Sometimes I like to pretend magic doesn't exist. Pretend that if I keep my head down and take to my tasks like a blind, breathing machine, one day it will cease to be.
I bring the lip of a swing-top bottle to the keg of meadowsweet ale, and accept that today is not that day. No matter how low I duck my head, how tight I shut my eyes, magic lingers in the air like the scent of rain, lingers in my blood. At tonight's Crossing of Magic ceremony, it will burn brighter than ever.
The amber bottle full, I close the flip-cap down onto its opening and clamp down the wire. My fingers are numb at the continuous motion. Fill. Close. Set aside. Fill. Close. Set aside. If only life were that easy; once we had our fill of problems, we could close them away. Set them aside.
I slide this newly filled bottle into the holder and the bottles tinkle as if celebrating the last of their family come home. No more fit in the crate, so I pour wood wool shavings over them, pack it in tight, and shift the crate top closed. Another task down. God knows how many more to go.
A low creak resounds from the front of the store. I pick up a smaller crate, balance it on my hip, and use my other hand to clear the wood shavings from my worktable. The wind has pushed that door open more times than I can count today.
Three bells trill as someone steps on the doormat and confirm it's not the wind.
"Coming," I say. The empty crate in my hands shifts unsteadily as I walk through the curtain of beaded moons and stars that casts small rainbows on my arms. "How may I help..."
My steps slow. I stare at Caleb by the door and my heart sinks to the darkest depths of my stomach. I wish I could disappear into the same hole.
A small smile curls the side of his lips as he approaches, sparking little fires on my skin the closer he grows. He's as beautiful as I remember, an effortless, unconventional beauty of wind swept hair, his nose slightly dented where it'd once broke.
"Aramina," he says, the sound of his voice like distant thunder. He skirts the counter and stops before me. In spite of wanting to appear cool, I press the crate closer to my core. I want to run, fast and far. Fast enough to turn back the wheels of time. Far into the past to blight out last year's Crossing of Magic ceremony. Had Fate blessed me that day, I wouldn't be here, before the man that means more to me than I can stand. The man who can't mean anything to me anymore.
With green eyes focused on mine, he takes the crate from my hands. I yank it back to keep some distance between us, but in the process slice my palm on a nail protruding from the old box. I hiss and retract my hand to my stomach, cradled within the other. Blood pools at my palm, its warmth stinging as it seeps through the parted flesh.
Caleb sets the crate down on the countertop and reaches for my hand. "Crap, Ro. Let me see."
"I'm fine," I start, but his cool fingers come over mine. The next moment, my open palm is cupped in his. Tension tightens the sides of my mouth. It's hard business refusing him, but I have to, for his sake more than mine.
"Isn't the use of magic for personal gain forbidden?" I ask.
He smirks, and, as always, obliterates all my attempts at anger. "I'm healing you. How is that personal gain?"
I arch a brow. His grin cracks into a low laugh that flutters within me like leaves trapped in my stomach.
"Fine, fine, I admit it. I enjoy touching you. I miss touching you." He grazes his thumb along mine in slow strokes that glide down my spine in waves. "I miss you, Ro."
While I struggle to swallow, he circles the air above my cut slowly with a finger. I tense, the wound prickling as the pool of blood seeps back inside with each rotation. The two sides of skin kiss, and, in seconds, the gash is sealed. My lifeline is all that remains on my palm with no signs of ever having been broken.
Caleb doesn't release me. Raising the healed hand to his lips, he presses a kiss against it. His lips are gentle and his touch so soft, it's hard to believe a tangible being is holding me, kissing me. But he is, and I can't remember why I deny him, why I don't just surrender to everything I want.
"Why can't we go back to how we were?" he asks, his breath a warm fog on my skin. "Nothing's changed."
I open my mouth to speak, but his other hand slides onto my waist and my words fade to a breath. I let him cage me between his body and the counter as my mind swims with memories of us before Crossing, our nights spent in each other's arms, days spent making naïve plans for after I got my powers.
Powers that never came.
Powers that will never come.
He lowers my hand from his lips and presses it against his cheek. "You know I have enough magic for us both. Let me share that with you. I can protect you."
His words flush ice through my veins and I snatch my hand away. "I'll be fine. I don't need your protection, or anyone else's for that matter."
I slip behind the counter and lower the lifting bar so he can't follow. Forcing myself to stay on task, I take the crate from the counter, turn to the cabinets, and rattle through vials of tonics and elixirs. Truthfully, I don't know what I'm looking for. Well, I do. I'm looking for Caleb to tire of my rejection and leave me alone once and for all.
He scoffs behind me. "Why are you always so damned stubborn?"
"I already told you, Caleb. I can take care of myself."
"Yeah? It's funny you say that. Those are the exact words my mom said, and she was still kidnapped. She was the High Mistress, Aramina. You're a—"
"A non-magic, yes, I know!" I slam the cabinet door shut as we begin to deteriorate in our usual manner. Shaking my head, I press my hands onto the countertop to anchor to my sanity and self-control. "You don't need to rub it in at every freaking turn."
"Come on, Ro. That's not what I said."
"But that's what you meant." I turn. "You think because I never inherited my full powers, I won't be able to survive without them. But may I remind you, I was top of our class. I still have some magic, and I sure as hell have fight left. However little, it'll be enough for me to take care of myself."
He stands still, those eyes unable to hide a whit of disappointment. For a moment, I think he's just about had it with me. He exhales, approaches the display case, and extinguishes that hope.
"I can't—I won't lose you, too." Resting his hands on the counter, he grips the edges as if he too feels close to falling. "I promise you I won't. I'm not giving up on us."
"And that's the problem. This is about more than us."
"It doesn't have to be if—"
"I'll never forgive you if you give up the crown," I say, silencing him.
He rakes a hand through his hair and tugs at the nape. "Then what am I supposed to do? I'm trying to understand."
"It's not for you to understand. It's for you to let me go. Carry on with your mother's work like you've been doing. You're close to achieving everything you've worked for. Focus on that. Non-magics need Sanctuary to stay open. So many people want to shut it down and you're the only thing stopping them."
His knuckles grow white on the edge of the counter.
I near him a little, hands fisted at my sides to keep from touching him, from smoothing my hand along his cheek and telling him that my words hurt me just as much as they hurt him, probably even more.
But remembering the non-magics that have disappeared over the past few months and those found murdered, I clench my hands tighter and near him a little more. "Please, Caleb. I'm lucky to have Aunt Sabana who doesn't care what I am, but many non-magics have nowhere to go when they're shunned. Sanctuary is their only home. You need to fight for them, not for me."
The shop bells jingle and Aunt Sabana walks into the store, dragging her red wagon behind her. It's heaping with sheafs of roots and herbs she'll later use for tonics and potions. Brushing her wild silver curls from her face, she stops short. Her blue eyes widen.
"Caleb! What a surprise, I didn't expect any of the men to arrive until later tonight. The ceremony doesn't start until 7." She slips off her checkered shawl and pauses. A line of worry joins the ones that already mark her forehead from age. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no," he says with a lazy laugh and pushes off of the counter. He gives her a hug and accepts her blessing. "I just thought to come by a little early to see if you had everything for this evening." He releases her, and I clutch the crate's rim to keep from rushing into her arms, chasing after the ghost of his embrace.
"And?" Aunt Sabana encourages under an arched brow.
Caleb ruffles his hair, a guilty smile spread on his lips. "And to ask if you could set aside a crate of the meadowsweet ale for me. You know I'm a fan." He shrugs, looking a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I can't help but smile myself.
A flush reddens Aunt Sabana's round cheeks. Complimenting her meadowsweet ale is like telling her she's the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. "Consider it done. I just did a run out to Wicker Ruins to gather some more meadowsweet. Which reminds me, dear," she says and faces me. "I couldn't find any mint there, or arrowroot. Would you mind fetching me some over in Bale? And take this list here with you. You can replenish the jars while there. I was going to, but ran out of time, and..." She waves a hand in a dramatic fluster, while handing me a list with the other. "This should keep you stocked for the month. The rest of us may be at Convent, but you never know who will be passing through in need of healing."
Her words make me think of the reassignment papers I have tucked away in my journal and a twinge of guilt tightens in my heart. Someone may come through in need of healing, but chances are I'll be long gone, in search of my own.
It's not something I'm ready to discuss—something I'll probably never discuss, and so I reply, "Yes, Aunt," all too glad to leave her to Caleb's charms, though I know those are reserved for me. I walk along the inside of the counter to avoid him, and grab my coat and empty sack.
"Wait up, I'll come with you." He takes a step toward me.
I raise a hand between us. "Just...don't. Please, I'll be fine."
"But—"
"Let her be, Caleb. It's a lost cause," Aunt Sabana tells him, a hand at his shoulder. He deflates, knowing it is.
"Then be careful," he says as I reach the door. "And if anything happens, call for me."
He means well, but every warning feels like a stab to the fact that I have no powers. With my sack and jacket in hands, I nod. continue out the door, and never look back. They probably think I'm angry about Crossing ceremony tonight. I'm not. I just don't need to be warned again. To look at Caleb again. To be reminded of everything I don't have and can't ever have again.
***
Within five minutes, my cloth sack is full. Aunt Sabana said she hadn't seen the forest come alive in such a way for a long time, though she didn't know why. Spring rains have been plentiful, yeah, but this is more. It reminds me of the tales she told me when I was younger, of the time of our ancestors. Back then, the realms weren't separated. Magic flowed freely from one world to the next, forming a perfect cycle of magic and life. But that's a time long gone.
I curl up my jacket into a makeshift pillow that I prop against a tree. There's no need for me to head back to the store so fast. Part of me wants to—that side of heartbreak that turns its victims into masochists and temporary addicts. That makes us crave to see the object of our pain just one more time under the deluded hope that something will change the next time we see them.
The other half thinks of how Aunt Sabana will be gone for three months after the ceremony tonight. Every year, fledging magicians depart to Convent where they will learn to hone their dominant power. Aunt Sabana helps with the orientation of newer magicians and non-magics alike. Unlike previous years, when she returns, I'll most likely be gone. I like to think that a part of her senses this. It's not a secret that many non-magics decide to be reassigned. Our reassignment, however, isn't to another coven town. Instead, we have our memories of magic bound before we're sent outside boundary lines to live as ordinary, magic-less humans.
But I can't think of that now. For this moment, for this day, I'll cling onto denial for a while longer and pretend that nothing has changed. That like every year, she'll return and I'll be waiting for her while also waiting for my own chance at Crossing.
Besides, the song of the birds and whispers of the breeze through the leaves relaxes me. Between the debate to leave or not, and the with the town preparing for Crossing, the shop has been busy. The last thing I've been able to do is relax. I close my eyes, relishing the smell of pine and the cool earth beneath dampening my shirt. In this instant, peace is everything. If I could melt into it, I would.
A cool tendril swipes my nose. I suck in a breath, frozen. A person with no magical background would think it to be dew falling from a tree, or an insect. But what touched me was cold and pricked my skin as if it brushed me with a vine of wet thorns. Only one creature is rumored to have a touch like that.
I slow my breathing, sure to keep my chest in a steady rhythm. They don't like sudden movements or noises, and the last I want is for them to flee. I open my eyes and a gasp escapes me anyway. Wisps of green and blue light dance in the air above me like phantom paint strokes. As the Sprites swirl and spin, colored dewdrops sprinkle from their bodies.
Pushing back with my feet, I slither up against the tree to a more upright position. There are so many. Their magical dew rains down onto the forest like a light summer mist. Wherever the droplets fall, the ground glistens and flower buds sprout of the same color, even on my jeans. Curiosity tempts me, and I pluck one of the buds from my pants. On my touch, it dissolves into a bead of cold dew between my fingertips.
I look back to them, rooted. Why they stopped for me, I don't know. Why they haven't left at my being here, I also don't know. These encounters don't happen to everyone—to anyone. Sprites haven't been seen in years and haven't interacted with the other species since before the Division, the war that separated our realms. They've always been a private race, neutral. Why me? Why now?
Whatever the reason, I lift a hand to them in a slow stroke as a show of goodwill. A blue sprite nears my fingers, its body made of shifting droplets that swirl within an invisible casing. My pulse quickens, but I hold my breath and extend my arm the rest of the way to meet it. It slides across my fingers as if to collect an invisible offering. When it floats away, iridescent dew sparkles on my skin. The paradox of sensation is breathtaking. It burns and soothes equally, as if the glitter are little needles and the liquid is salve. I can't help but laugh. No one will believe me when I tell them.
The sprite floats away. Another comes in its stead. It weaves into my hair, but it doesn't hurt. Instead, tiny tugs tickle my scalp as it tangles in the brown tresses before finding its way out.
Two more follow. I hold out both hands this time in welcome. They draw close and hover near my fingers. Cool droplets stain my fingertips in blue before dropping away to bloom on the ground.
The Sprites slash across my fingers in fast swipes. I hiss and jerk my hands back, their touch now hot. When I look down to my hands, gashes mark my palms. Within second, blood fills the small fissures.
Three more Sprites approach. With my hands clenched, I attempt to stand, but they rush me. Tangling in my hair, they yank in opposite directions. I scream and swat them away, but they slide across my hands and through my fingers, their burn magnified. They dash away and join the stagnant cloud of sprites that now gather together in a shifting mass of color.
"Why would you attack me?" I yell, my bleeding hands fisted. "Foraging is allowed as part of the treaty. We share the forest!"
A hiss is their reply. Their bodies begin to bubble, and rainbow vapors rise from their cloud. I know their next touch won't be cool.
With my eyes fixed on them, I reach down for my sack, careful not to move too fast. The blue sprites detach from the swarm. Beyond them, the green sprites now block the path from whence I came like floating emeralds. What am I going to do?
The blue sprites lunge in a wave. I swing my sack at them, time after time, but where I splice through them, they join at the other end. It's useless. Thrusting my sack at them, I spin and tunnel into the forest. The sound of splattered water chases me as they weave through the trees; some crash against the barks and leaves.
My thoughts keep time with my steps and my heart that jerks against my ribs. Why did they attack me? Why are there so many out in the open? Regardless if they're a rogue faction, their entire race will be held accountable for breaking the treaty. Why would they risk that over a witch with no magic?
I scream, a slash at my cheek jerking me to present. Less thinking. More running. I swing my jacket blindly and dig past the ache at my side and burn in my lungs. I have to run faster. Run. Duck. Swing. Run. Run. Run.
Rays of light cut through the trees a distance away. Beyond the brush is a meadow bathed in pure sunlight. I double my steps. Run, run, run. The sun will save me.
The sprites' sound fades. I dart a glance over my shoulder. They hover far. They won't dare come near the sunlight. It'll evaporate them in an instant.
My run withers to a slow jog the closer I draw to the light. Clutching onto the trees, I stumble forward, breathless. Sunshine is just there, for me to leap into it at will...
But so is he, and I stop.
A guy about Caleb's age stands in the middle of the clearing clad in all black. He lifts his palms before him and spreads his fingers, like one who wishes to catch the light seeping between them. He turns his hands over slowly, stares in awe at the gold light that touches him. As if needing to see more, he slides off his black jacket, his movements unhurried and serene.
I dive behind a brush as quiet as humanly possible and crawl forward a bit closer to the sunlight. It's wrong and I should leave or say something, but his jacket hits the ground and I'm rooted. He trails his gaze along his arms, captivated as I am by the play of light on his pale skin marked with black tattoos. Some are of daggers and arrows. Others are vine-like symbols that wrap along his sculpted arms. They vanish under the sleeve of his black t-shirt and reemerge at his neck before disappearing again into his equally black, shoulder length hair.
I crawl a little closer. I've never seen him before, and marks like his speak of magic, only I don't know what kind. Wizards from the Caribbean are known to have such scripts on their bodies. But though from different places, all magicians share one sacred language. I can't read any of the spells on his arms.
He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and turns his face toward the sun like...like he's never felt its warmth before. A tear streams down along his temple and a small smile spreads on his lips. It bubbles to a laughing sort of cry that presses on my heart. I know that mix of emotions all too well—that of feeling trapped. Of finding a slight measure of peace before a darkness you know is coming takes it all away.
His tears call to my spirit and my conscience. I should leave him to his affair with the sunlight, but watching him, my stomach knots and masters my feet. Whatever he's about, I feel to be seeing the sun for the first time through him, and mirroring tears fill my eyes.
Sharpness stabs the back of my neck. I scream and swat around me as the tips of the sprites stick me with heat. Standing, I make to run, but one step and I fall forward, my feet tangled in the brush. I roll over and scratch unseeingly at the sprites. Their liquid bodies slip through my fingers. Only the acrid after-sting remains.
Hands clamp my wrists. I gasp, but this touch doesn't burn. Opening my eyes, I find the sprites gone and the brown eyes of a stranger staring down at me.
Thank you for reading! Please vote and comment if you enjoyed the chapter!
Till next time!
Abrazos fuertes (Strong hugs),
Monica