by L. C. Mawson
Her smile froze in place as her brain refused to believe what her eyes were telling her. Both of the sofas were covered with presents, so the point at which some had to be rested up against them.
Nightingale was already making her way through the red pile, all of which had a little “N” written on the corner in marker. The blue pile all had “F” written on them in a similar fashion.
Despite the “F” and the colour matching her stocking, Freya found herself hesitating.
She almost laughed at herself. Was she really so distrustful of good things?
The fact that her feet were as immovable as stone acted as a resounding “yes”.
“Yours is the blue pile,” Margaret told her, seemingly sensing her hesitation. “And you’d better hurry to catch up with Nightingale if you want to be showered and dressed before my parents arrive.”
Freya nodded mutely before heading to her own pile.
There wasn’t a moment where she didn’t feel self-conscious, spending every moment painstakingly analysing her expression to ensure that she was smiling enough and that it definitely reached her eyes, despite it not being particularly natural to her.
By the time she had finished, she was pleasantly exhausted, and glad that she hadn’t sneezed once.
DESPITE HURRYING, FREYA barely made it back downstairs as Margaret’s parents arrived. She was glad that she could use her magic to dry her hair almost instantly, rather than the hours it had taken mere months before.
Margaret’s mother looked exactly like her, with the same skinny build and bleach-blonde bob. Her father was taller and had an almost Italian look about him, with a strong nose, light olive skin, and only a few flecks of grey in his thick, black hair.
“So, this is the delinquent youth you have taken in,” Margaret’s mother said, her voice icy.
Freya had to exercise every ounce of control she had to stop an eyebrow from raising.
“We’ve been over this, dear,” Margaret’s father quickly interjected, “Freya is apparently a very nice, hard working girl.”
His wife snorted. “And yet she doesn’t have a real name.”
Freya was very tempted to make a comment about the fact that she was talked about as if she wasn’t there, but Jessica spoke up before she had the chance.
“I don’t know, I like Freya. It’s a strong name. Very Nordic.”
Margaret’s mother gave her a particularly withering look. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t put much stock in the opinion of a woman who named her child... What was it? Songbird?”
Jessica matched her expression with one of equal ferocity. “Nightingale. Her father chose it.”
“Ah yes, the man who left you pregnant and alone. I can see why you would give his opinion so much weight.”
Jessica clenched her fists, and Freya could have sworn she saw a few sparks dance around them.
“Who wants something to drink?” Ryan asked, finally interjecting. “Dinner should be ready in just a few minutes.”
As Freya looked over to her foster parents, she saw that Margaret was white as a sheet, moving stiffly as she led her parents through to the dining room.
“This going to fun,” Jessica said with a smirk.
Freya just returned the expression, deciding that she would spend most of the meal refusing to speak, in the hope that she would be ignored.
FREYA’S PLAN, SURPRISINGLY, worked. Jessica seemed to find it fun to goad Margaret’s mother, which kept the attention firmly off Freya. Though, as she watched them more carefully, she realised that it was intentional. Whenever the older woman looked as if she was trying to steer the conversation back to Freya or Nightingale, Jessica offered her a different easy target.
It was masterful, Freya decided after the first half hour. There weren’t many she felt that she could learn from when it came to twisting words, but Jessica had definitely reached the top of the list.
Of course, there was only so long it could have lasted, especially since all of the adults were drinking pretty heavily.
“So, Freya,” Margaret’s mother, who Freya had since found was called Barbara, said, finally addressing her directly, “how exactly did you come to be in foster care?”
“Mother!” Margaret protested, finally reaching the point at which she drew the line.
“What?” Barbara replied with a wave of her hand. “It’s a legitimate question. I want to get to know this girl who is living in my daughter’s home.”
“I’m an orphan,” Freya replied quietly, her gaze fixed on her plate. “My mother died just after I was born.”
“And what of your father?”
“They were never able to find him.”
Barbara nodded, as if her suspicions had been confirmed. “Probably some benefits scrounger, like Jessica’s man. What was his name? It was something ridiculous as well...”
Before Jessica could respond, Freya sneezed again, the wine bottle on the table knocking over (well, if you looked closely, it had clearly jumped) so that it coated Barbara’s white shirt with a deep, blood red.
“Excuse me,” Freya squeaked as she felt another sneeze’s threatening presence, escaping to the kitchen.
Three more sneezes followed in quick succession, one causing the sink to explode, one blowing the fridge open, and the last causing a small snow cloud to form.
“I knew it!” she heard from behind her as she wiped her nose.
Freya stopped dead still, turning to see Jessica giving the room an impressed once-over.
“I knew I could sense magic around the house. You must have some particularly strong protections for me to not sense any from you.”
Freya was at a complete loss until Jessica pulled a wand from her boot, clearing up the mess she had caused.
“You’re a Witch,” Freya eventually said.
“Yeah, I am.”
“But Ryan...”
“Our father was Human. Our mother decided to keep her magic quiet once she realised that I had been the only one to inherit it. Ryan’s not even Sensitive.”
“And... Nightingale?”
Some of the light in Jessica’s expression dimmed. “I’m not sure. Her father was a Vampyre and she’s too young to show any inclination either way. Well, except her ability to get sunburn after the slightest exposure...”
“Was?”
Jessica gave a frustrated sigh. “He died. He was... He was part-Demon, okay? A group of Hunters came across him and... They didn’t care that he had never lived as anything but Neutral.”
“And you let people believe that he had left you?”
Jessica shrugged. “That level of clean-up is difficult, and no Light Witch wanted to help for someone with Demon blood. I didn’t really know any Dark Witches at the time.” She looked as if she was waiting for Freya to make a negative remark.
Freya shrugged. “I’m the last person to have a go at anyone for having a little Demon blood.”
Jessica regarded her carefully at that. “You identified me as a Witch. So, you have knowledge of magic? Despite not having a family?”
“I... Yeah.”
“You don’t look five pages into your grimoire.”
“My... what?”
“Your grimoire? The repository of your magic knowledge. Normally it’s passed down through family, but if you never knew yours...
“So, what? Friends of your parents told you what you are, but didn’t take you in or teach you beyond the basics?”
Freya shrugged. “It’s just one person. And Amber’s a unique case. She can’t take me in and sometimes she thinks that keeping me in the dark is the best way to protect me.”
Jessica took a moment to think before asking, “Amber? What’s her last name?”
It struck Freya at that point that she probably should have thought to ask Amber that before.
“I don’t know. She’s just Amber. Why?”
Jessica shrugged. “I was wondering if I knew an Amber, but I could only think of Amber Cohen, which would be sill
y.”
“Why? Who is Amber Cohen?”
Jessica raised an eyebrow. “The Second Holder of the Last Ancient? The Matriarch of Angels? The Saviour of Creation?”
“Yeah, that would be silly,” Freya said, deciding that those titles were impressive enough for her to not want to be anywhere near them, despite the fact that she was pretty sure that Amber had been the second person to bind with the last Ancient.
Jessica narrowed her eyes. “So, you’re just some lost kid, who no one in any kind of position of power kept track of, despite the fact that you have enough power to start a snow storm with a sneeze?”
“I don’t know that this would count as a storm,” Freya replied, a little sheepishly. It was strange to hear someone other than Amber comment on her magic. Especially when commenting on its strength. Amber was a fan of answering any questions on the subject with vague assurances that everything was fine.
Jessica responded by waving her wand at her.
“Now. The truth. What secrets are you hiding?”
To Freya’s horror, her mouth answered without her consent.
“I don’t know Amber’s surname, but your description of Amber Cohen’s titles makes me pretty sure it’s her,” Freya found herself saying. “She’s a ghost and I’m not always certain that I should trust her, but that’s mostly because the ghost of my grandmother told me not to on Halloween. She had black tattoos extending from her heart and she had killed herself pretty viciously, apparently because of Amber.”
Jessica seemed a little stunned at that information, but Freya’s mouth didn’t stop.
“Not that Amber has ever denied that, it was just disconcerting to hear it from someone else. I don’t know... The whole thing reminds me that I’m funny about who I trust. Sometimes I wish I could be as trusting as Damon, but then days like yesterday make me think that might just be an act on his behalf. Damon’s my best friend, though I really wish that he could be more than that. I’m pretty sure it’s just a childish crush, but sometimes I wonder if I might actually be in love with him. Not that I’m sure I’d know the difference. I’m not great with emotional stuff. I think it’s because I’m Autistic, but I spend most of my time in denial about that, because if I accepted it, I’m afraid that I would let my neurotypical mask slip and someone would realise and then I would never be fostered again...”
Jessica gave another wave of her wand at that, shutting Freya up.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I haven’t used that spell in a while. I guess I didn’t realise how much more powerful I’d gotten lately...”
Freya didn’t respond, her hands clamped over her mouth in an attempt to ensure that she truly had control over it again.
“What was that?” Freya eventually asked, still wary of her mouth.
“A truth spell.”
“But... how?”
Jessica shrugged. “The truth is that most secrets want to be heard. It doesn’t take much of a nudge to make it happen. I’m sorry, I just wanted to be sure that you had no ill intent towards my family. I didn’t mean for you to reveal anything that might embarrass you.”
Freya narrowed her eyes, but shook her head after a few moments. Arguing would get her nowhere.
“Can I trust you to keep my secrets?” Jessica asked.
“As long as I can trust you to keep mine.”
“Of course. I just wish that I could stay in town. Teach you what I know.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I’m going to find Nightingale’s grandparents. I don’t know the first thing about raising a Vampyre. I most likely won’t even be in this realm, never mind in town.”
Freya nodded in understanding.
“Though, do you want one piece of magical advice before I go?”
“I could use any I can get.”
“Regardless of what ghosts say, I would trust the woman who saved the world.”
Freya smirked. “I guess that makes about as much sense as anything.”
“And here.” Jessica reached over to the bench, where her handbag was, and brought out a small vial. “Drink this. It should stop the sneezing.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. As much as I love to see Barbara inconvenienced, I don’t think outing the both of us is the way to do it.”
Candles
The fourteenth of February. Valentine’s Day. The most corporate of corporate holidays. And, also, to her annoyance, Freya’s birthday.
Well, estimated birthday. That had always annoyed her even more. If they were just guessing anyway, why the hell didn’t the hospital give her either the day before or after? Why choose to torture her so?
Though, she wasn’t sure if she had been more or less annoyed by Amber confirming that it was, indeed, her birthday.
“You don’t have to be all cheery,” Freya told her guardian after she had awoken to “happy birthday”.
Amber frowned at her as she got up and out of bed.
“What do you mean?”
Freya shrugged. “I mean that today might be my birthday, but tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death. It never really bothered me, since I never knew her, but I get it if you don’t want to be cheery today.”
Amber gave her the look. She’d been on the receiving end of it a few too many times over the past few months. Freya knew that she had a habit of putting everyone ahead of herself, but it was a survival tactic. If she tried to claim something for herself, it could be challenged, and she could be hurt. Better to never try. Or, if she did, do it in such a way that no one else was the wiser.
Amber preferred to solve problems head-on, and so she would give Freya the look every time she thought that she was being too cautious.
“Today we will be cheery,” Amber told her firmly. “And tomorrow... I’ll tell you anything you want to know about your mother.”
Freya didn’t really have a response to that. She’d not really asked Amber about her mother because she didn’t want to know. She had spent a long time angry at her mother for dying and leaving her without any other family. Freya had always been convinced that someone - her father or a grandparent or something - must exist out there for her. And now she had Amber, who had been exceptionally firm in telling Freya that her mother had no family, and that she shouldn’t look for her father under any circumstances.
Yeah, Freya had little interest in learning anything more about her mother.
Thankfully, Freya’s phone buzzed in her pocket, giving her an excuse to not answer Amber.
I’m outside, the text from Damon said. Freya couldn’t help grin. Usually she spent her birthday with her best friend, Alice, but Alice was currently living with her aunt in Tokyo, and it was a bit much to ask her to make the 15 hour flight.
This year, she at least had Damon. She checked herself in her bedroom mirror before bounding downstairs to see him.
DAMON REFUSED TO TELL her where he was taking her for lunch, miming sealing his lips shut whenever she asked. She was about to ask him for perhaps the fifteenth time, when she heard his phone go off. Instead of checking it, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring it.
“You can check that, you know,” Freya said to him, feeling a little bad that he might be ignoring something important just for her.
Damon shook his head. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
Freya narrowed her eyes at his suspicious demeanour. “Why? What is it?” All she could think was that it was perhaps his father, but if that were the case, she was sure that his uncle would have replaced his phone immediately.
Damon shook his head again as his phone rang once more. “It’s fine, I swear.”
“They will only keep ringing if you don’t answer.”
“She’s not even supposed to be ringing me anyway. She knows full well where I am.”
Freya frowned, wondering who ‘she’ was.
She could have almost hit herself a moment later, when she remembered what day it was.
It was Valentine’s Day,
and Damon had a girlfriend.
He had, of course, already assured her that Jamie didn’t mind the fact that he was going to spend Valentine’s Day with Freya. It was her birthday, after all, he had told her.
Freya hadn’t exactly been convinced of that at the time, but when the only other option was spending her birthday alone, she had pretended to believe him. If he had chosen to spend Valentine’s Day with her, after all, that was his choice.
But she wasn’t surprised that Jamie wouldn’t stop ringing.
Damon simply reached into his pocket and turned his phone to silent as they finally seem to have reached the place that he was taking her.
It definitely wasn’t anywhere fancy, but then Freya had never liked anywhere that wouldn’t serve her hefty enough portions, and Damon knew that. So, he had taken her to a burger restaurant and, from what she could see through the window, the burgers were as big as her head.
A tall woman, taller even than Freya, bounded over to them as they approached the “please wait here to be seated” sign. She was broad and buff beneath her flannel shirt, her biceps looking large enough for her to bench press five of Freya.
Freya tried not to blush as she smiled at her.
She didn’t like like women. She couldn’t. On top of having magic and being probably Autistic, she didn’t need to also be bisexual. It would be one too many things for her to deal with.
But she couldn’t ignore the fact that her face turned fire-engine red as the waitress showed them to a table.
“You okay?” Damon asked, as Freya tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her blush behind a menu.
“I’m fine,” Freya said, though even she didn’t believe it. “Just, you know, dealing with strangers makes me anxious.” She hoped that would explain away her blush.
“Uh-huh,” Damon said, his tone telling her that he didn’t believe her spiel.
“So, what do you think the biggest burger they sell here is?” she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.
AS MUCH AS THEY COULDN’T hear it, Freya was pretty sure that they were both aware that Damon’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing.