by Lucy True
“I mean no Jenna.” Dang. That sounded a tad bitchy, not to mention that whole thing was also going back about three months, and Burgundy wondered if she should have even brought up her ex-girlfriend. Smooth, Burg. Really. All love interests enjoy opening the Ex-File.
But Charlotte’s smile widened into the genuine grin Burgundy knew and adored. “Yeah, she did kind of cramp our style, didn’t she? Is it mean to say I don’t miss her? I mean, how many movies did she come to with you before Glen asked you never to bring her back?”
Burgundy chuckled at the memory. “Half of one. Glen said something about her not showing the appropriate enthusiasm for Rocky Horror Picture Show when she refused to throw confetti at the screen. He actually made us leave.”
“Oh yeah, I remember that. She didn’t read the rules.”
The rules. Glen’s rules of movie theater behavior changed from feature to feature. Sometimes they were as banal as “Enjoy the show!” And sometimes, they pushed the limits of what people, even supernaturals, were willing to put up with in a movie theater. Even for a movie that encouraged audience participation.
Tonight’s movie was the original Blues Brothers, which meant the only rule was that they weren’t allowed to sing along. No ifs, ands, or buts. Burgundy had already heard Mia and Lia, the siren sisters, whining about it to Glen.
“Not to sound like a jerk, but I don’t miss her,” Charlotte said, the timbre of her voice dropping to an almost seductive level. “Do you?”
Burgundy swallowed. Loaded questions about love coming from her best friend were like getting pelted with golf-ball sized hail during the summer storms they got in the Midwest. She’d rather go to the confluence of the Platte and Missouri, and try to paddle upstream through the muddy swirl of current.
“I miss having someone, but I don’t miss her.” She took a breath and waited to feel horrible for admitting it. The confession didn’t leave her with the icky sensation she’d expected. In fact, it left her able to breathe easier. That chapter of her life was done. She was sure of it.
“I know you don’t want to be unfair to Jenna,” now Charlotte’s voice dropped to a whisper as Glen entered the theater to stand in front of the screen, “but she was a huge bummer. She always thought she was too good for this town, even in middle school. You’re better off without her. We all are. Now you can find someone who loves you, quirks and all. I mean, if that’s what you want.”
When her voice lilted on the last few words, butterflies fluttered in Burgundy’s stomach. Was that hope she heard in her best friend’s sentiment? Hope that someone might be Charlotte herself?
Before she could over-analyze it, Burgundy swallowed and turned her attention to Glen. True to form, Glen Gleason honored the occasion by dressing up as a Blues Brother. His skinny shape didn’t exactly fill out the black suit, but at least the sunglasses improved his face. Even if he did keep bumping into things and holding his hands in front of him as he walked. Still, he managed to stumble into place and face the audience. Sort of.
“Good evening, everyone. I am pleased to show you one of Carrie Fisher’s most underrated comic performances of all time,” he announced in his deadpan voice, talking more to the emergency exit than the people in the seats. “She never did get to kill John Belushi, but—”
“Spoilers!” someone shouted from the back.
Charlotte snickered, doubling over when Burgundy heckled, “If you haven’t already seen it, we’ve got a problem!” in return. Yes, this was exactly the way it was supposed to be. The two of them, going about their business in Rock Grove, working, playing, laughing.
Doing all of that with one Great Big Secret hanging between them.
“—but she will always be a knock-out in our hearts,” Glen concluded, somehow maintaining his composure. Until he stumbled off the low stage just in front of the screen, bumped into the wall, and face-planted into the first row of moviegoers.
Now Burgundy hunched up against Charlotte, hands over her mouth, unable to stifle her laughter. “Is he hurt?” she asked when she caught her breath.
Charlotte elbowed her, a gleam in her eyes. “No.”
“Not even his pride?”
“What pride?”
Burgundy lifted her head to blink at Charlotte and then, as if they were still teenagers, the giggles claimed them all over again. It was so good to indulge in that moment of belly-laughter, deep and rich, releasing the tension that’d drawn taut as taffy between them. Tension that’d accumulated over months of dealing with a break-up, followed by a domino effect chain of events.
Maybe normalcy in their small town wasn’t so overrated. Burgundy drew in a steadying breath and lifted her gaze to the screen, while remaining angled toward Charlotte. Once upon a time, they’d been able to curl up in those movie theater chairs, fitting their small, childish bodies into them completely. Now, though, the best she could do was try to drape her legs over the armrest as long as no one else was in the chair on her other side.
Charlotte did the same, so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. It wasn’t exactly comfortable and Burgundy wouldn’t have minded the modern farty-noise seats after all, if that meant they could recline, lift the armrest between them, and snuggle.
Whoa. Stop, brain. Do not pass Go. It was one thing to admit she wanted a romantic partner in her life. It was still another to imagine Charlotte as that person.
Relief washed over her as the movie drew her into the story, setting, and hijinks. At least it was still possible to escape the jumble of unresolved questions jockeying for position in her mind, even for a short while.
Two and a half hours later, they left the cinema still high on the end-of-movie feel-goods. At least, Charlotte seemed to, the way she kept humming the songs under her breath. Burgundy’s mood plummeted the moment her feet hit the sidewalk pavement.
Back to the real world and all its complications. Like the secret that gnawed at her guts. She’d never hidden anything from Charlotte. From fear of failing freshman algebra (she hadn’t) to mournful tears over whether or not her breasts would grow (they had), she’d shared everything with Charlotte.
Except this.
And the very words hammered at her insides, pushing her to share them with someone, especially someone who would understand. Not Aunt Iris, who would tell her to shove it all back down into that dark place and go on living a lie, but a person who would tell Burgundy they loved her just the way she was.
“Hey, Charlotte,” she said, the inside of her mouth going dry the moment she spoke.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever wonder if you’re meant for more?” It was, Burgundy decided, the safest way to start a conversation. The conversation. At least it kept her from blurting out the secret yet, while letting Charlotte know something was up. They’d refined their communication over years of bonding. Charlotte knew how to hear beyond spoken words and Burgundy counted on her to do that, now.
Charlotte turned to her, lips pressed together in a disapproving line. “Is this about Jenna because, honestly Burg, weren’t you done with her last year? Besides, I don’t think moving to a big city is the only way to be more, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s more personal.” How could she explain this without coming off like a jerk, while still not telling Charlotte the truth? Maybe she needed to address that first, so she put her hands on hips and said, “I don’t want to sound like I’m not happy here. I am, but ever since everything that happened—”
“You mean when you saved our town by getting rid of the warlock?” Charlotte’s voice and expression had gentled, and her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to understand what Burgundy wanted to tell her.
Wanted to tell her, but couldn’t.
For one thing, her aunt would go ballistic on her if anyone found out. Iris wouldn’t even say the word out loud, herself. Wouldn’t acknowledge it. If Iris felt that way about it, how would the townspeople react?
Charlotte wasn’t just any p
erson, of course. She was Burgundy’s best friend, the one who knew everything about her.
And that, Burgundy knew, was the reason she felt so awful every time she saw Charlotte. From her worry about how she sounded to the fluttering in her stomach, every uncomfortable reaction came from the knowledge that she was keeping something major from the woman who’d always stood by her since they were three-years-old.
However, if Charlotte happened to figure out that there was more to what Burgundy was telling her, maybe that would be okay.
“What’s going on?” Charlotte folded her arms, those narrowed eyes now pinching down into a glare. “You’ve been acting jittery all night. I thought maybe it was one thing, but now I’m not so sure.”
Burgundy knew without asking what that “one thing” was. The memory of her ex-girlfriend hung between them, an unwelcome presence. She needed to find the words to reassure Charlotte that Jenna was out of the picture, except as a friend and then find the right way to beat around the bush until Charlotte figured out what she was getting at. I’m a Gemini with a Sagittarius rising. Even the universe didn’t give me the gift of subtlety. Go blunt or go home.
Bluntness wasn’t an option, so when she took in a lungful of the cool night air, she said the only thing she could. “I have to get home.”
“Have to?”
“Aunt Iris has me on a bit of a curfew.” What an awful thing to admit. Just saying the word made her feel about six inches tall. It was true, though. Iris wanted her in the house before midnight every night. With that convenient excuse, she could go home and think about how she wanted to address matters with Charlotte.
“You’re almost twenty-seven-years-old.” Now Charlotte looked both annoyed and alarmed, eyes widening and cheeks flaring red. It took a lot to set her off and Burgundy counted herself lucky it wasn’t her fault. At least, not exactly. Charlotte could be angry at Iris all she wanted. Goodness knew Iris wasn’t exactly on Burgundy’s list of favorite people these days.
The courthouse clock tower chimed the hour and Burgundy flicked her gaze at something that scurried past them. Something that carried the earthy scent of fresh rain and wet earth. The scent of magick.
But when she turned, all she saw were shadows shifting under the lights of the old VFW post behind them, across the street from the theater. Not even the slightest tingle of mystical energy lingered. Taking a few backward steps toward where she’d parked, gaze still trained on the same spot, Burgundy held up both hands and said, “Look, I’ll call you, okay?”
Charlotte unwound her arms and flapped them at her sides. “About what and when? What aren’t you telling me, Burg?”
“Everything!”
With that, Burgundy turned and hurried to her car. She peeled out of the parking space and didn’t manage to catch her breath again until she pulled into her own driveway.
Maybe Aunt Iris was right to be worried after all.
Chapter Three
There were some things Burgundy suffered through tolerably well – five days in a row of nothing but rain, for example. Or a round of stomach flu. Maybe even the occasional child screaming in her ear in the confined, reverberating cabin of an airplane for hours on end, like the year she and Charlotte flew to Aruba for spring break.
Working with her overbearing library assistant on a Monday was not one of them.
She doubted Lynn meant to be so difficult. As a feline shifter she was, Burgundy knew, cat software running on human hardware. But even a cat could be trained to not scratch inappropriately or fling litter out of their box. Or boss around their actual boss.
“What about a litter box?” Lynn batted her thick, spidery eyelashes. Even if Burgundy could find it in her heart to like Lynn as a person, the heavy-handed application of makeup on what would otherwise be a pretty face would still make her cringe.
“Did I say that out loud?” Burgundy tried to muster a fuck or two to give, but couldn’t. Despite her position as library supervisor, she had to put up with Lynn treating her like a servant. At least she hadn’t said her nickname for the assistant. Evil-Lyn. And thank goodness they’d acquired a new vacuum for the library. Every afternoon, Lynn vacuumed, regardless of whether or not it was needed.
“I think she’s projecting,” Marian, the other assistant, once confided to her. “She’s hit her maturity. The cycle has stopped. Since she can’t have kittens, she’s grooming the carpet.”
Yet another thing Burgundy didn’t want burned into her brain when it came to Lynn. Feline menopause. No thank you. “I’ll be in the microfilm room if anyone needs me,” she muttered. Mondays were quiet at the library and she knew Lynn could handle the few patrons they might see.
“Again? Are you sure there isn’t something I can help you find?” The petulance in Lynn’s tone made Burgundy’s skin prickle and the slightest twinge of guilt unsettled her stomach. For all her imperious ways, the woman just wanted to help.
Burgundy demurred under her breath and got away from the desk as quickly as she could.
A hint of lemon furniture cleaner lingered in the air, offsetting the slightly musty scent of old books as Burgundy sidled into the Grove Room, where the microfilm reader sat on a low computer table, next to a tan filing cabinet. The second drawer of the filing cabinet protested with a creak as she opened it. She made a mental note to do something about smoothing out the way the tracks on the drawers glided against the ones affixed to the interior of the cabinet. After selecting the small white box she wanted, Burgundy shut the drawer and settled in for a day of scrolling through film.
This room with its dark red walls and decorative tin ceiling was her favorite in the building, part of the original library built in the late 1890s before they’d expanded and modernized a hundred years later. Other things filled the shelves in this room – old Rock Grove High School yearbooks, historic newspapers, and town ordinance and meeting books, just to name a few. This was where Burgundy had spent the better part of quiet work days ever since her aunt returned after the winter solstice.
Because if Aunt Iris wouldn’t talk, then Burgundy had to dig for information in other ways. Now I wonder if I decided to be a librarian because I’m just a nosy person. She bit back a chuckle and relaxed against the chair cushion while scrolling through the 1992 edition of the Rock Grove Journal.
Year after year, month after month, she’d worked her way back through newspapers, first online and then on microfilm. Her goal remained unspoken. Heck, Burgundy didn’t even allow herself to think it, because the idea that Iris might somehow intuit what she wanted and then find a way to stop her...
She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued scrolling. It was slow work, reading every single page of the newspapers. But the headline that caught her eye made her suck in a shaky breath. Hand trembling, she adjusted the reader to bring the entire page into view.
A black-and-white photograph. Two people in formal dress, a tiara perched atop the girl’s head. She knew them.
Her parents.
Arms tense, skin prickling, Burgundy zoomed in on the article and photograph. Rock Grove Class of 1992 Prom Royalty. The photo below the first showed a boy wearing a crown and a girl standing in the circle of his arms, but it was the first one that really mattered.
Of course, the photo didn’t do them justice. Lily Bloom’s long, red hair was pulled back from her face and Cian Black appeared far less menacing in a tuxedo than he did the first time Burgundy met him. But it was yet another piece of her parents, the people she’d never known, a peek into their lives before she was born.
“Prom Queen, Lily Bloom, is the most beautiful witch in the county on the arm of her date, Cian Black.” Nothing about what Cian was, even though the photo below informed readers the prom king and his date were both shapeshifters.
Burgundy pressed her lips together, but her nostrils flared as she continued to draw in long, calming breaths. A sense of identity. That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? Yet to be denied that again and again...
&nbs
p; Her throat closed up as she read the article. Nothing in it told her much about her parents, other than the honor bestowed upon her mother at prom. But there it was in black and white, proof that they’d made at least some mark on the world. On her town before dumping her off on Aunt Iris and going their separate ways.
Pulling her phone out of the pocket of her black slacks, Burgundy made a note about the newspaper, date, and page number, and the article’s headline. It might not amount to much but, in addition to the photograph on the mantle at home, it was another piece of tangible evidence that her parents existed.
Contact with her outlaw father had been so fleeting, ended by her own complicity with the Witches Council in capturing him. It’d been the right thing to do at the time, though, to stop the rash of deadly pairings he’d set up across Rock Grove with a few well-placed strikes of Cupid’s arrows.
At least, that’s what Burgundy repeated to herself night after night to find some semblance of peace.
Almost as soon as she thought of how she’d delivered her father into the hands of the Finders, the unmistakable smell of magick wafted into the library, a moment before the front door banged shut. Too bad she couldn’t tell one witch or warlock from another based solely on that smell. All magick smelled alike to her and there was only one witch in town, one person who should emit that lovely scent – Aunt Iris.
Burgundy stared at the microfilm reader screen, committing the photograph to memory. One more piece of her past, a legacy her aunt wanted to protect her from. She’d have to scroll away from it now, if Iris was in the library.
“Burgundy?”
She pushed the button that rewound the film and the reel spun with a gentle, metallic whirring sound. “Yes, Lynn?”
“There’s a gentleman here with some questions for you.”
Not Iris? “Would you please let him know I’ll be right there?”
Lynn stepped further into the room and leaned so close, her breath tickled Burgundy’s ear. “I would, but I’m not sure how badly you’ll want to speak to him. He’s a Finder.”