by Katie May
Or, more accurately, the three men hovering on the porch, not even bothering to pretend they aren’t eavesdropping. They glare at Karsyn with varying degrees of hatred and annoyance. Even carefree Christian and sweet Polo stare at him like he ate their candy.
“I don’t know,” he says curtly. Meanly. “I shouldn’t have.” He wrenches his gaze away, almost as if it pains him to stare directly at me. It sort of reminds me of when you stare intently at the sun, the glow blinding you. You can never stare for too long without suffering repercussions.
“Karsyn—”
“Fuck you, Peony,” he seethes, and without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks to his car, slamming the driver’s side door shut behind him. He doesn’t bother to glance my way once as he backs away, despite no doubt feeling my glare drilling a hole into his head.
I want to scream at him to come back, to talk to me and tell me the truth…
And at the same time, I want to demand that he leave me alone and never come back. That I’ve done nothing to warrant his vitriol, that I’ve never done anything to deserve how he’s treated me. This toxic cocktail of emotions tangles up my insides, steadily cutting off my air supply until it feels like I’m choking. Drowning. Dying.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring down the driveway, but it’s long enough to cause Nana to hurry forward in concern.
“You should—”
Not giving her the chance to finish, I storm away from her—away from the triplets’ pitying glances—and climb the ladder to my attic bedroom. I want to break something. Smash something. Destroy this entire fucking room.
But I don’t.
Instead, I reach into my backpack and grab the brown voodoo doll with Karsyn’s blond hair wrapped around its neck like a noose.
My stomach muscles clenching uneasily, I begin to chant.
Chapter 21
I take the weekend to recuperate. At least, that’s what I tell Mariabella and Emmett when they incessantly text me, demanding updates.
Mariabella: u sure ur ok?
Mariabella: I can come over and check on u
Mariabella: text me back bitch!!!!
Snorting at my persistent friend, I roll back on the bed and type back a hasty reply.
Me: sorry. Sleeping.
Lies.
But how can I tell Mariabella that I was thinking about her boyfriend? That I was envisioning his face a moment before he stomped away, the hurt and anguish and something akin to need reflecting in his eyes? I can’t, that’s for damn sure.
Mariabella: how are u feeling? The girls r worried.
I stretch out my taut muscles, pleased when I only feel a sight tug of pain. Christian’s potion worked miracles. Most witches and warlocks spend years perfecting such a spell, sometimes even decades.
Me: I’m fine. Pinky promise.
I send Mariabella a picture of my pinky to emphasize the point, and she replies with three laugh emojis.
As I wait for her to respond back, I scroll through my other messages.
There are a few from Emmett, demanding to know I’m okay. As I scroll through our text thread, my breath catches when I spot a picture of him lying on his bed, one arm behind his head while he uses the other to hold up the camera. He’s shirtless, the golden, chiseled planes of his chest on display.
Emmett: Thinking of you.
Quickly exiting out of his messages, heart racing, I pull up one from Uriel. Disregarding it completely, I settle on calling him, clenching the phone between my ear and shoulder as I lean forward to mute the television in my room.
Uriel picks up on the third ring.
“You rang?”
“SOS. Send wine,” I deadpan, and he snorts.
“That bad, huh?”
I collapse back on my bed, my legs extending in both directions like a star.
“Remind me again why I want to do this?”
There’s a pause, and a second later, Yoselin’s feminine voice greets me. I can picture Uriel’s girlfriend perching on the edge of his bed, her auburn hair meeting the middle of her back in luscious curls.
“Because they’re evil,” she says without preamble, and I hear Uriel grunt his assent. “Because they once locked you in the locker room for an entire weekend. Because Elias asked you to the middle school dance, kissed you, and then Carrie-d you. Because they’re egotistical, nasty, horrendous—”
“Okay, I get the point,” I say with a light laugh, twisting my head to the side to stare at a strand of my white hair. Hair that Lucas told me was beautiful…and then immediately doused with tomato sauce.
I want to tell my friends about last night, when Karsyn came to check on me. I want to pick apart every emotion that distorted his features. I want them to tell me I’m crazy, that I’m imagining things, that it’s impossible for me to truly believe that he has…feelings for me.
He can’t, not after all of the things he did to me. I wonder if it’s misplaced responsibility and guilt, like he’s trying to make amends for the things he did five years ago.
Peony, forgive me, for I have sinned.
“Is Stalker still there?” Uriel chimes in, and I bite my lip to contain my groan. The triangular window in my attic allows me an unrestricted view of the driveway…and the Jeep currently idling at the very end.
“Yes,” I grouse, pulling the phone away from my ear to set it on speaker. My finger hovers over Elias’s name that I reluctantly plugged into my phone last night when he first texted me, asking if I was okay.
When I refused to respond, he drove to my house.
And he’s only left three times since then, to go to the bathroom and eat. Almost every time I look, he’s sitting in that damn Jeep, eyes glued to the attic window, as if he can sense my presence. Which is ridiculous. Elias doesn’t know which room in the house belongs to me, and he definitely can’t see me this far away.
But it almost feels as if his eyes are physical hands, lightly caressing my shoulders and then cascading down the length of my arms to interlock our fingers together. It’s not technically an embrace, but somehow, it feels even more intimate.
“Isn’t that creepy?” Yos gripes, and I can already picture her petite nose scrunching.
“It’s…”
Confusing.
Infuriating.
Sweet.
The last thought causes me to wrench my gaze away from the window, focusing once more on my phone.
“Enough about that,” I say quickly—too quickly. I pray that Uriel doesn’t hear the hitch in my voice. “Tell me about what’s going on in the coven.”
For the next half hour, Yoselin and Uriel regale me with stories of all the people I left behind. Amanda Gray accidentally set off an explosion in the training lab. Jacob and Ryan broke up after Jacob was caught fucking Mr. Leif, the Magic History teacher. And Mom’s still being…Mom. Bossing people around and being an all-around bitch.
I want to ask if they heard about the recent attacks by the Bloods, but I don’t know yet if it’s common knowledge. Besides, I don’t want to worry them, especially since the attacks seem to be relegated to Michigan.
So instead, we keep conversation light, and I tell them a little bit about my revenge scheme on the Devils. When I tell them about Cassian’s boner, they break into raucous laughter, with Uriel pouting because I failed to take a picture. At this point, they know the Devils nearly as well as I do. The three of us stayed up numerous nights, stalking them on social media and discussing different revenge tactics. They know almost everything the Devils did to me when I was younger, and they never once told me to “get over it.”
Because you can’t just dismiss years and years of pain as if it never existed. That’s like hastily placing duct tape on an opened wound and hoping you don’t bleed to death. I’m not saying I want to prolong the pain, but in order to heal, you need to stitch the skin back together carefully. And that’s what I’m doing right now—stitching myself back together, one Devil at a time.
When I hang up the phone, I feel infinitely lighter, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m actually smiling when I climb down the ladder and enter the kitchen. But that smile fades when I notice the somber expressions of Nana and her men. Tears wet her cheeks as she stares up at a frowning Gabriel. Polo and Christian seem just as distressed, their arms folded over their chests and their lips curled into severe-looking scowls.
“What’s going on?” I ask, causing their attention to divert to me. Nana hastily brushes at the tears which have escaped her eyes, attempting a nonchalant laugh, but Gabriel’s frown remains.
“I’ve been called away by the witches’ council,” he states without preamble. “There’s been another death.”
“By Bloods?” I query anxiously, now understanding why they all look so upset.
“Gabriel is an expert on Bloods,” Nana explains tiredly, raggedly. She sniffs once, attempting to plaster on a feeble smile, but it slips off her face almost instantly.
“You are?” I eye the man with newfound wonder. “I didn’t know that.”
“No one does.” Polo offers me a kind smile, though his eyes remain worried as he stares at his brother. “But the council asked Gabriel to travel to the various sites and investigate.”
“You know I have to do this.” Gabriel addresses this to a frowning Nana, whose lips are so thin, they’re practically nonexistent. “For you. For my brothers. For Peony. These Bloods…” He shakes his head in disgust. “I have to do this.”
Nana’s knuckles are white from her harsh grip on the tabletop, but she manages a weak nod. It’s barely a tilt of her chin, but her eyes spark with steely determination and resolve.
“I know you do, my beloved,” she says. “But…”
“I’ll be careful.” He tentatively places a hand on her cheek, smoothing his thumb over her lip, and I turn away, unwilling to intrude on their personal moment. Less than a second later, Gabriel stands directly in front of me, eyes cold and assessing.
“You need to be careful, Peony,” he warns. “Don’t walk home alone at night. Don’t get into cars with strangers. Don’t—”
“I understand.” I take his hand in mine and give it a reassuring squeeze. I only saw pictures of my dad and I never had a brother, but I imagine if I did, they would be like Gabriel, Polo, and Christian. I may not know them that well, but I believe they’ll go to bat for me if I ever needed them to. We’re family, after all, and family sticks together.
And despite only being five to ten years older than me, I feel centuries younger beneath their archaic gazes—gazes that have seen too much. Survived unspeakable horrors. “Don’t be a dumbass.”
The corners of his lips twitch. “Right. Don’t be a dumbass.”
“You know, someday, I’m going to get you to actually fucking smile,” I vow, attempting to alleviate the tension ratcheting up ten octaves in the room. I hear Christian release a strained laugh from somewhere behind Gabriel, and even Polo chuckles softly.
Gabriel continues to stare at me with a weird combination of fondness and annoyance.
“Be safe. And protect your nana.”
“You be safe too, old man,” I tease, and he rolls his eyes at me before turning back to face Nana and his brothers. The looks they give each other makes me want to run from the room…run from the house…as fast as humanly possible. Vomit climbs up my throat as I turn on my heel, all but stomping back towards my attic bedroom. The one good news about living in a hole in the ceiling—I don’t hear anything. Thank fuck.
The second I’m back in my room, I make a beeline towards the window. Unsurprisingly, Elias’s Jeep is still parked in front of my house. I can see his broad silhouette in the front seat.
Elias: I just want to know you’re alright.
Elias: I need to know you’re alright.
Maybe it’s the fear for Gabriel leaving. Or the heartbroken expression on Nana’s face. Or my conversation with Uriel and Yoselin. Or my confrontation with Karsyn the night before.
Either way, I find my fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard on my phone as I type out a reply.
Me: I’m fine. You can go now.
I watch in rapt fascination as Elias’s shadowy head bends over, reading my text message. His reply is instantaneous.
Elias: thank you.
I swear my heart shreds into thousands of pieces smaller than confetti as he finally backs away from my house. I don’t know why. I wanted him to leave, right?
Then why am I mourning his departure? Why did my text message seem so…final, like the last nail being drilled into our coffin, sealing our fates?
Ignoring the pang in my chest—the throbbing of my heart demanding me to call him back—I dial the only other number I have in my phone. I wait with bated breath as it rings, rings, rings, rings, rings. At first, I think she’s not going to answer, but after the tenth ring, my mother picks up the phone with an annoyed, “What?”
“Did you know?” I don’t bother with pleasantries. Neither of us can be bothered with it.
“Know about what?” she huffs, and I hear muffled chatter from behind her. “Can we hurry this call up? I’m getting my nails done.”
“About the Bloods. And their attacks. Did you know?” I scarcely breathe as I wait for her to respond. Her sudden silence is so pronounced, that it’s almost answer enough. I bite down on my lower lip, abusing the tender flesh, as I nod my head slowly. “You did, didn’t you? You sent me to live with Nana, knowing that Bloods were targeting humans and witches in the area.”
“I didn’t send you to live anywhere,” she snaps, some of her original ire returning. I can literally hear her take a deep breath as she attempts to moderate her volume while in public. “You chose to go there.”
“After you chose to kick me out.” I try to keep the confrontation out of my voice, but it seeps in unbidden. The hurt and anger I’ve kept locked up oozes from my pores, contaminating the air with its sickly scent. I can feel my power fizzle and spark beneath my skin, demanding an outlet, and I have no doubt that if Mother was directly in front of me, I would zap her to hell.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” She attempts a light, carefree laugh. “You’re perfectly safe.”
“What else do you know?” I demand, heart juddering in my chest.
“You’re trying to find connections where they don’t exist,” she snaps. “Stop it.”
“Mother…”
“I need to go now. Fabian is here to give me my afternoon massage.” She doesn’t bother to say “I love you” or even “goodbye” before she hangs up the phone. Instead, only static greets me, and though I expected it, it still feels like lemon juice is being squeezed into a particularly deep cut. I’m bleeding out, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
First Karsyn, melting down my walls when I want nothing more than to keep them impenetrable.
Then Elias, checking in on me when I thought he still hated me.
And now Mom, with her blatant dismissal of me.
I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong.
With a roar, I throw my phone against the wall, watching it drop to the floor with a loud smack. I don’t bother to see if I cracked the screen. All I can do is collapse onto my bed and bring my knees up to my chest. Pain bombards me from all directions, squeezing at my heart like a steadily shrinking iron vise.
Everyone in my life always hurts me, always leaves me.
People say you can’t die from a broken heart, but what they don’t say is that it may just make you want to.
Chapter 22
The next week is relatively uneventful…if you don’t count Karsyn’s haircut as “eventful.”
On Monday, he arrived at school with his normally unruly blond waves shorn in a buzz cut. On anyone else, the hairstyle would make him look hard and severe, almost like a drill sergeant, but on him, it only serves to accentuate his masculine features. His cupid bow lips. The dimple in his right cheek, normally hidden by his s
cruffy hair. His prominent forehead and honey-blond eyebrows. The strong dip of his jaw.
Rumor circulated that Karsyn woke up on Saturday morning—the morning after I completed my spell—with his hair on fire.
I still can’t stop the sly smirk from overtaking my features at the thought. I initially feel a stab of guilt whenever I see the current state of his hair, but I dismiss those pesky thoughts like one would an annoying fly. I remember how he talked to me at my house, the anger emanating from his eyes, and I know that whatever that “moment” was had only been one-sided. He still resents me for coming back, and honestly, I can’t even blame him. I’m planning to make his life hell, and he doesn’t even realize it yet.
By Friday, I’ve fallen into the same routine as the week before—meet up with Emmett and Mari at my locker, walk to first hour together, have lunch with the two of them plus a freshly-shaven Karsyn, and then head to cheerleading practice. Through it all, Elias continues to follow me to and from school. Sometimes, he drives his Jeep. Other times, like this morning, he rides his motorcycle. But no matter what, he always plays that damn classical music as he hums softly beneath his breath.
The weather this morning is humid, a warm mist permeating the air, causing my clothes to stick to my figure. The end of September draws near, and the elements are beginning to reflect these changes. Auburn leaves now grace the trees, and already, I see Halloween decorations dotting the driveways and front porches. I spot a jack-o’-lantern displaying a serrated mouth of square teeth, a tiny triangular nose, and two rectangular eyes. On another house, an eerie skeleton dangles from a tree, its plastic bones swaying in the light fall breeze.
I firmly believe that it’s too early to decorate for Halloween, but apparently, I’m in the minority. Maybe my distaste stems from being a witch. It gets redundant to see sexy witch costumes and pointed hats every damn year.