The Burroughs and Plainacher families had never changed their names to avoid detection, probably because only other witches would ever know what the names meant. Cyan would have liked to have a different last name, only because both Burroughs and Plainacher carried connotations of death. On her father’s side was George Burroughs, the only minister executed during the Salem Witch Trials in 1692. As family history explained, George was only suspected due to his immense strength. Of course, he was, in fact, a witch—that much was true—but he was a light witch who mixed his belief in God with his belief in the Craft. He had been harmless, but his strength lived on in the Burroughs men, Drake included.
The Plainacher side, Rue and Sybil’s side, had a more sordid history. They were descendants of Elisabeth Plainacher, an alleged Austrian witch and the only person executed for witchcraft in Vienna during the panic of 1583, perhaps with reason. Elisabeth was no minister. In fact, she was a seductress who not only had Sybil’s power of second sight but Rue’s talent for potions—which, rumor had it—she used to murder the wife of the man she loved. Instead of hiding this surname, though, her family held tight to their heritage for generations.
In truth, Cyan was relieved she at least carried the name of Burroughs as opposed to Plainacher. At least she felt somewhat allied to the good side.
Cyan cussed and jumped in her seat when Rue’s hand touched her shoulder. “Careful, Mother, or I’ll accidentally bust your nose, too.”
“I’m sure you shocked Liam very much with your fighting abilities this morning. You always have been more like your father than me.”
Cyan sighed at the level of sadness she heard in that statement.
“Have you found anything?”
“No.” Cyan shook her head.
“Maybe you should come join your father and me for dinner at the homestead.”
“Not tonight.” She ran her hand down the list of deceased tourists. “I must be missing something.”
Rue was silent for a moment. “I like him.”
“Hmm?”
“Your Liam.”
“You didn’t act like it.”
“I just don’t want you distracted, especially if War has arrived.”
Cyan curled her blonde braids onto the top of her head and shoved a pencil through her tangled locks until her semi-dreads sat in a tower above her forehead. “The Dorcha is somewhere in Charleston, Mother. I’m focused, all right?” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “Plus, the man is in love with Zoe. Very much in love. I’m not going to fuck with that.”
“Language.”
Cyan rolled her eyes.
“I’m going home. Don’t stay here all night. You need sleep, especially since we’re going to test your abilities tomorrow,” Rue said.
“Hooray, I can heal headaches.”
“You’ll soon be doing a lot more than that, and you’ll need to know how to control it.”
“Goodnight, Mother.”
An hour later, Sybil announced she was heading upstairs. She said she needed time to process Cyan’s newly arrived abilities as well as Liam’s surprise appearance. She said she thought she might paint and left Cyan alone in the dimness of the Sea Books backroom, where not even the orange sunset permeated.
Cyan considered taking a break from the seemingly pointless research into the unfortunate trolley occupants and maybe picking up a book about the healing arts—of which she was an apparent recipient—when her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” she said.
“I’m sorry I was an idiot today.”
“You weren’t an idiot.”
“I accused your family of being a bunch of witches.”
She chortled. “Well, you’d just had your face smashed by a woman half your size. How’s your nose?”
“It’s fine. Speaking of, are you an actual ninja?”
“No, but my father always insisted I know how to protect myself.”
“Well, feel free to inform him that I give you a rave review.” He took a deep breath, followed by silence.
“Any… any news on Zoe?” She rubbed her eyes.
“No. The doctors keep telling me it hasn’t been long, it hasn’t been long, but it feels like she’s been in this hospital bed forever.”
“Can you sing?”
He chuckled. “No. Absolutely not.”
“You should sing to her.”
“I don’t want to make her feel worse.”
“It’s that bad?” She leaned back in her chair and rested her big boots on the desk edge.
“In boarding school, our choir director once told me to just mouth the words.”
Cyan winced. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. He was right, of course. I sound like a screaming donkey.”
“I’ve never heard a screaming donkey.”
“I’ll sing for you sometime.”
She laughed.
“So what did you do today, after kicking my ass?”
She looked at the papers around her. “Just worked at the shop.”
“I didn’t really get a chance to look around. I’ll have to come back someday.”
“It’s mostly just books about how to look younger and find inner peace. That kind of shit. Some might call it New Age. My mother sells her tinctures—magic potions—since we’re witches and all.”
“You’re not going to let me live that down.”
“No, you’re right, people do say we’re witches. My aunt actually does fortune telling sometimes. Three hundred years ago, she probably would have been burned at the stake by now, if only for her bad fashion sense.”
“Not everyone call pull off biker babe, Cyan, at least not like you.”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle in my life.”
“Okay, well, not everyone can pull off leather like you.”
She chewed her thumbnail and enjoyed the silence.
“Is it strange that I feel like I’ve known you for years?”
“No,” she said.
“The irony is, when Zoe wakes up, you probably won’t get along at all. You’re nothing like each other.”
Cyan didn’t say anything.
“Oh, God, I didn’t mean that to sound horrible. I just meant you’re very different women.”
“I’m sure.” She thought about the Book of Shadows, the prophecy. “No one’s like me.”
“I think that’s true,” he said.
“I gotta go, Liam.”
“Of course. Hot dinner date?”
His words stung, but she did her best to sound amused. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She felt his smile through the phone. “Have a good night, Cyan.”
“Get some sleep.”
“Okay.”
After she hung up, she saved his number in her phone. She didn’t name him Dof. She named him Liam, because now that her invisible man had a name, she would never forget it.
In his dream, he was underwater. Alarms sounded above him, reminiscent of a submarine screaming about incoming missiles. Liam struggled to the surface, holding his breath, until he broke through and found himself not floating in the ocean amidst the wreckage of an exploded warship but instead in a brightly lit hospital room. The alarms didn’t stop, and soon, men and women in scrubs descended like a swarm of bees over the unconscious woman in the hospital bed.
“Zoe,” he muttered, still half asleep. He shoved himself up from the uncomfortable cot, which was when a nurse finally noticed him. She took hold of his upper arms and pushed him backwards.
“Sir, you need to give the doctors some space.”
“Zoe!” he shouted.
The machines around her screamed. The friendly doctor, the one who tried so hard to be helpful, knelt across Zoe’s torso and compressed her chest.
“She’s flat-lining,” someone said.
Liam tried to step forward, but again, the nurse held him tightly and kept him at a distance as he watched the woman he loved struggle to live.
&
nbsp; “Come on.” He heard the doctor as she continued compressions.
The machine that measured Zoe’s heart rate shrieked one high-pitched note.
“No,” Liam whispered. “Zoe…”
The doctor mimicked his repetition of Zoe’s name, as if she might hear them calling and come back. And then, she did. The heart rate machine blipped once, twice. It kept going, and the doctor hovering over Zoe’s chest leaned back, out of breath.
Liam shoved the nurse away and stepped up to the side of Zoe’s bed. He took her cold hand in his and kissed it. He told the doctor thank you, but he didn’t look at her because he feared he might see pity on her face—or, worse, a lack of hope. She did talk to him a little, said things like internal bleeding, brain damage, be prepared.
Once everyone left the room, left him alone, he sat in the chair by Zoe’s bed and watched her breathe. He refused to sleep. He tried to build more letters with Connect Four, but his fingers shook so much, he dropped half the game pieces, and they rolled away under Zoe’s bed.
He didn’t know what time it was, and he didn’t care. He pulled out his new phone, and when she answered, she sounded alert.
“Did I wake you?” he said.
“No. What’s wrong?”
“She flat-lined, and they brought her back.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Cyan hung up.
She was true to her word. He heard her combat boots running down the hallway, and then, there she stood, in the hospital room doorway, fully dressed. Her blonde hair was in a huge, curled bun on top of her head, some pieces having fallen free in her mad dash. She was out of breath, and her gray eyes were bright. No, she hadn’t been sleeping. He wondered how much Cyan ever slept at all.
“Is she okay?”
Liam didn’t rise from the hospital chair. “For now.”
Still in the doorway: “What did the doctor say?”
“Be prepared,” he whispered.
Cyan’s shoes squeaked as she crossed the floor and knelt beside his chair. She didn’t touch him. “Doctors don’t know shit.”
He took her hand and noticed she flinched. “I’m sorry I keep doing this to you, bringing you into this mess. I don’t have anyone else.”
Slowly, she put her other hand on top of his. “I don’t have anyone else either. Not really.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Maybe I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.
Liam looked down at her, taken aback by her words.
Cyan pulled her hand away and sat Indian style next to his chair. Her eyes stared under the bed.
He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the item he’d been carrying for over a week. He handed the engagement ring to Cyan, whose hand trembled before curling into a fist around the large, blue diamond and silver band.
“I was going to ask her after the gala. I don’t know why I waited. I wasn’t nervous.” He shook his head. “Maybe if I’d asked her beforehand, we never would have been there. We never would have been on Broad Street.”
“How did you meet?”
“I was sommelier at a French restaurant in San Francisco.”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
“Restaurant?”
She smiled. A little.
“Sommelier. It’s a fancy word for a wine snob. It wasn’t love at first sight. Nothing silly like that. Zoe was a customer, and she liked wine. French rosé at first, until I made her try Bordeaux. She said it tasted like dirt. I said it was just the French funk, part of what makes French wine so good, and she told me I should redefine the word ‘good.’” He chuckled, but the amusement felt hollow in his chest. “She asked if she could buy me dinner, which seemed out of character. I thought she was sort of old-fashioned, very proper—a fancy English teacher. I about had a heart attack when she refused to let me pay.”
Cyan smiled.
“Before her, I was no good at relationships. I was always so panicky, clingy even. I pushed so many women away, good women, because I was afraid of being alone. I went from relationship to relationship until I met Zoe.”
“She was different.”
He nodded. “She’s stronger than me, more self-assured, even though she lost her parents, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She wasn’t. She acknowledged from the start: shit happens. I liked that about her right away. And she didn’t make me feel crazy or afraid. I never doubted her for a second. Even when she got the job out here, I never thought she’d leave me. I knew I’d go with her. But I didn’t think she’d end up in a hospital bed. She never even gets sick, you know?”
Cyan handed the ring back to him.
“Is there a guy in your life? There’s got to be.”
“No. I’ve never had a boyfriend.” She wrapped her arms around her knees.
“I know about a dozen guys at the Bistro who’d line up to take you to dinner.”
She shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Waiting for Prince Charming?”
Her lip twitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
He slid from his chair and onto the floor. “Then why are you crying?”
She laughed toward the ceiling. “I never cry.”
Liam reached out to wipe a tear from the edge of her cheek, and her small hand covered his. She nuzzled against his palm, eyes closed. He froze and let her rub her cheek against his hand. He knew he should feel wrong with Zoe comatose behind him, but something about Cyan made it all so innocent. Perhaps, it was her innocence, because even though she’d smashed his face into pavement the morning before, she seemed untouched and unaware of her own striking sensuality. The thought of this woman being a virgin was shocking, what with the way she looked, talked, walked. She was undeniably sexy, no shrinking violet. Something about her felt powerful.
Just as the thought passed, her skin burned blue. Cyan’s eyes popped open as Liam twitched his hand backwards, fell on his ass, and smacked the back of his head against Zoe’s hospital bed.
“Shit,” he said, hand to his skull. “Did you see that?”
She was on her feet and running before he could even stand. He yelled after her, but the sound of her retreating feet indicated she had no intention of turning back—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow.
It was almost four AM when Cyan reached her parents’ ivy-covered house, the house of her upbringing, and she banged on the front door until an alert Drake Burroughs answered, dark brown hair askew. He towered above her. “What is it, little one?”
“Liam,” she stuttered. “I need… shit, Daddy.” She wrapped her arms around her huge father.
Drake led her inside a clean but disorganized home filled with charms, knickknacks, and decorative pillows. It looked like a beach house, what with all the pastel fabrics and lightwood—and books, everywhere books.
Rue wandered down the staircase barefoot. “What’s happening now?”
“I’m not really sure, darling.” Drake tried leading Cyan to a chair, but she refused.
Cyan walked away and stood by the bay window that overlooked the family garden. “I need you to heal her.”
“Who?” Drake asked.
“Zoe, Liam’s… she should be his fiancée, but he didn’t get to ask her before the accident. I need you to heal her, Daddy.”
“Slow down, child,” Drake said in his robe. He sat on the couch. “What on Earth just happened to you?”
“Liam called. Zoe almost died tonight. The doctors are telling him to ‘be prepared.’” She scoffed. “As if anyone can be prepared for something like this, even a guy who lost both his parents. You should have seen him. He looked different tonight, like he’s dying with her. You need to… please, Daddy, you need to wake her up.”
Drake glanced at his wife, who remained standing near the base of the steps with her arms wrapped around her thin shoulders. Rue was powerful, of course. She was goo
d at potions, but Cyan knew her father was the one for this assignment. Drake had his hand in the darker arts and was even known for his curses. Somehow, Cyan felt like her daddy was the one who would need to bring Zoe back—as if he might need to reach into some darkness to find her.
“Do you care about this boy?” Drake asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
Cyan looked at her mother. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever there is between Liam and me—whatever destiny—none of that matters. I think if she dies, he’ll die with her.”
Drake shook his head. “My poor baby girl.”
“We don’t have time for emotion right now. Right now, I need you to get dressed and do this. Please, Daddy.”
After thirty seconds of silence, Drake nodded his head and stood. He disappeared upstairs, kissing his wife on the forehead as he went. Then, Cyan allowed herself to be hugged by her mother—something Rue rarely did.
Father and daughter walked quickly to the hospital but paused near the entrance. He took her wrist in his hand. “You might need to help me,” he said. “I know you’ve been manifesting.”
“No, I can’t.” She pulled her hand away. “I have no control over it. Shit, Liam touched my face earlier, and I glowed blue.”
“He saw that?”
“I don’t know what he saw, not really. I fucking sprinted out of there.”
“Your training starts today. You’ve got to learn to control yourself, harness whatever powers are awakening in you. I can’t have lightning bolts shooting out your fingers in the middle of East Bay Street.”
“Fine, yes, but after we do this.” She pointed at the hospital.
“I’m gonna cloak us both to be invisible, you hear me? We don’t need anyone asking questions. When we get to the room, I’m putting Liam to sleep.” He popped the collar on his khaki Carhartt jacket and walked in his heavy work boots toward the entrance. Unlike Cyan’s mother, Drake had no need for incantations. He waved his hand and made it so. Sometimes, Cyan wondered just how powerful her soft-spoken father really was. Rue had told her once that he had a kind of sordid past with the Craft. Drake had backed up the claim by saying, simply, “Thank goodness for your mother.”
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