Spirit Fire (Emberwood Witches #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

When I woke up on a cold sidewalk in the middle of the night, with a strange guy looming over me, the last thing I expected was for him to be the other half of my broken soul.

But in my darkest moments, Asher is my light.

“I knew when we collided,

You’re the one I had decided who’s one of my kind,

Hey, soul sister…”

I lift my glass to my bestie belting out Train’s upbeat tribute to me, the orange, bubbling concoction I’m drinking tonight surprisingly good, despite my trepidation of accepting a drink from a guy dressed up as roadkill.

The annual Halloween karaoke party for our building isn’t a bad way to spend the night, especially with the ragtag neighbors we were lucky enough to live with.

It could’ve been much worse.

“Happy birthday, Poppy.” I’m bombarded by Shaz, one of the three girls who live in 3C. She plops down in the folding chair beside me, bringing the chill of night air inside with her. “Are you having fun, girlfriend?”

I flinch as the rope of her long purple braid smacks me in the side of the face as she settles.

Shaz and her two roommates, Ines and Jada, came as KPop Demon Hunters and have been tearing it up on the balcony dance floor all night.

“How could I not? This party is always the bomb.”

“It is, right?” She lists over toward me and smiles, her boozy buzz in full swing. “And I love your costume. The two of you are so cute.”

Asher and I came as Sally and Jack Skellington.

It wasn’t an overly difficult transformation, but I think we’re killing it.

I used a wash-in red hair dye to cover my blonde.

We took a trip to the vintage store for my dress and Asher’s pinstriped suit.

And then, we added a bit of makeup for the finishing touches.

Et voila, The Nightmare Before Christmas.

The real selling point is the white bald cap covering Asher’s shaggy blond hair—well, and the fact that he is tall, and lanky, and a total ham who can pull anything off.

“Evening, young ladies.” Birdie Thompson is from 4A and moved in a week or two after us. She has a strange, bohemian bag lady vibe, and I’m never sure if her mismatched chaos is intentional or not. “I saw you girls dancing on the balcony. It’s as crisp as a chip tonight, isn’t it?”

“It sure is—” Shaz giggles when she gets a good look at the old girl. “Wow, that’s quite a sweater, Birdie.”

I can’t look at Shaz.

If I do, we’ll both burst into fits of laughter. Instead, I take another swig of my creamsicle-dreamsicle concoction and fight to keep a straight face.

The sweater in question is a lop-sided, orange and brown monstrosity that should be burned at the first possible opportunity. There’s a plastic jack-o’-lantern laced onto the thing with green ribbon directly above her right boob and a crow on the left.

I scramble to think of something constructive to say about the chunky, uneven knit. “It’s bold and yet fiercely seasonal.”

Birdie beams. “Made it myself as an ode to the harvest of fall. I bet it brings me luck at bingo tonight.”

“If nothing else, it’ll distract the competition,” Shaz says, grinning.

Birdie either doesn’t register the comment or doesn’t care. “Well, I’ll leave the party to the folly of youth. I’m headed to the late-night sitting. There are two spooky specials tonight.”

I don’t talk bingo, but I try to match her excitement. “May the dabbing gods be ever in your favor, Birdie.”

Birdie pulls a plastic troll doll from her pocket. The thing has wild, slime-green hair sticking straight into the air. “Trolliver Queen appreciates the positive energy. Everything is about energy. You ladies are good vibrators. Very positive frequency.”

I cut off whatever inappropriate thing Shaz is about to say about vibrators by cupping my hand over her mouth. “That’s great to know. Thanks, Birdie. Have a great night.”

“You as well, birthday girl. Many happy returns, petal.”

The moment Birdie closes the door and is out in the hall, I meet Shaz’s gaze. “Okay, you can let it out now.”

She doubles over in her chair and bursts into a fit of laughter. “Man, I love the people in this building so much.”

I do too. They’re the only family I’ve got.

Or, at least, the only family I remember.

It’s after midnight when we tumble outside onto the balcony dance floor—Asher’s warm hand tugging me behind him. The night has been filled with friends, libations, and an amazing playlist. The buzz of celebration cocoons me from the world, suspending me in a spinny haze.

It’s just the perfect degree of drunkenness. More than tipsy but less than sloppy.

My head feels like a ten-pound bowling ball, and I let it fall back until I’m staring up at the bright harvest moon. “Best birthday evah!”

Asher is six-foot-two, so it’s easy for him to kiss my forehead and smile down at me. “Better than the trampoline park last year?”

I consider that. “An amazing night as well, but yeah, I think so.”

He gives me a satisfied nod. “Then I have earned my bestie badge for another year.”

I sway to the music as we melt into the crowd of drunken revelry. “You have nothing to prove. You have a lifetime bestie badge.”

“As I should.” He winks and then holds up my empty hands. “What’s this? You don’t have a drink. How can you maintain a state of schnockered bliss if you don’t keep fuel in the tank?”

I chuckle. “Okay, last one. Then we need to call it a night. We promised Big Dan we’d shut it down at a respectable hour.”

Asher steps back and gestures to the patio furniture against the wall. “Are you good to keep dancing or do you want to sit down?”

“I’m good. I’ll mingle.”

“Okeydokey, I’ll be right back.”

Asher ducks back inside and leaves me with a dozen neighbors and a handful of plus ones. The older crowd dispersed about an hour or two ago and are safely tucked back into their apartments. But there are still enough people out here to call it a party.

“Happy birthday, Poppy,” people say as I dance by.

“Thank you.”

Life is good. It’s the perfect night. The air is crisp but not cold, with that clean, breathable October scent that smells faintly of apple cider and Margie’s overenthusiastic pumpkin candles burning in every corner.

The music from Mitchell’s playlist has been an amazing mix of upbeat electronic with the odd Halloween remix added in for themed flavor. As I sway and twirl among my friends, the blend of the bass beat carries me. My head feels fuzzy, and my heart, for once, feels light.

Tonight isn’t about what I don’t have—like any idea of who I am or where I came from—it’s about what I do have.

Great friends and a home with the greatest guy I know.

I truly believe the universe gave me Asher to fill all the emptiness in my world.

“Happy birthday, Poppy.” A cool hand takes mine and tugs me around to face a man in his late thirties. He shares more than a striking resemblance to Ian Somerhalder, his black hair tousled in that ‘I worked all day to make this look effortless’ sort of way.

I don’t know him, but more than one person brought guests tonight, so… “Are you having a good night?”

“I am, thank you.”

“Wow, your eyes are really blue.” Okay, I must be really drunk because that was lame. Not that it isn’t true, his eyes are the most vibrant cyan blue I’ve ever seen. “Are you wearing colored contact—”

The question dies on my tongue as time stops all around me.

The music ends mid-beat.

The dancers are still.

Even the noise of the city below is silent.

Wow… how drunk am I?

I continue my dazed runway turn and gasp when I see Asher. He’s locked in time, mid-step in the doorway, returning with our drinks. I rush over to him and cup his jaw, tears stinging at the rims of my eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. I just need a private word with you, then I’ll release them.”

When I turn back, fierce fury burns in my soul. “Whatever you did, undo it!”

“Don’t be afraid, Poppy.” The stranger’s voice is deep and pulls at something at the back of my mind like a forgotten dream. “I’m not here to upset you. I came to give you a gift or, rather, to return one.”

My mind stumbles over that, but I don’t care. I step between him and Asher. I may not know what’s going on, but there’s no way I’ll let anything happen to my best friend while he can’t defend himself. “Give him back. I’m not interested.”

Blue Eyes tilts his head to one side, and a sly smile curls his lips. “You’re not interested in finding out who you are, where you came from, or about your family? You’re not curious about how you ended up here, so far from the life you were meant to live?”

The questions pierce my heart and steal my breath. How could he possibly know I have no memory of my life before I was sixteen? My earliest memory is of a seventeen-year-old Asher dressed up as Wolverine, leaning over me as I lay on the sidewalk a block from his foster home.

He picked me up, dusted me off, and when he realized I was alone and in trouble, he snuck me into his room. As time passed and nobody came looking for their missing daughter, we figured there must be a reason I blocked it all out.

That was October 31st five years ago.

And here we are.

The only person who knows that story is Asher, and there’s no way he’d ever tell anyone my personal business. The shared bond of trauma kids is unbreakable.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I told you. I’m here to give you back that which was taken from you.”

Before I can ask him what the hell that means, a spark ignites between us. A fizzing, white-hot thread of energy arcs from his finger into my skin. The jolt of electricity rockets up my arm and zaps through me like I’ve been electrocuted.

I suck in a breath, and my knees betray me, threatening to give way and assplant me on the concrete of the balcony.

“Ow! Holy shit, dude, that hurt!” I shake out my hand and stumble to the side, bumping into Ines and Shaz standing like posed mannequins. I squeal and steady them, unsure what would happen to them if they fell.

This isn’t right. None of this is right.

Cradling the burning sting in my hand, I prepare myself for what I’ll find, but there’s no burn, no blood, not even a mark.

Heart racing, I turn back to the man.

Only… he’s not there.

The stranger is gone. One second he’s staring at me with those weird blue eyes and the next, the space where he stood holds only moonlight and the scent of a summer bonfire.

I rush over to Asher, wrapping my arms tight around him. He’s warm and solid, and as another huge jolt of energy engulfs me, I hold on to him with everything I’ve got.

As quickly as the world froze, it burst back to life without missing a beat. The music pumps. My friends dance. And trucks bump over the bridge on the freeway in the distance.

Everyone is oblivious to anything being amiss.

Of the purple and blue energy swirling around us, building pressure… Of the feeling of coming apart at a molecular level… Of the shift in reality stealing us from a private apartment in Wichita and dropping us into what looks like an old haunted mansion.

When the air stops glowing, I suck in a deep breath, and Asher unfreezes, staring down at me. “What the hell just happened? Was that real? Am I so drunk that I’m hallucinating?”

I swallow. “No, the blissful buzz of my birthday celebration abandoned me the moment the world froze, and this strange guy wished me a happy birthday. That was real… I think.”

The echo of the stranger’s words plays in my mind. “I’ve come to give you a gift or, rather, to return one.”

I take a step back from Asher and claim my drink with a shaking hand. My mind is still reeling, and when Asher looks at me, his entire demeanor changes.

“What guy, Pops? What the fuck is going on?”

I take a long sip of the creamsicle bliss, and stare at the interior of this dark and forgotten house. “I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”