The Cloak's Shadow

by Elle Beauregard

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  "That deserves another round," Wren said before ticking a nod at the bartender. The chick was seriously cute—and seriously good behind the bar. Wren had watched her work the length for the first ten minutes before Zander had arrived, and now had been keeping tabs from her peripheral vision as Zander told the story that had led to this little blow-off-some-steam evening.

  The bartender slid on over. "More of the same?"

  "Yep. And make them doubles," Wren replied. "On my tab."

  "You got it."

  Had she just winked?

  Wren shook the question away and turned back to Zander. Her short, near-black hair was styled rough, almost spikey tonight, her make-up extra dark, but her outfit was casual so Wren got the impression the extra was due more to mood and less to intention. Hell, maybe it wasn't even real—maybe it was just the vibe Zander was putting off that made her look darker and sharper than usual.

  "So you slept with him," Wren said by way of asking her to go on.

  Zander nodded and sucked back the last of her vodka soda.

  "How was it?" Wren pried. She was buzzed. There was no way she was letting Zander off the hook without spilling the details.

  "Fucking awesome," Zander replied. "Of course."

  Okay. There was obviously more to the story, here...

  "It was..." Zander barked a yell, then sighed. "He's so fucking gorgeous, Wren. Like..." She groaned like she was mad about it.

  "And you like him?"

  Zander stopped. She nodded. "Yeah. I like him." Then she shook her head. "A lot. Too much."

  "What do you mean, too much?" Wren challenged. Because from everything Zander had said so far, it sounded like this guy was in the same boat.

  "I freaked out."

  Oh. Wren kept her mouth shut but raised her eyebrows in question.

  "We fell asleep," Zander went on. "And a few hours later, I woke up to turn over and there he was. He looked so fucking peaceful. And I felt so fucking peaceful I almost fell back to sleep. But then I couldn't. And the longer I laid there, the more I liked him. And the more I liked him, the more this voice in the back of my head told me this was a bad idea. That it would all go down in flames and..."

  She sighed without finishing the sentence.

  Which was when the bartender showed up with their drinks. Wren took them both and thanked the woman—who definitely winked at her this time. Wren felt her cheeks warm but pushed the reaction down and handed Zander her drink.

  "Why would it go down in flames?" she asked when Zander didn't say anything after taking a sip.

  Her hazel eyes came up to meet Wren's. "You weren't around when my parents got divorced," she said. Then she shook her head and took another long pull from the skinny straw in her clear-and-bubbly.

  "Was it bad?" Wren asked.

  "If you’d consider a scenario where my dad threatens to kill my mom in the middle of the night bad, then yeah," Zander replied, "it was bad."

  "Holy shit," Wren said.

  Zander nodded. "They'd been married for more than twenty years."

  "That doesn't mean every relationship is doomed," Wren replied.

  "I know that," Zander said, looking at her. "I do. But I was lying there looking at him and... I don't know how to explain it. I knew that if that happened to us—the thought was too much to bear. So I went to leave."

  "And he woke up?" Wren surmised.

  "Of course he did," Zander replied, rolling her eyes. "And he was so fucking cool about it, Wren. I could have told him, and I think he actually would have understood. But I was out of my head and I stormed out." She sighed. "And I regretted it within minutes."

  "So call him," Wren said. "If he was so cool, call him. He'll still be cool."

  "I texted him this morning," Zander said.

  "And?"

  "And he told me he didn't want to see me again."

  Ouch. Wren felt like she'd been kicked in the gut and she didn't even know the guy.

  "Anyway, I didn't come out to mope," Zander said. "I'm a goddamned adult. And it was one night. I'll be fine. I just needed to get out of my apartment, ya know?"

  "Completely," Wren agreed. "I'm honored you'd think of me."

  "Where's Bridgette?" Zander asked. She picked her drink up off the bar, stirred it once and took another long pull from the straw. "Did she not want to come out?"

  "She's visiting her parents," Wren replied. "Bars aren't really her thing."

  "Fair enough," Zander replied. "I want to meet her some time, though. So what is her thing? We'll plan something she'll want to do."

  Wren wasn't sure how to respond, at first. It was so kind of Zander to offer that—even if she wasn't totally aware of what she was offering. "Gardens," Wren said after a sip from her own glass. "She likes going to the botanical gardens. She likes the art museum." She liked reading and studying tarot—but Wren wasn't about to say that aloud.

  "Would she want to take a tour of the garden district?" Zander asked. "That's where that library was I went to Friday night and it was beautiful. I heard there are tours of the neighborhood."

  Wren smiled. "Her parents live there, so she could probably give us the tour."

  Zander's dark brows arched higher above her eyes. "Wow. Some of those houses were amazing," she said.

  "Yep. Hell, you might have seen their place." Not that Wren could begrudge Bridgette's parents their wealth and good fortune. They donated to the medical center annually and generously, as well as to other organizations and causes. And their ability to spare no expense likely played a part in Bridgette's survival as a kid. Plus, they were nice as hell and had welcomed Wren with open arms.

  So, yeah. They were good people.

  "Damn," Zander remarked. "Well tell Bridgette I want to meet her. And I'm sorry for stealing you for the night."

  An hour and another round of doubles later, Wren and Zander found a booth and the conversation turned to drunken question-and-answer.

  "Okay," Zander said. She pressed her lips together like they might have been numb.

  Wren's were.

  "Okay, what's the craziest thing you've ever done?"

  Wren laughed. And knew her answer. Normally, she wouldn't have said it, but right now she didn't feel the anxiety she would have expected to. Maybe because she was drunk—maybe because she trusted Zander. Whatever the reason, she had no fear of censure. So she said it. "Wavelengthing."

  Zander stopped, her brows furrowing and her golden-green eyes narrowing. "What the hell is wavelengthing?"

  Wren laughed. She put her hand out onto the table, palm up. "I'll show you. Give me your hand."

  Zander looked dubious but curious as she put her hand in Wren's.

  Wren drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. She pulled her focus inward, away from the noise of the bar around them, from the bustling bodies, the music. Then she sent her energy out to the palm of her hand, searching for Zander's vibration: her wavelength.

  It wasn't unusual for it to take a second to connect to someone for the first time—finding that vibration and matching it to your own was no small feat—but she could always feel something. There was always proof of the other person as soon as Wren sent her energy outward.

  But not this time.

  Instead, she felt nothing, like sending her energy into a void.

  “Is something supposed to be happening?” Zander asked, her tone cynical-amused.

  Wren opened her eyes, pulled her hand back and gave it a shake. “Yes, it is, if you’ll be patient for a second.” Then she laid it on the table again. “Okay, try again.”

  Zander gave her hand again willingly, her fingers warm against Wren’s palm.

  Wren closed her eyes again. She searched, stretching her energy farther than she had the first time. Farther still—until, finally, her vibration bumped into a wavelength so thin and fine it felt more like finding the edge of tissue-thin gossamer than any substantial vibration.

  "Say something," Wren said. She n
eeded Zander’s voice to know if this energy was hers—and not somebody tables away. That shouldn't have been a question, not with Zander's hand in hers, but the wavelength was so delicate, Wren couldn't be sure.

  "Something," Zander said simply.

  And Wren felt the good-natured cynicism in her energy as much as heard it in her voice.

  This was definitely Zander.

  "Think of a color," Wren said then. "Don't say it aloud."

  She tried to interlace her own energy with Zander’s, to weave her own wavelengths into her friend's, to make them match, but it was hard to do.

  Whether because she was drunk—or maybe because Zander was drunk—Wren had to fight to keep her energy in step. Every time she thought she had it, it changed, shrinking back or flaring forward. Lengthening, then shortening, like an ever-changing code Wren didn't have the key to.

  Then, in one flash of connection, Wren saw the color: Blue.

  Followed by a fast swell of blinding light that made Wren pull her hand back with a startled gasp, her eyes shooting open.

  Zander’s dark brows arched high over her hazel eyes. "What was that?"

  Wren smiled in the hopes of playing it all off even while her heart was pounding.

  "That was wavelengthing," she replied after a breath. "And the color you were thinking of was blue. Like a cerulean blue."

  Zander's brows furrowed again, but this time in question. "How did you...?"

  "Because I'm a witch."

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  "Are you gonna say anything about it?" Wren pried as she stood next to Zander in front of the bar.

  They'd paid their tabs (or rather, Wren had paid both of their tabs because no way she was going to make Zander buy her own drinks on a night like tonight) and stepped outside with a comment about potentially hitting another bar. Now that they were outside, Wren wasn't sure that was a good idea, but she was fine to do whatever Zander wanted to.

  "About the witch thing?" Zander asked, looking at her.

  "Yeah. That." Wren gave a shrug like it was no big deal. When, actually, it was a huge deal.

  Other than Bridgette, Zander was the only person who knew what she was. She wasn't the only other person Wren had ever wavelengthed with, but she was the only other person who'd known she was doing it. With everyone but Bridgette and Zander, Wren had played it off like a bar trick, guessing colors and birthdays for fun—getting one wrong every now and again on purpose so nobody would take it too seriously.

  "Probably not," Zander replied. "I don't know if I believe any of it. I'm not saying you're full of shit. I mean, you definitely guessed the color I was thinking of. I know you believe it and you might actually be right—but I don't get it." She sighed. "Shit, I don't even think I'm making sense anymore."

  Wren smiled.

  "Just...” Zander turned to her. “A witch? Like an honest to god witch?”

  Wren shrugged through a nod and a smile. “Yep.”

  Zander blinked. She sighed and shook her head. “I don't get it,” she said. "I want to! I wish I did. But I don’t. But if it makes you happy, fine. That’s what matters."

  Wren could handle that. She just hoped Zander would ask her if she woke up tomorrow and had questions, rather than letting their friendship get weird.

  Maybe she shouldn't have told her. What had she thinking?

  She hadn’t been.

  Still, it seemed like Zander was okay with the whole thing.

  "Okay," Wren said aloud. She was not going to let this mess up their night. "You wanna go to another bar?"

  Zander leaned back against the building they'd just left and closed her eyes. "The mind is willing, but the flesh says I better not."

  Wren laughed. "I'm kind of with you. Call you a lift?"

  "Nah." Zander rolled her head to face Wren but kept her eyes closed.

  “Okay, no falling asleep on me,” Wren said, laughing quietly.

  Zander laughed through an exaggerated groan and slowly peeled her eyes open—before they shot wide and a hard gasp hissed out of her suddenly open lips.

  And a white, sparkling light flooded Wren’s vision.

  Wren spun back, away from the light, half expecting to see somebody behind her with a gun—but nothing was there.

  Heart pounding, she spun back to Zander—in time to see the blinding white light be snuffed out, like throwing a wool blanket over a star, leaving only Zander in its place.

  Zander dropped her hand from where it had been covering her mouth and gave a smile that was definitely meant to cover another emotion. "Sorry," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I thought I saw something. That... happens sometimes when I drink."

  Wren stared at her for a beat.

  That light hadn’t cast shadows. Nobody else had reacted to it. Wren had seen it because of her magic, but nobody else had seen it.

  Because it wasn’t part of the living world.

  That's what the heaviness was, she realized. The heaviness she'd felt in Zander, that she'd told Bridgette about. It was Zander’s own personal protection from the other side—it doused her light completely. Without it, she’d have been a beacon for spiritual energy. It protected her—and protected anybody she was near. A protection she likely wasn’t even aware she possessed.

  Zander was a cloak.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Wren was wiping down the kitchen counters on Monday afternoon when she heard her doorknob rattle.

  She'd slept until noon on Sunday. Then forced herself to eat and drink water. When she felt human, she'd walked down to the convenience store on the corner and bought herself a bottle of electrolyte water. If she'd been thinking ahead, she would have bought some for herself Saturday night before going home. The electrolytes had helped, along with the ibuprofen. And for a hot minute, she'd had the ambitious thought of cleaning her apartment. She'd started, and then quickly realized that was a bad idea when her head had started to pound and exhaustion had hit her like a feather pillow in the face. So she'd gone back to bed.

  This morning, though, she woke up feeling great. Other than a low level, nagging anxiety that she chalked up to remembering all the shit she'd told Zander Saturday night (she really needed to text her and make sure they were cool) she felt awesome. So, at six a.m., she'd started cleaning.

  When she moved her bed to vacuum behind it, she got the idea to rearrange things a bit.

  Technically, she'd always had her bed where her dining table was meant to be, right across from the kitchen. She'd liked it that way because it was the shortest distance from the bed/sofa/TV to the kitchen. That way, when she or Bridgette were making a meal, the other could rest and still chat. But the small space meant that one side of the bed was against the wall which was perfect as a super-deep, make-shift sofa, but not so perfect for two people sleeping. It meant one—normally Bridgette, since she slept on that side of the bed—had to crawl over the other if they wanted to get up in the middle of the night. It wasn't a huge deal, and Wren usually just got up to let Bridge out on the rare occasion she needed to, but it was unnecessary when there was a space plenty large enough for the bed, with walking room on both sides, just across the room. It was also closer to the bathroom.

  Those were all the justifications Wren had told herself as she rearranged and cleaned in the wee hours of the morning, which bled into the late morning, and now it was just after noon.

  Which was when Bridgette arrived.

  Wren tossed the rag she'd been using into the hamper and came around the corner just in time to see Bridgette open the door.

  "Hey," she cooed, relishing the relief and happiness that blossomed in her chest at the sight of her. "How was your appointment?"

  Bridgette just stood there for a second. For one heartbeat, she didn't say a thing.

  And for that one heartbeat, Wren was terrified of the silence.

  Then, Bridge smiled. "It was good," she said.

  Just like that, Wren's fear evaporated, leaving her weightless in its absence. She f
elt her smile spread. "That's great." Then she reached to take Bridgette's bag as she shrugged it off her shoulder.

  "You cleaned," Bridgette remarked as Wren headed for the coat rack she'd cleared off and repositioned by the closet. "And rearranged."

  "Yeah, I got a hair up my ass this morning," Wren replied with a chuckle. "And don't sound so surprised by the cleaning part. We keep a pretty tidy place." She ducked back around the corner. "There's room for us both in bed, now."

  Bridgette smiled and closed the door behind her before cranking the deadbolt home. When she turned around, she brought her fingers to the front of her button-down shirt—the one she wore on appointment days because it made for easy access to her heart and ICD.

  "You wanna change?" Wren asked, angling toward the closet. She knew Bridge hated that shirt.

  But Bridgette shook her head. "No." She undid the top button with her thin fingers.

  Wren felt her brows furrow and lips pull into a questioning smile. "Then what are you doing?"

  "Undressing myself," Bridgette said simply, her voice low and come-here quiet. "You should help."

  Wren crossed the few steps to her, confused and more than a little concerned. This wasn't like Bridgette. She took Bridge's hands in hers, stilling them. "Baby. What's going on? We can't—"

  "We can," Bridgette said, nodding as she undid the next button beneath Wren's fingers. When her eyes came up to meet Wren's the green was so bright, her smile so soft. "The doctor said I can. And I want you."

  Wren took a step back but didn’t let go of Bridgette’s hands. Was she kidding? "The doctor said you can—"

  "Have sex." Bridgette took a step forward, her fingers on the last button of her shirt. Her pale skin was bright like an angelic light where her shirt fell open, revealing the space between her breasts, the edge of her pink scar, years old.

  "We can be together," she said. She let her shirt fall open and, slipping her hands from Wren’s gentle grasp, reached forward, her fingers sliding under the hem of Wren's top.

  "I want you," she said, peering up so Wren was staring down into her green eyes, so true and hopeful. So Bridgette.