In the dark of my room, I take deep, long breaths and imagine Jonas. I imagine being with him, unafraid of all the crazy wish mess that’s been wreaking havoc on my life. I imagine focusing on loving him. I imagine not being scared about how I feel when I’m around him.
I dated JR because I knew my heart would never, ever get tangled up in him. I avoided Jonas because I knew there was no choice but to get completely tangled up in him. And that scares me more than I can say.
“Loki, I think I’m falling for Jonas,” I whisper. She puts her little fox chin on her paws and looks at me like she hears every word and is waiting to hear more. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should stop being so scared of my own shadow and embrace things a little!”
Loki licks her paws with satisfaction, and it’s like that primal satisfaction hooks in and connects directly to me.
“So do you always talk to me? Or just when you feel like it?” I ask, because I want more than this blurry, buzzing feeling. I’m so much more comfortable with the words that communicate what she thinks and wants. Those are unignorable. I’m not nearly as sure about these feelings that pierce like they’ve been arrow shot from her little body to mine. Unfortunately, my mind resounds with silence. “Or maybe I’m just a lunatic, and I imagined you talking to me?”
Still nothing except the humming glow that ferries me toward an easy, sweet sleep.
I relax and roll over. I have an early tutoring session in the morning and a shift at the diner, plus loads of homework. I’m not looking forward to any of it, but those worries dissipate like fog in the morning sun.
I fall asleep and when I wake up, I make the decision not to look at the alarm clock. I get dressed and eat breakfast, and, like magic, when I finally check the clock, I have plenty of time to get to Immaculate for my session. This wish-fox business definitely has its perks.
I kiss Bestemor and rub Loki’s ears, then give in to the urge to gather her in my arms. She rubs a head against my shoulder and I stroke down her fur, feeling that vibration of calm strength seep from her body to mine. This fox is growing on me, or maybe even with me. I can’t deny how amazing it is to have her waiting for me when I get home, pleased to see me and ready to spread her particularly calming comfort over all my jittery worries. If I ignore all the worrisome magic components, she’s an awesome pet.
Pet.
Sakura threw a shit fit when I called Loki my pet. I have no idea why.
I’m glad the truck doesn’t give me any problems, and promise myself I’ll pick up a new battery. Maybe Jonas can help me put it in. Is it ridiculous that the thought of putting a new battery in my truck with him fills me with pure, giddy excitement?
I make a real effort not to sigh heavily when his name crosses my mind. I dreamed about his kiss all night, and I haven’t been able to stop myself from daydreaming about it since I got up.
How can one kiss feel that incredible?
I wonder about the fact that it was different last night. I didn’t turn into the golden-eyed sex freak I was the first time. Why?
“Wren? Wren?” Robert Adamson whines.
Robert is a sophomore with a major fragment problem.
“What is it, Robert?” I ask, a little more sharply than I intended.
“It’s just I don’t understand why this is a fragment, that’s all.” He taps his pen on the sentence I underlined with a friendly, non-confrontational green pen.
“Because it has a subject, but no predicate. Look, you’re telling me the who. You introduce Beowulf as courageous, strong, smart, and proud. You even tell where he came from and who his father is. But you never finish your thought. What did Beowulf do? All this introduction just hangs there.”
“But this can’t be a fragment,” Robert whines. “It’s so long.”
I sigh. A long, weary sigh. I love this job. I help other students, and I earn decent money doing it. But it can get very aggravating. Especially when I have to go from trying to explain sentence fragments to waiting tables to tackling homework. It makes for a super long day.
“Give me a predicate, Robert,” I demand. While he puzzles it out, cursing me under his breath, I daydream about Jonas.
Don’t be such a sissy, a voice in my head hisses. I sit up so fast, Robert looks at me, his brows knit in confusion. I tap his essay and he gets back to work.
This is what you want? The voice slithers through my ears and into my brain. Really? Stuck in this musty room with a lackluster student correcting grammar? The rumor is that you’re the strongest of all of us! I find that really hard to believe.
Sakura.
Just like Loki, she was able to link into my brain and communicate with me. The aggravating thing is, I have no idea how to communicate back. How do I tell her to go to hell and get out of my damn head?
I think it as hard as I can, but all I hear is her laugh zinging through my brain, inflaming my neurons.
Wow! To think I thought I had something to worry about with you! It’s sad, really. I just want you to know, I’m not even going to bother taking you down. That would just be an embarrassment. You’re not a remotely worthy opponent!
I clap my hands over my ears, but, obviously, it does nothing to stop the voice that’s planted firmly inside my brain. Robert looks at me like I’m a lunatic.
“I’m fine,” I insist.
He quickly looks back at his paper, eyes as big as saucers.
The rest of Robert’s session is uneventful, at least as far as voices in my head go. And it remains pretty uneventful on the complete sentence front, too.
By the time I leave for the diner, I manage to convince myself the voice was a big figment of my imagination, the result of too little sleep and too much time mooning over Jonas Balto, coupled with aggravation at the sudden appearance of this mystery cousin.
But it happens again. Just a little prick this time when I’m waiting on a table, and wish for some particularly rude customers to get lost. I still have a gnawing shakiness when I will myself to wish, but they leave suddenly and drop a decent tip on the table to boot, so I’m happy.
That’s that best you can do! Why not wish a fiery car crash on them? They were rude enough to you. But you seem like you enjoy being stepped on.
I swallow hard and keep going, focusing on paying attention to my orders and keeping a smile etched on my face.
But the voice doesn’t go away.
That dark haired waitress is making all the big money. You should wish she trips over her skates so you can take her place. If you’re going to be a crappy waitress, you might as well make big money.
Ooh, that guy is hot. His girlfriend just went to the bathroom. Slip him your number and wish yourself a hot night after he drops her off. The gods know you need a good screw.
Did your boss just yell at you again? Wish that jackoff an embolism. That would be too nice.
Sakura’s voice peels away all of my focus and happiness and leaves me emotionally stripped. When I hear her words in my head for the tenth time at the end of my shift, I can’t stand it anymore. I drop what I’m holding and clap my hands over my ears.
The other waitresses turn to look at me, my eyes screwed shut, ears plugged, shaking my head like a lunatic. The two orders of chili cheese fries I was about to bring to my booth sludge down my skirt and plop onto my shoes, but I’m beyond caring.
“Wren?” Macie tugs on my elbow and exposes one ear. “Wren, sweetie, are you alright?”
I nod, tears wobbling on the rims of my eyes. “I have, um, a really serious migraine. Like I think I might puke.”
Luckily my coworkers are wonderful, sympathetic people and they jump into action around me. Pammy and Jimmy clean up the mess, Macie leads me to the back office and gets me a glass of water and some aspirin, which I actually do need. I don’t have a migraine, but my head is pounding.
Tony, my boss, checks in on me. His face, usually intimidating with its huge, blond beard and fierce eyebrows, is lined with sympathy.
“You did a good j
ob today. Take a load off, kid. When you feel better, clear out. Macie has your tables covered. Get some rest.”
I thank him, my voice tiny and weak, a wilted stem of a voice, and that makes me sad. I walk to the office bathroom and stare in the industrial square of a mirror. Who is this tiny-voiced, mind-losing girl staring back at me?
By the time I pull in at my house, word of my breakdown has spread. Nevaeh sits on the steps, tapping her shiny nails against the planter at her side. She leaps at me, drags me in the house and pushes me on the bed. She plunks an icy mask scented with lavender over my eyes and tugs my chili-encrusted poodle skirt off.
Loki paces at the foot of the bed, rubbing a persistent head on my ankles.
“Sorry, but you stink like diner fries!”
I hear her throw my skirt into the hamper and feel the depression of the mattress when she sits down. Loki trots up and nestles against my side. I spoon an arm around her and run my fingers through her fur, my rough day instantly smoothed around the rough edges.
“Things are getting weird, Vee. Really weird.”
“Tell me.”
I go back and fill her in on every strange detail, every unexplained, perplexing inconsistency in this mess while Loki purrs at my side.
Nevaeh’s so quiet when I finish, I slide the ice-mask off of my eyes and peek to confirm she’s still there. She licks her lips, her eyes wide and hazel. Calculating.
“What do you think?” I ask and nudge her leg.
She pulls a huge book out of her purse. Its title is Rudimentary Guide to Familiars, and the cover is plain maroon with white letters.
“Zivalus took me to the city and we got this at some dive bookstore. You really have to read it.”
Vee pushes the book my way and lets me flip through it for a minute. It’s dense and chock full of tiny writing that makes the headache that was about to go away flare up again. “What did it tell you?” Loki’s nose nudges my hand, and I pet her again, my nerves relaxed with the balm of her loyal affection.
“Tons. More than I had time to read. But there’s a whole chapter on foxes. The basic idea is that foxes can sometimes bond with particular witches and they work as a destiny-fulfilling team. And that sometimes people steal foxes from each other to try and force a connection. But a fox and a witch have to connect on a certain level, and it can’t be forced. The most connected witches can actually hear things their foxes say. Like the foxes can speak to them.”
I listen. My ears are wide open.
But the words refuse to make sense.
“Back up a second. Witches?”
Witches? Witches who work with foxes? Witches who hear foxes in their heads? I’m a freaking witch! My little problem is multiplying exponentially right in front of my eyes.
Chapter 12
“A witch? A witch!” I fan my hands in front of my face, wild flaps that do nothing to make me feel better. Loki sits up and watches me with puzzled gold eyes.
“We talked about the fact that these foxes belong to families who are involved with magic.” Vee speaks slowly and reasonably, the way a preschool teacher would talk to a kid panicked and irrational on the playground.
“Yes! We talked about them being witches! Them! My family in Japan! I thought…you know, old ladies maybe? Reading tea leaves? Or is that gypsies? I don’t know! I thought it was superstition! This is…screwing up my life! This is out of control! I want to be done with it!”
Loki puts her paws on my lap and tilts her head to one side. Her voice soaks into my head.
Wren, calm down. You can’t throw this gift away. You can’t deny it. You’re afraid to use the power you have, but it will be even more frightening to let the wrong hands command it. Do you understand?
“No! No, I don’t!” I yell. Vee looks at me like I’m a lunatic, which isn’t that far off. I explain awkwardly, “Loki is telling me that it’s a gift I can’t throw away and that if it gets into the wrong hands, it could be serious trouble.”
“What wrong hands?” Nevaeh leans over and peers at Loki like she expects the fox to blab to her. “What could happen?”
Your family has a very strong, very ancient coven. Your grandfather’s mistress and wife were two of the most powerful witches in Japan. You and your cousin would be equal in powers if it wasn’t for your mother’s contribution.
“What contribution?” I ask.
“What? What?” Vee looks back and forth and tries to figure out what’s going on, but I want to know what my mother has to do with this. The little fox opens her mouth and blinks slowly, as if she’s telling me to calm down and listen. A good golden light snakes through me and works like a mild sedative.
Your mother is the descendant of the Valkyrie, the Norse shieldmaidens. Because she passed her powers on to you, you have some of the strongest blood in the coven. You can easily overcome Sakura and assume your place as head of the family.
A very, very mild sedative.
“I don’t want a place as head of any family!” I cry, pointing an accusatory finger at the fox while her ears twitch back and forth. “My mother isn’t a Valkyrie or whatever you said! She’s just a deadbeat, like my father! How could two such complete losers make anyone worth anything? Answer that!”
“Wren?” Vee’s hands anchor my shoulders and she pushes me down onto the bed. “Are you okay?”
I pull long, shaky breaths in through my nose and let them back out in smooth, slow rushes. Loki stares without blinking, but her tail twitches from one side to the other. “I’m fine.” It’s not true.
“You’re not. Tell me what you heard. What did Loki say?” Vee’s sparkly pink nail polish catches my attention, and I focus on it gladly. I don’t want to think about what this magic fox telecommunicated to me. But the worry in Vee’s eyes forces me to talk.
“She said my mother is a descendent of Valkyries, some kind of shield people or something. She said that with that little extra piece in my DNA, I’m some kind of super witch and should be able to beat Sakura out as leader of our family.” My voice clunks out flatly.
“Your mother.” Vee wraps her arms around my shoulders and rocks me back and forth. “Sorry, sweetie. I know that you miss her.”
I don’t want to hear my amazing friend being so sweet to me. Her kindness trips my tear ducts, and before I can help it, I’m bawling like a baby.
“I don’t,” I whisper, my fists balled so tight my fingernails dig into my palms. “I don’t need her. I don’t miss her at all.”
“You don’t need her.” Vee’s voice soothes my hands back out of their fists. “We’re here for you, sweetie. Me and Bestemor will always be here for you.” Her sparkly nails comb through my hair, over and over again in rhythmic comfort.
“Did she and my father know all this?” I ask Vee or Loki. I’m not sure who I’m asking, or even what answer I could possibly want. Would it have been better if my parents knew and hoped I never found out? Or would it have been better to have had this strange life glitch explained to me before I got some fox airmailed from across the world?
And if they knew, did Bestemor know? If she did know, why wouldn’t she have said anything? Is that why she took the whole pet fox thing in stride?
I tip over onto my pillow and Vee spoons me. Loki curls into my arms, and I bury my face in her soft fur, breathing the smell of her in deep, calming breaths. “We could try to find them if you want.” Vee’s voice is soft, but I hear the edge of anxiety. Contact with my parents is usually a pretty clear-cut recipe for disaster.
“I don’t even know where to start. And I have so many calc problems to do.” I groan. “Calculus on top of all of this seems beyond unfair, right? I wish I’d started my work earlier.” It’s out before I even really think about what I’m saying.
Vee sits up like a shot, and I bury my face in Loki’s thick fur again, trying to eek some comfort from the steady pulse of her tiny heart. I would have assumed that living with this wish problem would make me less likely to utter the ‘w’ word. Apparently
not.
“Do you think anything happened?” Vee licks her lips.
I reach down for my backpack, flip open my calc notebook, and there are the fifty-three problems Ms. Riegel assigned us on Friday. Not only are they all neatly done, when I look at them, they make sense. I’ve almost never linked the words ‘make sense’ and ‘calc’ in a single thought.
I chuck the notebook and pound my fist into the pillow while my fox hops back and forth on dainty, nervous feet. “Nononononono!”
Those sparkly pink nails scratch light, comforting circles on my back. “Having your calc homework done isn’t the worst, hon.”
The tears are already pouring out in a torrent. “This is the worst! Not knowing, not understanding! Maybe this isn’t what’s right for me. I have no training. I have no one to talk to about how to do this the right way. If Sakura wants this, why the hell would I even attempt to stand in her way?”
The ‘conversation’ I had with Loki the other day, the one where she brought up Bestemor and her health, rings through my head, and I’m not able to push it away.
Loki whines deep in her throat, and her eyes plead with me.
“I get that Sakura is a little bit of a bitch, but is she really that bad?” I direct the question at Loki. “Really?”
Loki tucks her snout into her paws and flattens her ears. I attempt to comfort her with reassuring, fur-smoothing pats. “It’s okay, girl. It’s alright. I didn’t mean to freak you out like that.”
I take a deep breath and look to my best friend for guidance. The confident set of her smile gives me the push I need to get to work. “Right now I need to do some reading. I need to understand this all better.” I put my hand on top of the massive book Vee brought me. She nods and kisses me good-bye, and I’m left alone with way more questions than I can deal with.
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