Thorne
The heart-shaped locket dangles from its thin gold chain above my head.
Its delicate links wrapped around my index finger are cutting off my circulation, but I don’t care.
It’s the closest I can be to her, to the Elsbeth I knew .
. . or thought I knew. I’ve spent hours organizing the memories into metaphorical piles.
Her favorite foods, colors, music—is it all a lie, or did she give me small bits of truth?
She always wears dark earth tones. Her favorite days in the gym are cardio and legs.
Even though she doesn’t like peanuts, she loves peanut butter.
She drinks coffee in the morning, but tea at night.
No siblings, but her father lives in New York.
Her and her mother have a strained relationship, but she always calls her on Sunday nights for their weekly update, unless her mother is out of town or Elsbeth needs to study for an exam.
That will have to be her excuse this week.
I weigh each fact and realize none of them hold much significance.
They’re all things you tell a talkative stranger in line at the grocery store.
And somehow that makes the anxious energy buzzing in my chest angrier.
Because I wanted to know everything about her.
For weeks, I watched for her at the gym, hoping she’d show up and I’d have a chance to talk to her.
When she finally did take notice, I did my best to stay aloof and interesting, but deep down all I wanted was to take her somewhere private and keep her all to myself.
Now, she’s in our house and the thought of hearing her move around from a wall away makes my skin crawl. The woman next door is a stranger. Her footsteps pacing the floor may as well be another ghost haunting the old manor.
That last piece of the Elsbeth I knew slowly sways back and forth with my finger’s pulse.
I’ve never seen her without it. Whether we were at the gym, chatting outside the building after a session, or on the one date we had, this keepsake hung around her neck.
The pendent is slightly discolored from constant wear, and the edged design has been worn almost smooth by years of the pad of her thumb rubbing at it when she talked.
I watched her do it so many times. I wonder if that was a tell or just a nervous habit.
And now that it’s gone, what is she using to soothe herself?
I want to go into her room and demand answers.
Rage and betrayal alternate between gentle flames over coals and an inferno that threatens to catch the entire house on fire and burn everything to the ground with her and I trapped inside.
Because if I have to suffer through the blaze of her treachery, I’ll take her with me.
Instead, I have to go in to the firm to tie up loose ends before fall break. While concealing a crime should be reason enough for me to call in sick, it’s important that we keep up appearances where we can in case she does find a cop that will believe her—and who isn’t on the coven’s payroll.
After shuffling papers for a few hours, Maddox and I will have to visit Asher’s family home and bestow the Moreys with their blessings from our harvest. It’s not customary to skip our older generations, but with Mariana’s blessing, arrangements have been changed.
Of the former legacies, the Morey’s who will be the first to receive their blessings, but it should be Asher who shares our gifts with his line.
It’s not mandated, but it may raise suspicion.
As far as his father will know, Asher has been stricken with the flu.
But in reality, we can’t risk him not being fully charged.
To waste time, I decide to shower. Getting out of bed, I grab my towel from the hook on the back of my door and open it to find Elsbeth standing right outside my room.
Her arms are crossed, back flat to the wall, and her eyes looking up at me as if she were preparing for this conflict for hours.
I pan down her body to the oversized T-shirt she’s wearing .
. . my T-shirt. Long, bare legs and feet with the stain of black from the lines we drew to contain her greet me. So much for that.
“I take it that you didn’t get much sleep last night,” I say, glancing down the hall to Asher and Fox’s closed doors.
“Did you?” The familiarity of her voice is sharpened to a threatening point. Her usual flirty, confident tone has been replaced with, I believe, her true nature. Calculated, viper like, and steady.
“Like a baby,” I lie.
I fell asleep once, only to find her in my dream. I woke up in a cold sweat and figured if I’m going to be plagued with her, it may as well be in the physical plane.
I wonder if she’s tried to leave yet? The bounds of the markings on the floor aren’t the only measures we took, but has she realized how trapped she actually is?
Our magic is powerful, but it’s a drop in the cauldron compared to what’s been poured into the foundation of the manor since it was built.
Hundreds of legacies and sacrifices have performed thousands of rituals within these walls and the protection spells are stronger than any one coven could produce.
In a way, the manor is our Paraclete. Providing shelter and protection, it’s also where we draw our strength and power.
It’s why the coven has been stowing away their most valuable descendants inside of it for so long.
“I need my laptop,” she deadpans. “If you’re not planning to kill me, then I need to keep up on my study schedule.”
“We don’t plan on it.” I shut my bedroom door then take the few steps across the hall to the bathroom. “But accidents happen.”
I shut the door before she can make another remark.
Fox has her laptop and her phone. His one task today is to break the security encryption that she or whoever she’s working with put on the both of them.
Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but it’s further proof that Elsbeth isn’t a normal college student.
She’s not in the hallway when I’m finished showering and the door to the guest room is shut.
The tray that Fox brought her dinner up on is sitting right outside.
She picked at the chicken, leaving over half of it on the plate.
The only thing she did eat was the vegetables.
Fox missed his true calling as a chef, but I guess dealing with all of our particular tastes, allergies, and schedules is harder than any restaurant he’d open in town.
Downstairs, Fox is already making breakfast. His thick black locks stick up in every direction, and the bags under his eyes make him look worn. Usually, he wanders about without a shirt, but this morning he’s donning a thick hoodie and joggers.
“Going for a run?” I ask by way of greeting.
He holds out his spatula in one hand and a fat burrito in the other to look down his own body before meeting my eyes. “I didn’t want to look slutty with a guest in the house.”
I huff a laugh. “Mission failed. You always look slutty.”
He rolls his eyes but can’t hide that proud, crooked smile.
“You made breakfast burritos?” I walk around the kitchen island and grab one from the top of the pile.
The tortilla is slightly crisp from searing in the pan, but it’s soft and warm in my hand.
The sweet spice of bell pepper mingles with chorizo.
I take a bite that nearly burns the roof of my mouth but savor every bit of it.
Creamy potato and cheese fill my cheeks and perfectly compliment the onions and peppers.
Whoever Fox ends up marrying will be both lucky and cursed because after five years of his cooking, I’ll be over every day for at least one meal.
“You can win anyone over with a good breakfast burrito,” he reasons, wrapping one into a little bundle with foil. He sets it down on a plate with small dishes of sour cream, salsa, and fresh strawberries.
“There’s a Gavin Newsom joke in there somewhere. But I’m too tired to find it,” I quip, taking another large bite and loudly humming the savory notes of satisfaction. “And I’m sure it’s just as witty and double-edged as he is.”
“Asher’s father would love to hear your thoughts on Newsom. Let me know how they land when you get back.”
I hang my head and grunt. Senator Morey has held his hard middle-road policies for three terms. Useless as any other politician, but he has stayed under the radar by showing support to both sides equally. Spineless.
“Maddox and I will be back before sundown,” I inform him. “Maybe sooner if Edmund kicks us out for not being his own flesh and blood.”
“Good luck. That vindictive jackass would keep you all night if he thought it would cause you anguish.”
He’s right. Edmund loves to be an inconvenience.
I’m sure it’s one of the most pleasurable aspects of holding a public office, but having the honor of receiving two of the coven legacies just to kick them out moments after accepting his family’s share of magic might be too tantalizing to resist. Only time will tell.
“I’m going to see if Elsbeth is awake.”
“Who do you think will be happier to see one of us? Elsbeth or Edmund?”
“I don’t want to think of the two of them as the same in any capacity.” Fox pauses, tray in hand.
“Prude. He was a legacy once, don’t forget. The house would welcome him inside just as easily as one of us.” That reminder sends a chill down my spine. Not because Edmund has ever shown up unannounced, but if any of our parents did decide to test that theory, we would have a lot to answer for.
Fox doesn’t argue. Instead, he starts walking upstairs, mumbling under his breath about who the true prude is.
“Good luck,” I singsong after him as he disappears.
Asher enters the kitchen from the hallway.
The sleep is still heavy in his eyes and he has not decided to hide away his bare chest the way Fox has.
In fact, he looks like he’s just woken up on a tropical beach somewhere.
He’s wearing a pair of fitted swim trunks that only go to his mid-thigh.
The unforgiving hem stretches to its max over his thick muscles.
His washboard abs erupt from the low-cut waistband like he’s an Abercrombie model.
I hate how naturally he and Fox can put on muscle and keep it, while it takes counting macros and hours in the gym for me to look half as good as they do.
“Why does Fox need luck?” Asher grabs up two burritos and fits half of the first in his mouth before he sits down at the kitchen table.
“He’s taking Elsbeth breakfast,” I answer around my own large bite.
“Does he know she didn’t touch the food from last night?” I shrug. “He may have met his match with her.”
Potato and egg get caught in my throat. I cough and pound at my chest.
“Whoa there, big fella.” Luckily, I’m not choking and struggling to breathe because Asher doesn’t look at all concerned with whether his CPR skills are up-to-date. “I just meant that she is more stubborn than he is.”
“Impossible.” I wheeze, getting up to fill a glass from the tap.
“If you say so, but with the way they were going at it last night, and now she’s refusing to eat? I don’t know.” He holds his burritos up in a mock surrender before taking another colossal bite.
Too many questions and accusations flood my thoughts as I gulp down my lukewarm liquid. Has she thought this deeply about how to get under our skin? Has her intrusive investigation of us all gleaned her the exact method of breaking us down in turn?
Refusing Fox’s food. Ghosting me. Enchanting Maddox into paranoia. Stealthily evading Asher’s wandering eye.
Were these tactics she’s cooked up over the weeks?
Or have we played right into her hands, equipping her with our own weaknesses?
I shake my head before I start questioning whether or not she’s actually human and not an evil deity sent to dismantle us from the inside out as a test.
“Are you ready to rebuff your mother once she hears you have the flu?” I hold up air quotes around my last few words.
“I’ve been practicing my wheeze.” He fingers a loose edge of tortilla.
I watch him for a moment, and it’s clear that he’s uncomfortable, but for once, keeping a secret from the matriarchs of our coven is the right thing to do. His bottom lip twitches and his gaze is miles away.
“Fox will make you a special batch of his famous cure-all soup.” My metaphorical hands reach out to him and bring him back to our reality. “It’ll put hair on your balls and chest.”
“I have enough of that.” He sits back and pans a burrito-filled fist down his torso to show off the dusting of brown hair that trails down into his trunks.
“Are you going for a swim?”
“Yeah, I need to work off some energy before I study.”
I nod. He’s been more serious this semester, but capstones are all hell. Soon, he’ll have more freedom. At least until the coven council starts demanding the four of us choose wives.
Fox comes back downstairs with the discarded tray from last night, and I realize whom I haven’t seen this morning. “Where’s Mads?”
“Running in the orchard,” Asher says around the butt-end of his burrito. He hikes a thumb out toward the haunting apple trees standing in the morning mist.
“He said he’d be back by the time you were ready to head into town.” Fox rounds me and opens up one of the bottom cabinets to scrape the remains of Elsbeth’s dinner into the garbage before depositing the plate into the dishwasher.
“Think I could bribe him into not showering? The office would hate him, but it would be worth it to see Edmund’s reaction.” I jab Fox’s ribs with my elbow.
“Only if you want to be hosed down with him in the backyard.” Asher laughs and the knot in my chest loosens. “I’d come along to see that, but I don’t want to risk freezing to death on my mother’s fifty-thousand-dollar-landscaped patio.”
“Speaking of.” I turn to Fox to ask, “Did you take Elsbeth’s clothes? She’s wearing my shirt.”
Why does that bring heat to my face?
“I didn’t take anything,” Fox answers, but it’s not the whole truth. “I washed them.”
“I’ll make sure she gets them back. We know that’s your favorite,” Asher mocks.
It’s an old shirt I got from our academy swim team.
Back when our lives weren’t dominated by school, work, and the coven.
The shirt sat at the back of my closet for years between my graduation gown and the suit I wore to my bachelor’s graduation ceremony.
A keepsake that had very little value until now.
A shadow in my peripheral gets my attention. It’s Maddox jogging up the path from the orchard just beyond the kitchen doors. He isn’t huffing or panting. If it weren’t for the mud caking his shins, I would question whether he’d really been out running amongst the trees.
“Whatever.” I sigh. “I’m going to get some work done in the study. Tell Mads to come get me when he’s ready to go.”
“Will do,” Fox and Asher call after me in unison.