Spellfire

Chapter 21

She couldn’t sleep that night.

Why? Why now? Of all times. Why now? Why did this have to happen at the very moment when she was happy?

Except … wasn’t this what she wanted? Wasn’t this everything she’d always wanted?

She hadn’t been a girl who fantasized about being a princess, or about marrying a princess.

She hadn’t thought of her future as one in which she would ever settle down with anyone, let alone Amelia Hexford.

She just wanted to be happy and write books, two things that had felt inherently related.

This was what she was meant to do: create spells, refine them, perfect them, share them with people.

She loved doing that. She loved hearing that someone had used her spells or found that they did something new and exciting, that they helped.

She probably had fan mail stacking up at her apartment, expressing just those sentiments.

Sure, not boxes and boxes, but a few notes here and there, which the publisher would send in a plump envelope.

But now? Now, when her group work was just beginning to pay off and it seemed like there might be a chance her students could pass their MSEs; when she was beginning to think that she had made a difference.

How could this be the moment it all derailed?

How could getting an offer for a second book suddenly feel like it was screwing everything up?

This was impossible. She had no idea what to do.

Of course she wanted to write the book. But like this?

And what if she said no? If she said, “I’d love to, maybe in two months”?

Everyone knew how fickle publishing was, and magical publishing was, if anything, even more fickle.

The spell book that people wanted today was not the same as the spell book they would want in six months or a year.

Magical publishing went fast. If you missed your opportunity, there was no guarantee you would ever get another one.

Her editor had mentioned the momentum of the first book, and how now was the time to hit the market with book two, while people were still excited, while the name Bryn Delmar was still on the lips of folks buying books.

She understood all that. But how could she trade the world that she, until this email, had just been settling into? It was as if her life had split into two very different paths. How could she choose between them? How could she even begin to choose between them? It made no sense.

Yet here she was. It was Friday, a school day.

She had read the email from her editor at least a dozen more times throughout the night, pulling it up on her phone, looking it over, her mind beginning to trip over the familiar phrases in an effort to uncover some new meaning, some less fraught conclusion.

She felt sick and exhausted and devastated.

She wanted a career, yes. She knew she wasn’t a good teacher, and that even improving wouldn’t make her a good teacher.

It would just make her less of a terrible teacher.

But here was where Amelia was. And Piper, Andi, even Mr Wicks—the tentative beginnings of, if not family, at least a sense of home that was about both place and people.

A sense of home she felt she’d been chasing her entire life, ever since some early, indefinable moment when she knew she was not like her mother, that she would never be like her mother, and would never be as independent as sirens were supposed to be.

She wanted a family around her—not children of her own, but deep friendships, intricate loves.

She suddenly wished she had thought to ask Luna about this.

Luna, who was a siren, but who was also social and active.

Did Luna struggle with these things? Or did she have no desires beyond chatting and partying?

And, wow, didn’t that seem like an enviable state right about now?

Wouldn’t that make everything easier? Then she’d just need to say, “I’m sorry, Amelia, this offer has come up.

I have been waiting for a long time. And as much as I hate to leave you in the lurch, this is my future calling.

” It would feel bad, but at least she would be sure.

Instead, all she had was uncertainty. It felt like being asked to choose between limbs.

“Would you like this future in which you have the career you always dreamed of, but you will be alone? Or this future in which you will be with a beautiful, smart, funny, amazing woman, but you will never have the career you’ve always dreamed of? ”

When the students in her first class asked her if she was feeling ill, she realized she needed to be a better actor.

She had skipped breakfast, and she did, in fact, feel quite ill.

But she had to get it together. If Amelia knew about this …

Bryn didn’t even know how Amelia would feel.

She did know that she didn’t want to say, “I’m leaving you so I can write a book.

” And she also didn’t want to say, “I have the opportunity to write a book and I’m turning it down.

” Neither of those things felt like they could possibly be real.

For the first time since they’d gotten together, she wished it was a school night.

She regretted buying a fancy dildo and having it shipped express, after telling Amelia she had a surprise waiting for her.

Because Bryn couldn’t begin to think about sex right now.

It seemed like the part of herself that understood arousal had gone permanently underground.

And of course, despite Bryn’s vow to be a good actor, Amelia saw it instantly.

She stepped into the cottage that night, wearing a sheer sort of robe over her regular clothes, and Bryn knew without asking that she would go into the bathroom, take everything off, and put the robe back on, just so that Bryn could take it from her, so that Bryn could reveal her.

All of her desire to put on a brave face, to not let Amelia in on her turmoil, dissolved in that instant, because she knew that moment wasn’t going to happen tonight.

“What is it?” Amelia said immediately. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is Luna okay?”

Even that hurt. “She’s fine,” Bryn said, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. “She’s completely fine. Everything is … Everything is …” Her voice faltered. She couldn’t say it. Nothing felt fine.

“Darling, what is it?” Amelia said, taking her hands. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t think she could lie now, even if she wanted to. And, ultimately, she didn’t want to lie to Amelia. Not even about this. “I got an email from my editor.”

Amelia’s face became momentarily excited. “Wait, a good one? You’ve been waiting for so long! What did it say? Does she want another book? Why do you look so upset? Did she email you to tell you she doesn’t want another book?”

This last out—an out that Bryn hadn’t even considered—almost tempted her away from the truth.

Could she pretend her editor had said a definitive no?

But then would she spend the rest of their relationship thinking that if she hadn’t lied in that moment, she would be a successful author?

A real one? With a career? That she’d thrown it all away for one night? Or one person?

She shook her head mutely, not sure she could speak.

And then she opened her computer, found the email, and let Amelia read it.

Watching Amelia’s face was one of the hardest things Bryn had ever done, because she saw the excitement, the joy, the shared thrill of success—this confirmation that she was good at the things she loved, that people wanted to hear more from her, that her book was selling, and selling well enough to justify another book.

And then the moment when Amelia saw the deadline, and her face didn’t fall but went still.

Her animated features grew blank, wiped away completely.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes finding Bryn’s. “Is it usually that fast?”

“No, never. I mean, I guess I’ve only done this once, but last time I had months.”

“I see.” Amelia read the rest of the email, then read it again, much as Bryn had done. “She says she thinks you’ve been working on the book. Have you been?”

“I meant to. It’s not …” If she had been working on the book as much as she had promised herself she would, would it be nearly done by now?

Would this whole thing be moot? It would all be there on her computer and she could take a few hours, read over it, send it off.

She thought of all of those days sitting in cafés and breweries, getting distracted by the internet, or looking at photographs or nebulous research.

All of the notes she had taken with no clear understanding of how or where they would fit in.

What did she really have for book two right now?

A collection of maybe-spells that she hadn’t finalized yet?

A much longer list of ideas that hadn’t even coalesced into actual spells.

Her first book had been original work, spells she’d either invented herself or modified so fundamentally that they had transformed from their initial use into something far more complex.

She remembered the work it had taken to perfect those spells, the hours and days of testing.

This was not something she could throw together.

And she’d loved it, at the time. Working a day job to pay the bills had instilled a desperate need for something more, and writing the book had been everything to her. So why, why did she feel so gutted now that she had the opportunity to do it again?

“No,” she finally admitted. “I really haven’t.”

“Well, you’ve been busy teaching, I guess.”

But Bryn knew this excuse was too good. She hadn’t earned it.

“Even before this, I was just screwing around. I don’t know why.

I wanted it so bad that I could have written the whole book by now if I’d only focused.

I could have written two more books by now if I’d been doing that instead of refreshing my inbox. ”

“But you haven’t written the whole book,” Amelia clarified, eyes bleak.

Bryn shook her head again, unable to speak, feeling disappointment seeping through her cells.

Amelia took one breath, and then another, even slower, breath.

And then she said, “Well, um, I guess I will come up with a schedule of how I can take over some of your classes, and Piper can too. I can probably combine a few of the first-year classes for the last weeks of school so we can get the kids through the end of the year. And you … You need to write your book, right?” There was the slightest edge of question in her voice, the tiniest hint of hope that even now it might not be true.

That was the moment. Bryn could feel how encouraging Amelia was trying to be, and also she could feel how much Amelia wanted her to say no.

She said, “I don’t have to …” letting the sentence trail off.

If only Amelia would insist. If only Amelia would remind her of everything they had, everything they were building.

If Amelia had said, “I’m in love with you, please don’t go,” Bryn would have kissed her and told her that it was taken care of, that if this editor refused to extend the deadline, she was out.

She’d wait for the next opening, and if one never came, so be it.

She would stay at the school. She’d have Amelia. She’d have this moment.

But this was always meant to be temporary. If she said no to the book, then when school ended in June, she would have nothing at all. If she said yes to the book … at least she would have a book. A possible future. She swallowed. “I don’t want to leave you in the lurch right before exams.”

For a long second, they stared at each other, and then Amelia said, “We’ll get through it.

Don’t worry about the school. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

Bryn, this is your dream, and I’m so happy for you.

It’s going to be such a good book. It’s going to sell even better than the first book, which was a great book. ” There were tears in her eyes.

Bryn could feel tears in her own. “Right,” she said.

“Good.” Amelia squeezed her hands and then released them. “It’s good. You … You didn’t want to be a teacher anyway, you know? So this is good. And I have no idea if I could get the governors to hire you permanently, and who needs that kind of stress, right? This just saves us both the trouble.”

The words bubbled up inside of Bryn as if they were a geyser on the edge of blowing—she could stop this even now, just by saying, Amelia, you are what I want. This, with you. This is what I want. But she choked the words back painfully. “Right,” she said again.

“Okay, then. Well, I better leave you to it.” Amelia stepped away. “I am … I need to plan. And it’s Friday, so I have the whole weekend, and … and that gives you … time to figure out your travel. So I guess I’ll go.” She stumbled over her feet as she walked backwards towards the door.

Bryn wanted to call out to her, but then Amelia was opening the door and disappearing into the night, and Bryn couldn’t muster what words she would even say.

Maybe this was an out for Amelia as well.

How awkward would it be if your girlfriend wanted to keep teaching but was terrible at it, and you didn’t know how to tell her?

Maybe that’s what this was. An opportunity for both of them to do the thing that would have felt almost impossible to do otherwise.

Amelia could hire a real teacher—someone the governors wouldn’t question and who actually knew how to get the kids to pass their MSEs—and Bryn could move on with her life.

She had never intended to come back to Grimoire Academy.

She never intended to see Amelia Hexford again.

Her life was planned. She would write books.

Spell books, yes, but she also wanted to dive deeper into history and spell language and the magical sciences.

This was the first step on the way to doing all of that.

So why was she crying so hard, alone, in her cottage right now? Alone with her discreetly shipped parcel, and her computer with its devastating email still on the screen. Through a sheen of tears, Bryn hit reply and said of course she could meet the deadline, and thank you so much for the offer.

She sent the email, curled up on her bed, and cried into her pillow, feeling somehow more alone than she’d ever been in her life.