it, but I see it. "Thank you, Morrigan. This is why I spend time with you. You're not as grumpy and jaded as you pretend you are."
I scoff at that. "Whatever you say."
"What about you, Vanessa. How did you meet your husband?" Maria asks.
"We had a college history seminar together. Sat next to each other. About halfway through the semester, he asked me out, and after our first date, I was hooked." She smiles. "Gary's a good man. Your mom is lucky to have him."
"It doesn't bother you that he's marrying someone else?" I ask. It bothers me a little that my mom is marrying someone who isn't my dad.
She shakes her head. "I want him to be happy. And he seems happy with Angela."
I'm still not entirely sure why they kept their relationship a secret for so long. One Sunday last spring, Gary and Zach came to dinner and Mom announced they were engaged. None of us had even heard about him before that, let alone met him .
And what about you, Morgan? Did you meet your true love at Sunday dinner?
I almost choke on my last bite of pasta. "Uh, no. I don't think so."
"What'd he ask?" Maria wants to know. She’s used to Bowie talking to me.
I tell her and she and Vanessa both laugh. I scowl at them. It's not funny.
"You two really would make a lovely couple," Maria says. "There's passion there."
My cheeks heat as I remember exactly what kind of passion lies between me and Zach. "I don't really want to discuss this with his mother."
"There's something I should tell you anyway, changing the subject," Vanessa says. "Because I'm not sure I want to discuss my son like that with you either."
"OK." I set my empty bowl on the side table and pick up my water bottle.
Vanessa crosses her arms over her chest. "When Zach was young, I was into witchcraft. Obviously not the kind you do, where you're born with powers. The kind nullas can do."
I nod. Mundane witchcraft lacks the universal energy the deities allow witches to access. But there is some power in it. It's a relatively popular practice among nullas.
"From what I've pieced together about my death, I was in a coma for a few weeks before they finally let me go. In that time, other nulla witches I knew visited, and did spells to try to help with my healing. When that didn't work, they pooled their money, along with Gary, and hired someone from Goode to come." She looks me directly in the eyes as she speaks, almost to the point it's uncomfortable.
I want to look away, but I don't. I force myself to stay present in her story, even though I know where it's going.
"They too couldn't help me. The next day, Gary had them turn off the life support machines, and I died. And I think, in the grief-ridden mind of an eight-year-old boy, that translated into a distrust of witchcraft." Her expression is grave, but also pleading.
"So what, you want me to ignore that he thinks I'm a con artist, and start dating him or something?" I refuse to acknowledge the small thrill that shoots through my chest as I speak.
"I'm not telling you to do anything. I just felt it important that you know this."
"How do you know all this about your death anyway? You don't remember it."
"One of the women from my group has since died, and she told me about it."
I don't have a response to that, so I nod.
You're right, you know. You should give Zach a chance. Get to know more about him than where else he's hiding tattoos.
"No one asked you," I say to my bird. "Go chase mice or something."
I had dinner already.
"What's he saying?" Vanessa asks.
"Nothing worth repeating." I stand and pick up my water bottle. "Ladies, Bowie, it's been lovely. But I need some alone time."
I head inside and into my reading room. I'm still reading the serial killer horror-romance and it's obsession worthy. If I'm not daydreaming about sex with Zach, I'm thinking about this book.
I lose myself in the story for a good hour, and just as the couple is getting to the good part, it hits me.
You're on the right track. There's more to your father's death.
It feels like a headache and snorting water up your nose at the same time. It always does when the deities decide to hit me with information. Sirona calls them downloads and says hers feel like a gentle tickle in her head. Bronwen's take her breath away for a moment, and she calls them gut punches. I would be the one who gets the headache, water snort combo.
I put the book down and recline in my chair for a few minutes until the headache fades. At least they never last longer than five minutes.
Now I'm left with silence and this knowledge. I don't know what to do with it, though. I can't go to Mom's and snoop around more. Zach and I have covered basically the entire house and found nothing. I mean, I always knew he'd find nothing because we're not frauds. But I've found just as much as he has.
I pick up my phone and open the group text with my sisters. But I can't quite bring myself to type. Because the truth is, deep down in my core, I'm shaken. And I don't want to talk to them.
I want to talk to Zach.
MORGAN
It's late by the time I pull into Zach's parking lot. Almost ten. I always leave his place by nine; I've never been here this late. But the need to see him, to share this information the deities have smacked me with, is too strong. I hate it, but I can't resist.
I sit in my car for a long time, watching his apartment. I know which balcony is his: the third from the end on the second floor. The light is on behind the sliding glass doors, but I can't see in.
My heart pounds and my fucking hands are sweating. Why am I here?
I pick up my phone and again open the text with my sisters. I should be going to one of their houses, telling the other to meet us there .
I turn off the car, which kills the stereo and plunges me into silence. But still I sit there staring at the building. Am I waiting for the guts to drive away? Or to go inside?
"Why did you tell me this?" I look toward the sky, directing my irritation at the deities. "Why do you give us this information but not tell us what to do with it?"
The deities can kind of be assholes sometimes.
But would I rather not know my suspicions are right? I've been close to giving up, since we haven't found those missing pages or anything that explains what might be in them.
I shake my head, then my arms and shoulders, working out some of the excess energy that feels like it's going to burst out of me. Fuck this.
I shove open the car door, grab my bag, and stalk toward the building entrance. In less than a minute I'm knocking on Zach's door.
"Hang on!" His voice is muffled but still sends a thrill through me. One that is only about thirty percent sexual. But I'm not going to think about that right now.
The door opens and his confused face appears. Confusion turns to surprise when he sees me.
Talking to his chest as I push by him into the apartment, I say, "Don't ask me why, because I don't know. But I just..." I don't know how to finish the sentence.
He shuts the door, locks the deadbolt, and turns to face me. His expression is curious, not the annoyance I expected at me showing up unannounced so late. "You just what?" His tone is gentle.
Damn him.
"I just..." I take a deep breath. "The deities gave me some information and I'm not sure what to do with it and I didn't know where else to go but I had to tell someone. I had to be near someone." Shit, I didn't mean to admit that one. "And for some fucking reason, my brain decided that someone had to be someone who doesn't even believe in magic. "
He moves toward me, but stops before he's truly in my space. "OK. So you're here. What did they tell you?"
I frown up at him. No mocking me or telling me that deities don't really talk to me? He's just... believing me?
"Do you want something to drink?"
I shake my head and drop down on his couch. A couch my bare ass has been on many times, both while cuddling and while fucking. Or doing things that are fuck-adjacent.
But I can't think about any of that right now. I don't want to get turned on and have sex. I want to talk to him.
Fucking hell, who even am I?
He sits down too, leaving me some space, but not so much I can't reach over and touch him if I need to.
"You're not going to question me talking to deities? Tell me I'm delusional or a fraud?" My tone is snippier than he deserves but I can't help it. I'm too on edge.
He sighs. "You came to me and not your sisters. You're trusting me with something I can see is important to you. The best I can do is trust that you're maybe being truthful."
"Maybe."
"Yes, maybe. I'm still not convinced magic is real, but I'm less convinced than I used to be that it's not."
I can't hide the surprise on my face. "Really?"
He shrugs. "Maybe."
Good enough for now. "Sometimes the deities just sort of smack us with knowledge. They put information in our heads, and it's in such a way that we can tell it's not one of our own thoughts."
His expression is carefully blank as he nods. The pounding of my heart calms just a little.
"Tonight, they told me that I really am onto something. There's more to my dad's death than I've been told." I push my white streak out of my face. "I think they did it now because I was close to giving up. "
Something like excitement flickers in his eyes, but only for an instant. "So now you want to keep looking?"
I nod, and my hair falls in my face again. I push it back behind my ears. "I'm just not sure where."
"The deities can't send you a treasure map or something?" His tone is playful, not derisive.
I almost smile. "No, that would be too helpful. They're fickle assholes sometimes."
"Good to know."
I sag back against the couch cushions. "I don't know where to even start. If it's not in my mom's house, where would it be?"
Zach scoots over so he's almost pressing against my side. Almost. There's just enough space between our bodies to make me yearn for his touch.
Dammit, I do not yearn . I hate this.
"Could you talk to one of your aunts?"
Fuck it. I reach over and forcibly take his hand, winding our fingers together. Our joined hands fall to the couch pressed between our thighs, Now he's touching both my hand and my thigh, and I his, and that's it.
And it's enough.
Deities dammit, it's enough.
"Or what about your grandma?"
I laugh humorlessly. "I tried talking to her when I first found the Grimoire. She actually got angry with me, told me to leave it alone, and stormed off. Hazel Goode doesn't get angry. Like, ever."
I'd been hurt and shocked when Nana reacted that way. But it also seemed like a pretty good indication I was on to something.
"I take it your sisters aren't interested in this like you are? Since they aren't helping." He doesn't look at me when he talks, just stares straight ahead, like he's watching the TV on the other side of the room .
"No, they think I should listen to Nana and let it go." Like it does any time I say the phase, the song "Let It Go" runs through my head. I wish I could, Elsa. I really wish I could.
"Circling back, what about your aunts?" His thumb starts sliding back and forth over my hand. I brace against the shiver that wants to run through me.
"Sarah definitely wouldn't talk to me. She's very close to my mom. Betsy isn't as close to them, but I also don't know her as well, ya know? Like we make small talk, but I don't really know anything about her as a person. And Diana split town before Bronwen was even born. No one knows where she is now." Come to think of it, from what I've pieced together, Diana left shortly after my dad died.
But that can't be connected. Why would Diana care that her brother-in-law died? Unless she was having some kind of torrid affair with him. But I refuse to believe my dad was that kind of person.
"Actually," I say, "Nana probably does know where Diana is. Since she seems to know everything about everyone. She probably knows I'm here right now." Which I don't love. But she also probably isn't sitting around checking up on the location of each of her grandchildren, like a human GPS locator.
Zach turns his head to look at me. I don't turn mine, but I can feel his gaze on me and it heats my cheeks. "So we're out of options at your mom's house. What about her office?"
We . He didn't say I'm out of options, he said we are out of them. Like he's in this with me, even though he thinks magic is a hoax.
Finally I turn and meet his gaze. My cheeks heat even more, like there's an inferno hanging out in my skull. His eyes are brown and liquid and so patient. It makes my chest ache.
What do I want from this man? Besides the obvious wild sexcapades.
He turns more fully toward me and uses his free hand to cup my face. His thumb traces back and forth over my cheekbone, his gaze searching mine.
Between the deities' information and my knee-jerk instinct to come to Zach and not my sisters, I am thoroughly shaken. It feels like my life has just upended itself.
And I look into this man's eyes and see so much patience and curiosity. And, I think maybe some affection. And I don't know what to do with that.
"What would you like from me, tonight?" His voice is barely above a whisper.
I close my eyes to escape the intensity for a moment. "I don't know. But not sex."
He nods, then rests his forehead against mine. "OK. No sex."
We sit like that for moments that stretch into minutes, which stretches into a vast, unknown amount of time. Exhaustion, physical, mental, and emotional, settles heavy on my shoulders.
I want to curl up and sleep, but I don't want to go home. I don't want to be alone. I don't even have a pet to cuddle me in bed. These are the moments I'm envious of Sirona having a cat familiar. Though I could get my own cat, it just wouldn't talk to me.
I force my thoughts back to the moment. Back to trying to answer Zach's question.
Eventually, I say, "What if... could I stay here tonight? And have you just hold me?"
I hold my breath waiting for his answer. This might be the most vulnerable I've ever been with a partner. And we're barely even friends, let alone in a true relationship that would make us partners. We're fuck-buddies. And yet, here I am, slicing myself open and displaying my naked, scarred underbelly to him.
I trust him with this vulnerability, and that realization is yet another shock to my system. How is this even possible ?
I'm less convinced than I used to be that it's not.
His words from earlier ring in my head. He's making progress. And I'm certain that progress is because of me. If he can open his mind to new beliefs, I can be vulnerable.
For a long moment, his gaze continues to search my face. Then he gets up, our hands still linked, and tugs me up after him.
Slowly, gently, like he might spook me, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his body. I lean into his solid frame and wrap my own arms around his back, holding tight. I rest my cheek against his shoulder as he tightens his embrace.
I'm warm everywhere, and slowly the tension in my body releases as I relax into him.
This is the first time we've hugged. Sure, we've been in nearly this position at times when having sex. But we've never hugged just for hugging's sake.
In fact, I can't remember the last time I really hugged someone. I'm not big on them, so my family doesn't offer or ask for them often. And in this moment, I realize how much I've missed the simple pleasure of an embrace.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotions I can't name.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head and I think I might melt. "You're welcome."
Again, time means nothing as we stand in his living room, limbs entwined.
Finally, he loosens his arms. "Let's go to bed. I'll hold you as long as you need."
I nod and follow him down the tiny hall to his bedroom. Afraid that I need him for much longer than just tonight.