by E. Latimer
“I doubt there’s much more they can get out of us. They wouldn’t say anything about the other murders when I asked.”
“Here, too.” Reagan drummed her fingers on her teacup. “The guy might as well have said, I’ll ask the questions here.” She lowered her voice deeper at the end of her impression, and Dayna snorted.
“I’ve been watching the news all morning and there’s nothing.” Meiner frowned. “Do they even have any leads?”
“I don’t know.”
Dayna felt her breath catch, which immediately sent her pulse racing. She hadn’t slept last night, and the exhaustion combined with the residual shock was pushing her to the edge of obsession. She could feel it in the way her heart pounded in her ears, how she felt overheated and spacey. She needed sleep, but if she tried to nap right now, it would only tip her into a spiral that much faster.
She avoided Meiner’s concerned stare and glanced over at Reagan instead. Her friend’s face was blank, but she was clutching her mug a little desperately. When Dayna shifted in her chair, Reagan jumped. “I keep zoning out. And I can’t stop thinking about her face.”
Dayna could only swallow past the tightness in her throat and shake her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. It was too overwhelming.
Before Reagan could say anything else, something vibrated on the surface of the table, making them jump. Dayna’s cell phone was lit up and buzzing away. The screen displayed the word Reverend in bold black letters.
Dayna made an involuntary noise of distress, reaching out to slam her cell phone over. She didn’t want to think about how furious he must be.
“Your dad?” Meiner asked, and shook her head when Dayna nodded. “Shit, you’ve got a lot going on. He won’t show up here, will he?”
“He won’t. He doesn’t want any kind of drama his congregation might hear about.” A problem that couldn’t be packed up neatly and shipped off to some church camp simply didn’t fit in with his plans.
“I can’t stop seeing it….” Reagan didn’t seem to have heard any of the conversation. “Her eyes.”
Instantly it was all Dayna could think of. The chalky cast of Margery’s skin, her eyelids opening and shutting like some gross parody, as if she were trying to clear her vision. The empty red sockets…
The room spun, stretching out and away. Suddenly there were vast amounts of space between her and the others. Yet the house felt small. It was too warm; too little oxygen was circulating, trickling into Dayna’s lungs a gasp at a time. It felt like breathing through a straw.
“Dayna?” Meiner was on her feet now, reaching for her arm.
Dayna staggered upright, nearly knocking her chair over. “I can’t talk about this.”
“Maybe you need to.” Reagan’s voice came from a million miles away. “Maybe you need to learn how to process something instead of shoving it down for once. Keeping this in isn’t good for either of us.”
Dayna felt a surge of incredulity through the haze, which quickly turned to irritation. Not all of us can emotionally process things in an instant, she wanted to say. Not all of us want to.
But there was too little air left to waste it on this, and she wasn’t sure the words would come out properly. Instead she turned and stumbled for the door. “I need air.”
In the apple orchard the air was cooler, fresher. Maybe it was getting out of the confines of the house, or the cold air woke something in her lungs. Whatever it was, it always seemed to help. At least a little.
It was also freezing, and she’d been too flustered to throw a jacket over her tank top before coming out. Dayna shivered, rubbing her arms, trying to push the feelings of annoyance down.
Reagan knew better than most about the OCD, so she should know Dayna wouldn’t handle this well. She should know better.
A moment later she felt guilt sink her stomach. Reagan had been just as affected by what they’d seen. It wasn’t like she, Dayna, was the only one allowed to be traumatized here. It wasn’t fair to be angry with Reagan.
She had to get herself under control. She hated arguing with Reagan, and it wasn’t okay that Meiner had seen her like this. The other girl was always so coolly unimpressed with everything. She’d probably think Dayna was a lunatic.
She sat beneath one of the apple trees and shut her eyes, placing one hand on the rough bark, running her fingers over the knots in the tree.
One. Tree bark, nicks, and grooves, trails from insects under her fingertips.
Two. The wind. Her hair on her cheeks, across her neck.
Three. A face. Pale, tormented, twisted in anguish.
Dayna’s eyes flew open, and she dug her fingers into the bark, ignoring the sharp pain as her nails bent back. How was she supposed to forget, when her mind only ever traveled in circles?
She shouldn’t count her breaths. Shouldn’t concentrate on how they entered and left her body, swelled and deflated her lungs. If they were deep enough, if they were long enough. The world was moving strangely, slowly. It felt like a dream.
“Dayna?”
She started. Her temple throbbed, and she realized she’d been tugging at the same strand of hair for the last few minutes. She let her hand drop into her lap, but she didn’t turn around. Meiner.
How ridiculous did she look right now, sitting on the ground, one hand on the tree like she was afraid she might be swept away?
The crunch of footsteps sounded in the grass, and then someone sank down next to her. “You all right?”
Maybe if she stayed still long enough Meiner would go away.
Dayna caught a whiff of laundry soap as Meiner climbed to her feet. “Hold on a minute.”
Now she was curious enough to crack an eye open, in spite of her spinning head. Meiner was on her tiptoes, reaching for one of the higher branches. She was wearing a formfitting black T-shirt and jeans today, and Dayna couldn’t help noticing how the gesture stretched her torso out long and lean, a bare strip of white stomach showing the top of one hip bone.
She looked away quickly as Meiner grabbed one of the apples with a noise of triumph. “How long have you been having these attacks?”
Dayna hesitated, gaze searching Meiner’s face. “Since I can remember. I—I was diagnosed with somatic OCD at fourteen. Stress triggers it.” She paused and then snorted mirthlessly. “Well, everything triggers it lately.”
“Here, stand up for one second. Hold the tree if you have to.”
Meiner was standing over her now. In one hand she held the apple, green, pockmarked with brown. The other she offered to Dayna, who took it, letting Meiner haul her to her feet.
They stood toe to toe now, and it was very apparent that Meiner was a good deal taller. Dayna’s heart was still beating hard. Her panic was there, but it was a distant pulse at the back of her mind, as if on layaway for later. She was grateful for the distraction.
Meiner slid her hand down, and Dayna felt the warmth of the other girl’s fingers lock around her wrist. Meiner’s face was serious as she pressed the apple into Dayna’s palm.
“Tell me three things about this.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How—”
“Don’t question it.” Her voice was stern, but one side of her mouth twitched the slightest bit. “Three things, Walsh. I’m not giving you your hand back until you tell me.”
Feeling a little foolish, Dayna closed her fingers over the apple. Staring up at Meiner, she was struck suddenly by the change in her. Yes, the other girl still had a temper, but she was beginning to show a different side, someone who could be more open. When Grandma King and Cora weren’t around, Meiner seemed like a totally different person.
She could feel her face flushing, and Meiner’s grip on her wrist tightened.
“Um, it’s round.”
“That’s a good start.” Meiner’s smile stretched wider. Dayna noticed her left canine was crooked.
“It’s…rough.” She moved her fingers over the surface of the apple. “It’s a cooking apple.”
“Good.”
Meiner had moved closer, and Dayna’s face felt hotter than ever. She had to tip her head back to look the taller girl in the eye. She was struggling to think about the apple and not the way Meiner’s lips curved.
“It’s—it’s—” she stuttered, and then finished awkwardly, “it’s an apple.”
“Very astute.” There was something sharp about Meiner’s grin. She was somehow cynical even smiling. “You seem distracted.”
Her eyes glittered as they met Dayna’s. Meiner was impossibly close now, and she hadn’t released her grip on Dayna’s wrist.
Dayna bit her lip, forcing herself not to look away, even though her face felt like a supernova. “How did you know to do the three things trick?”
“It’s how I used to deal.”
Dayna blinked at her. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the image of the tattooed and fiery-tempered Meiner panicking over anything. “Used to?”
“It never fully worked for me. Meds are more effective in my case.” Meiner shrugged and took the apple from Dayna before releasing her wrist, turning the apple over in both hands. “But I use both now.”
Dayna pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying, Meds are scary. Instead she said, “I froze, you know. When we found the—when we found Margery. I freaked out and Reagan had to do a protection spell, because I was too busy panicking.”
“That’s okay. It had to be horrifying.”
“But it’s not okay.” She shook her head, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “I’m supposed to be a full witch, but I was too panicked to even think straight. What if he’d really been out there? What if he’d come for Reagan, and I was too busy having a mental breakdown to help her? She’s ascended, but her power is at a normal level now, and she’s only one witch, and…and what if she’d died—”
“Hey, whoa. You can’t think like that. You’re both okay. You’re both safe.” Meiner frowned, eyes searching Dayna’s face.
Dayna could feel her face burning as she blurted out, “I feel like I’m just…always afraid. And I’m too scared to even try medication. I just…What if I’m not myself? What if it changes who I am, or makes things worse?”
Meiner reached out, gently taking her hand again, pressing the apple back into her palm. “You know, I refused to take meds because I thought it made me seem weak. Like admitting I needed it meant I was broken. But that’s bullshit. Reaching out for help is what saved me.”
For a moment, Dayna just shut her eyes and let herself feel the warmth of Meiner’s hand, the cool surface of the apple.
She was so tired of being anxious.
Finally she opened her eyes and offered Meiner the apple back. “McIntosh.”
“What?”
“The third thing. It’s a McIntosh.”
Meiner grinned, and the expression lit something electric in Dayna’s stomach. She felt like she had that night in Meiner’s car. Impulsive, reckless.
Only this time it was the vacant apple orchard and the wind tangling through Meiner’s white hair and the edge of her razor-sharp smile that made Dayna feel a little drunk.
Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out and seized the collar of Meiner’s leather jacket, pulling her forward, pressing her lips to Meiner’s.
A second later she pulled back, lips tingling, cheeks burning.
It was a nothing kiss. Barely a brush.
The apple dropped out of Meiner’s hand, rolling on the ground at their feet.
For one beat, two, there was silence. She was still gripping the front of Meiner’s jacket. “You know, that isn’t usually how I do the three things trick,” Dayna whispered.
“Sorry.” There was nothing sorry about Meiner’s smile as she stepped toward her. Again, their faces were only inches apart, and Dayna stepped back, stomach fluttering, fingers still gripping the leather jacket. Meiner followed, until Dayna’s back touched the apple tree, the bark pressing into the bare skin of her shoulders.
Meiner smoothed one hand over Dayna’s jaw, running her fingers under her chin, tilting her face up. Their lips met a second time. She felt Meiner’s body along the length of hers. She was wrapped up in the scent of the other girl’s clothes and hair and skin, and tasting nothing but her mouth, and she wasn’t sorry either.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CORA
The older witches wanted to try yet another reading, and when Cora protested, Bronagh suggested she find Meiner and Dayna and head to the library for research.
Cora didn’t argue. The idea of getting out of the house was a good one.
Still, it was unnerving to see Bronagh taking over, making plans for them as Grandma King faded in and out. Back in the house, Cora had left the old woman shuffling around the living room, demanding to know why there was no record player. The King Witch had vanished once again, and Cora wasn’t sure how to feel in her absence. A little relieved, certainly, but disturbed all the same. Her training wasn’t going to happen if Gran didn’t hold herself together.
She paused outside the door of the farmhouse, squinting in the direction of the orchard. It was only a stone’s throw away, but the figures of Meiner and Dayna were standing beneath the farthest tree.
Cora frowned. They were awfully close. Were they…? Yes, they were. Her mouth tasted sour. There was something satisfying about calling in a cold, level voice, “If you two are about done, we’re going to the library.”
Meiner and Dayna sprang apart like she’d burned them, which only added to the satisfaction, though it faded as soon as she turned away.
Something tore at her chest as she headed for the car, leaving them to trail after her.
The sensation was painful enough to leave her momentarily breathless, and it had nothing to do with magic.
The city library was small, set in the center of everything. It had a tiny rose garden on the side, as if to make up for its lack of space, and a modest Ancient Mythology section. It was fairly empty on a Sunday morning, and she, Meiner, Dayna, and Reagan camped out in the window seat, spreading their bags and backpacks around them until they took up most of the available space.
Cora couldn’t concentrate. Scooping her bag up, she mumbled something about going out for a smoke before hastily exiting. Outside, she leaned against the side of the building, near the benches in front of the flower garden. Her thoughts kept going back to the scene beneath the tree, seeing Meiner kiss Dayna. More distracting still, the ebb and flow of voices in her head seemed to have picked up. The hissing whispers seemed to increase with every moment. Her bag felt like it weighed a million pounds, heavy with the metal box, with the dagger inside.
Her hands shook as she lifted the cigarette to her lips. Every time she looked at someone she thought about her sacrifice. What about the guy at the vending machine? Or maybe that boy across the street waiting at the bus stop? She tried to picture plunging the dagger into his chest. What would it feel like? What would it sound like? It made her feel ill.
And each time she hesitated, each time her stomach turned at the mere thought, the hissing increased. The goddess’s anger coursed through her. It was getting hotter every time, like her blood was slowly heating up the longer she put this off.
She had to get this done. She told herself it was to trigger her ascension, to become a full witch and help her coven, not because she was afraid of what the goddess might do if she refused.
Cora took a deep breath and tried to force herself to relax. In that moment she hated Grandma King and the goddess. She even hated herself, for her cowardice. She shouldn’t be this afraid. She was a witch.
A shuffle in front of her jerked her head up, and she saw him—a boy about her age, maybe a little older. He was wearing torn jeans and a band T-shirt that said Banshee Blood in bold writing across the front. He came around the corner and settled onto the bench in front of the garden, head bent over his phone.
Something shifted in the back of her mind. It felt like something uncurling, slow and lazy, and then a voic
e said, He will work, witchling.
Cora sucked in a breath, closing her eyes.
She could hardly cut his heart out in the middle of the rose garden, could she?
Follow him, witchling. Do not back down this time.
Shit.
There was a definite note of warning in the goddess’s voice. She was tired of waiting.
The boy stood up abruptly, phone to his ear. “Yeah?” He began moving for the sidewalk, still talking, and Cora frowned, straightening up. Maybe she could really do this. Maybe—
“Cora.”
The sound of Meiner’s voice brought her up short. She fumbled the cigarette, nearly dropping it.
“We’re running out to get sandwiches. You want to come?” Meiner’s voice was hesitant. The car ride over had been tense, and Cora had spent much of it fuming, but at the moment Meiner was a welcome distraction.
“Yeah. I’m starving.” She turned away, forcing lightness into her voice. “I could eat the twelve apostles right now.”
She was startled when Meiner actually grinned at her, and the expression seemed to ease some of that burning in her chest, just the slightest bit.
As Meiner turned to go back into the building, a flash of heat seared Cora’s insides. She staggered to a halt, bracing herself against the wall, teeth clenched. The sensation stayed longer this time, rippling through her core, setting her insides on fire. She clamped her lips shut on a scream. A second later the burning cut off, and she forced herself to stumble after Meiner.
The hissing whispers had dropped sharply in volume now, though there was a new kind of malevolence to them, and Cora swallowed hard. The warning had been clear enough.
She was running out of time.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
MEINER
“Okay, so we get he’s choosing the witches from a book. The question is why. Why kill witches specifically?”
Meiner sighed, stretching her legs out beneath the table, which earned her a sympathetic glance from Dayna. The other girl had been shifting in her seat, rubbing her arm just under the dog bite while she pored over her books, sandwich in hand.