by Rye Brewer
I was surprised by the question, figuring he didn’t care.
I shrugged. “Yeah. It was really no big deal.”
“Didn’t look like small deal to me,” Aidan quipped. “But I’m not an idiot. Clearly, you’re hiding something. I just hope that you get whatever answers you’re looking for tonight.”
It was a weirdly kind sentiment but laced with his usual bad attitude.
I didn’t know how to handle communication with Aidan anymore. As soon as tonight was over, I was looking forward to going back to our usual relationship of mutual distaste.
I decided not to respond to him, simultaneously confirming that I was definitely hiding something, and instead sat down across from him.
We were as close to one another as we had been last night when I woke up from my fainting spell on the floor of my dorm. Almost as close as when Aidan had leaned in, to just mere inches away from my face to get a better look at my hazel eyes as they turned pitch-black.
The air was tense, but we were clearly both determined to ignore it. We’d never spent this much time alone together, but it was turning out to not be as entirely unpleasant as I would’ve assumed.
In fact, I had to admit that I was beginning to see Aidan in a slightly different light ever since he agreed to help me talk to my mother. It exhibited a sense of kindness that I didn’t know he was capable of.
“Did you bring what I told you?”
“Oh, yeah,” I replied, reaching up and undoing the necklace that never left my neck.
It was my mother’s necklace before it was mine—a thin silver chain on which hung a single red ruby the size of a pea. Aidan had told me that I needed an object that once belonged to her in order to strengthen the connection.
He held out his palm for it and I hesitated to give it to him. That necklace had been locked around my neck constantly since my mom died. Allowing it to leave my touch sent a wave of anxiety through my body.
“It’s okay,” he said his voice soft, responding unexpectedly nicely to how nervous I clearly was.
I dropped the necklace into his palm, the ruby glittering in the candlelight until he closed his fingers over it and rested his clenched fist on his knee.
“Wait,” I said. “Before you start, you never told me how I could repay you.”
Aidan shrugged. “You said you’d brew me whatever potion I asked for, didn’t you?”
I wondered if I would regret offering him something like that, given his mean streak. What if he asked for a potion that was illegal to brew?
“Right,” I replied, swallowing nervously. Something about being in a small, enclosed space with him, encased in silence and dim lighting, felt far too intimate. “So, what do you want?”
He shrugged again, as if he wasn’t all that fussed about it. “Thought it might be cool to have a potion that could make me fly. Can you do that?”
I cracked a smile, utterly surprised at him.
He wants to fly? That’s it?
“You know I can just use my witch magic to help you levitate, if that’s really what you want,” I told him.
“I know,” he responded. “But I’d rather do it on my own.”
Why was Aidan suddenly coming across as so endearing to me?
Here I was, thinking that he would ask for a deadly concoction or a magical poison or a disgusting draught for his long list of enemies, when in reality all he wanted from me in exchange for his necromancy services was a basic potion that would allow him to fly.
He arched a single eyebrow. “What?”
I bit my lip, trying to fight a smile. “Nothing.”
“No, seriously. What?”
I shrugged.
Aidan rolled his eyes.
I chuckled, unable to help myself. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Moira Bloodworth.”
I snorted. “Likewise.”
“Whatever,” sighed Aidan. “Are you ready to begin?”
I nodded, the nervousness bubbling up within me once again.
“Okay. Take my hand.”
Aidan held out the one that wasn’t holding my mother’s necklace, beckoning for me to take it. I didn’t realize that we were going to have to touch each other, but I choked down my unease and slipped my much smaller hand into his. His palms were surprisingly smooth and cool.
“Now, you’re going to close your eyes and think of your mother,” he explained in a calm and even voice that I’d never heard from him before. I supposed this was the focused and talented necromancer side that I’d never seen. “I’ll feed off of the energy in her necklace and in your shared bloodstream to call out to her.”
“How will I know when she’s here?”
“You’ll know,” he replied. “Trust me.”
I nodded and watched as he closed his eyes. For a second, I took in the sight of his somber expression, brow furrowed in concentration. His dark hair fell in gentle waves across his forehead. Though we’d never gotten along, not since the day we met, I always understood what the girls at Under Realm meant when they said he was one of the most good-looking boys at school.
His high cheekbones and slender nose lent him a naturally handsome face. Coupled with his dark eyes and thick lashes, not to mention the charming dimples that never seemed to match his less-than-delightful personality, Aidan Grimsbane was admittedly very attractive.
Um, what the hell was I talking about?
Focus, Moira.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the connection of Aidan’s hand with mine as his strange, but vaguely familiar, necromancer magic flowed between our bodies.
Doing my best to follow his instructions, I recalled all of the memories of my mom that I could.
The sound of her laughter as we shouted our names into the valley below our house and heard them echo back to us. The way her long, floral dress flapped in the wind as we picked daisies in the meadow. Her blue eyes, sparkling like the ocean, as she lifted me into her arms and told me she loved me.
We sat like that for what felt like hours, though it could’ve been mere minutes. It seemed impossible to keep track of time passing as I became less and less aware of Aidan’s touch and close presence, losing myself in thoughts of my mother.
She had always been so kind and attentive. Even when I was a little witch, tempestuous and ferocious and prone to setting things on fire, she was patient with me. It was as if she understood me, even though she had a water affinity like her sister Inez. I knew that, as long as I lived, I’d miss her. Even if I only got to spend the first eight years of my life with her, almost half of which was blurred by the fuzziness of youth, I knew that I loved her like I’d never love anyone else.
But, as much as Aidan seemed to be concentrating on calling out to her, she didn’t seem to hear us. The room remained quiet and still. There wasn’t even the slightest whisper of a ghost among us.
After what seemed like a week of sitting in that spot, I sighed in frustration and opened my eyes, yanking my hand away from Aidan.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I snapped.
Aidan’s eyes flashed open angrily and he narrowed them at me in a glare. “Yes. Are you sure you’re actually focusing like I told you?”
“Of course I am,” I bit back. “I didn’t realize I’d have to stay focused for six thousand years just for you to reach out to a dead person.”
Aidan rolled his eyes and scooted back a couple of feet from me. The flames of the candles leaped upwards several inches at my sudden annoyance, but neither one of us paid it any attention.
“I wouldn’t expect a witch like you to understand the finer details of necromancy,” Aidan practically snarled. “But I would appreciate it if you would at least try to respect it. I am trying to help you, after all.”
I scoffed. “I’m not disrespecting necromancy, Aidan. I’m just questioning your abilities.”
Aidan shook his head in frustration and made a moveme
nt like he was about to stand up, but then he stumbled oddly. His eyes went blank.
Suddenly, all of the candles in the room blew out, leaving us suspended in smoky darkness. As my eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of light, I felt Aidan’s hand reach out for mine. Despite how annoyed I was at him, I accepted the touch and tried to meet his gaze through the darkness.
Aidan spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “She’s here.”
12
“My sweet Moira.”
I gasped at the sound of the heartbreakingly familiar voice echoing softly throughout the shadowy room.
From where I sat on the floor, I spun around and gazed up at the hazy figure of my mother standing in the far corner of the room. My eyes fully adjusted to the sudden darkness as moonlight washed in through the narrow windows above us, casting a silvery glow over my mom’s ghost.
I glanced back at Aidan, but he was sitting cross-legged again, upright, eyes closed, mouth set in a firm line of concentration. It seemed he was focused on maintaining the connection, despite our argument mere minutes ago.
I looked back over at my mom as she walked toward me, then sat on the floorboards so that we were at eye level. She was my height. Her dark hair was thick like mine, but cut to her shoulders, while mine cascaded down my back.
“Mom?” I breathed, hardly able to believe what I was seeing.
Of course, I’d seen ghosts before. It was fairly normal, after all, especially on days like Halloween.
But it had been practically a decade since I’d seen my mom in the flesh.
Not that she was technically in the flesh. In fact, she kept flickering in and out of focus and I found myself squinting just to keep a vaguely clear view of her.
Despite that, though, her voice was loud and clear. And it sounded just like I remember.
“Sweet pea, what are you doing calling out to me like this?” She sighed.
I found myself wanting to burst into tears, having craved the sound of her quiet, concerned tone for over half of my life. It was nearly impossible to articulate, but to be a young girl without a mother was perhaps one of the most difficult challenges life could present to you. I knew that without a doubt.
“I… I’ve been having some trouble,” I whispered to her, my voice thick with the tears that I desperately didn’t want to release. “I thought it was my fire affinity disappearing or something, but I’m as strong a witch as ever.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, Moira.” Worry knitted her brow. She reached out her hands as if to fold me in her embrace but then appeared to remember that I wouldn’t feel her touch and dropped them back in her lap.
The gesture caused my heart to shatter.
“Sometimes, it feels like my spine is on fire,” I tried to explain. “I get this unexplained fever out of nowhere, and it makes me dizzy and nauseous. Then, as soon as it happens, it goes away like nothing happened. Other times, my eyes will turn black. Kind of like demon black or the way they are when a young witch hasn’t discovered her affinity yet.”
I swallowed hard. I hoped that Aidan couldn’t hear our conversation, and that he was merely floating in the in-between world of the living and the dead as he held the connection between me and Mom .
She waited patiently for me to continue, watching me with a troubled expression.
“I tried to write to Auntie Inez about it, but she said it was just stress,” I continued. Against my best efforts, a quiet sob burst forth from my throat. Tears cascaded, streaking down my face as I struggled to continue speaking. “But, yesterday, I felt so sick that I thought I might die. It felt like there was fire in my lungs and I swear I was coughing up smoke. And then I fainted. Mom, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
With a pained expression, my mom glanced away from me. She was quiet for a few minutes as I sniffled and wiped away my tears.
“I wish I could wipe away your tears,” she finally said, turning her gaze back to mine. “I’m so sorry for leaving you, my sweet girl. My dearest Moira.”
I shook my head, lower lip trembling as more sobs yearned to escape. I hadn’t cried like this in a very long time, and I once again found myself hoping that Aidan wasn’t actually witnessing it. I never intended for anyone to see me this weak.
“It’s not your fault,” I whispered. After all, the tragic car accident she died in was a stupid, unpredictable human event. She was killed instantly; no amount of soul reaper magic could’ve healed her.
“I’m not sure how to help you,” she said.
I frowned. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?”
Confused, I watched as my mother’s ghostly form stood up and crossed the room to the nearest window. I remained on the floor, not sure what to say as she fell quiet and gazed out at the night sky with a pensive expression. I could tell that she wanted to tell me something, but that she couldn’t figure out how to get the words out.
Maybe she did know what sickness plagued me. Perhaps it was genetic but had been dormant for centuries. That would explain why Aunt Inez knew nothing about it.
In the world of the dead, where my mother spent her time now, she would be surrounded by countless generations of Bloodworths. They probably told her about the disease that I was doomed with. Now that I had Aidan’s help to summon her, she could tell me about it.
Maybe she could even tell me how to cure it.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of silence, my mother spoke again.
“When you were little and you first showed signs of having a fire affinity, I was so delighted,” she began. Her eyes remained trained on the constellations high above us, her voice soft like velvet as it floated throughout the room. “We hadn’t had a fire witch in the Bloodworth coven for a long time. But it was my sister who reminded me that it could’ve actually been a curse.”
My stomach squirmed as I shifted nervously on the floor.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
My mother glanced over at me for a few seconds before, once again, staring out one of the turret’s tiny windows.
“Inez seemed convinced that your fire affinity was not a fire affinity at all, but instead a symptom of the characteristics you inherited from your father,” my mom replied.
It was the first time I’d ever heard my mother talk about my father. When I was little, I was always shushed and immediately distracted with something when I tried to ask questions. After a few years, I learned to stop asking.
I remained quiet, silently urging my mother to go on.
“It is not common for different magical species to reproduce with one another, as I’m sure you are aware,” my mom continued. “Of course, it’s not unheard of. Witches and necromancers, for example, have been known to have happy, healthy children together. However, when a witch and necromancer have a child, one parent’s magical traits will be dominant over the other parent’s. It is utterly random. There is no predicting if that child will be a witch or a necromancer, but it will never be both.”
Was she saying that my father wasn’t a witch?
What could he have been, then? From her explanation, it seemed like he certainly wasn’t a necromancer.
Was he a demon? A soul reaper? What did his magical qualities have to do with me being a fire witch?
“When it comes to mating between other types of magical species, that doesn’t always ring true,” my mom said, her voice growing softer. “Sometimes, children can inherit traits from both of their parents. Inez helped me research the possibilities and we found that, if we encouraged your witch side, the other side of you would remain dormant.”
“The other side of me?”
I rose, timidly approaching my mother. It was making me nervous that she refused to meet my eyes, so I moved to stand in front of her. She was forced to look at me, standing barely an inch taller than me as her ghostly blue eyes bore into mine.
My mother smiled softly, looking as though she might be on the verge of tears now.
“When I first met your fath
er, I had no idea who he was,” she told me, brushing a wisp of nearly transparent hair off her forehead. “I only knew that I was madly in love with him. And when I learned the truth, it only made me fall deeper. I was young back then. Young and stupid.”
I frowned. What truth was she alluding to? Who was my father?
“When I brought you back to the coven, you were still a newborn. But, even then, I could tell you were different. Special. When your fire abilities became known to us, Inez promised she would help me hide your father’s side within you. I couldn’t bear it if the monstrosity he passed on to you reared its ugly head. You were my beautiful daughter, my sweet little witch. If anyone learned the truth about whose blood ran in your veins, it would be a nightmare for you.”
I started crying again, growing more confused as the seconds passed. It was as if my mom was speaking in riddles, unwilling to tell me the truth. Frustrated tears spilled from the corners of my eyes as I glared at the ghost of my mother.
I wished just one single person in my family would tell me what was going on, plain and simple. I was tired of being lied to. I was tired of suffering in silence, wondering what could possibly be happening to me.
“What do you mean though?” I asked, my voice thick with desperation. “What are you talking about when you call my father a monster? What is happening to me?”
“Think about it, Moira,” my mother whispered. Clearly forgetting that she couldn’t touch me, she reached up instinctively and attempted to wipe away a tear with her thumb. All I felt was a cool puff of air on my cheek. “You feel pain in your back, right between your shoulder blades. Your eyes turn black… much like demons and animal shifters alike. Your affinity for fire is especially strong, almost as if you were born to live within flames. And tell me… have you dreamt of flying yet?”
My blood ran cold at the memory of the strange dream I had after fainting yesterday. I’d been flying over snow-capped mountains, as if I simply swallowed a particularly potent brew of the potion I’d promised to make for Aidan. But, when I’d glanced at my own outstretched arms, I’d noticed a pair of wings.