“This is the first time you've done this?” I asked, puzzled. Everyone had made it sound like she was a long-term teacher. But then again, she was just my age.
Wren’s eyes widened, and turned shrewd, then she smiled ruefully. “It’s the first time I've taught this to adults.”
That made more sense than I would've liked it to. I wasn’t exactly fond of the reminder that I was learning things kids learned in elementary school. “So kids start early?”
“Most kids present by age seven or so,” Wren said. “There’s some late bloomers, but they’re rare.”
“Do they get formal magic training?” I tried to think of how that would work in schools, and winced.
Wren shook her hand in a so-so gesture. “Sort of,” she said. “Generally, they rely on parent-enforced education, but if that’s not happening, Belle has the power to appoint someone to help.”
“That…”
“Isn’t fun, no.” Wren’s face was grim for a second, but it faded. “But, it’s rare. Now.” Her expression lightened. “I’m changing your teaching schedule, because I have a feeling if I told you to wait, you just go do it anyway.”
She wasn’t wrong.
“Let's start with the basic vision spell,” Wren decided.
“So I should call them spells?” I asked.
She half-nodded and then stopped. “Technically they’re different things,” she said. “A combination of runes, often tied together with shapes or other images to give it structure. But you can create them on your own, without any outside help.”
“Kind of like mix-and-match,” I said.
“Like that,” she said, although it was fairly obvious that she had no idea what I was talking about. “We call them spells for short, and there are pre-made ones that witches can buy or use.”
“Do I need a wand or something?” I hadn’t seen any, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Maybe Addie was a different type of witch.
Wren laughed, the most carefree sound I had heard from her so far. “No, no wands here. Just hold the images in your mind, try to pull them towards you.”
“Okay,” I said.
“The goal of this spell is to reveal something that can’t be seen.”
I stared at Wren. “How am I supposed to know something’s there if I can’t see it?”
Her eyes had a mischievous sparkle. “That’s part of it.”
Revealing something. Of the runes I'd learned, I picked hidden, person, and the one that, to me, looked like a brain. I held them in my mind, almost spinning them like they were in a circle around me. How was I supposed to know something was hidden? I added in the lock, except combined it with an open hinge. So far I had been taught 22 runes, although I didn’t know how many more there were.
The tingling was starting to spark up and down my arms, and the hair on the nape of my neck standing, and I shivered without meaning to. I had felt a minor version of this in my apartment, and when getting into the coffee shop with Addie. But this was different.
The butterflies churned in my gut, and my fingers started to shake. I stamped down any fear and apprehension. There wasn’t time for that. Instead, whatever it was, my body wanted more of it.
“Oh,” Wren breathed, her surprise catching me off guard.
I hadn’t realized, but I had closed my eyes, and when I opened them, the light caught me off guard. I had done something. The formerly white chair at the head of the table had become the deep red color of burnished wood, probably the color it had been originally.
“Woah.” I looked down at my hands, and then at her. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You're a natural at this.” She studied me, and it wasn’t just a casual look, or like she was thinking about something. It was like she was piercing me, looking at my insides, but in regards to magic.
“Even naturals take time to learn,” I muttered, uncomfortable with her praise. I had just gotten lucky. I didn’t know what I was doing, and anything I had stumbled into wasn’t entirely my fault.
Or was I worried about what would happen if they let me go unsupervised too quickly? So far magic hadn’t seemed that dangerous, but I knew what sort of horrors had happened in fictional worlds.
“I don’t think we’ll teach you many of the structured spells,” Wren said thoughtfully. “I’ll make a list of them for you.”
“Then what will you teach?” I asked, almost apprehensive.
“The building blocks.” She smiled faintly. “Then you have a supervisor, somebody who –”
“Makes sure I don't blow anything up?” I finished.
Wren laughed. “Basically.”
“Do I have one?” I asked. Were they assigned?
Wren looked torn. She wasn’t looking at me now, instead just to the side of me. “If your time here really is temporary, the Council probably won't bother assigning you one.”
I didn't say anything, because I wasn't really sure what to say. I hadn't decided, really, how long I was going to stay here or what I was going to do. Part of me was starting to get attached to magic, but I wasn't sure I could live here, not after what had happened. Or was I just being ridiculous? Maybe this was turning into home and I just hadn't realized it.
“We can deal with that later,” Wren said, the mental equivalent of changing the topic, but with an optimistic twist. “For now, let's teach you the different ways of spellcasting, other than just mental focus.”
By the time we were done, my brain was spinning in circles. There wasn't just holding the runes in your mind, your intention. You could draw them on the ground, assemble them with loops and swirls. That was more reliable than the mental method, because if you got distracted, it didn't change. But it was also more noticeable.
Then there were things like Addie's bells that had the runes inscribed on them. You didn't need to picture the runes when they were written on something, you could just use them. In that case, intention mattered.
“Do a lot of people have stuff with the runes on it?” It seemed sort of dangerous, if you asked me.
Wren shook her head. “No,” she confirmed. “Addie is unique that way.”
I had a feeling, from what I had learned so far, that Addie was one-of-a-kind in a whole lot of ways. And not all of them were particularly popular with the other witches.
“All right,” I said. “What next?” I was sweating, my hair was sticking up all over, and I was starting to feel little bit dizzy, but that aside, I was having fun.
Wren gave me a patient look. “Now it's break time,” she said.
“But –”
“You have to build your reserves,” she said pointedly. “We don't want to stress you too far, because it will make it more difficult for you to do complicated things in the future.”
She turned to look at Mocha, who was still lying against the floor, her stomach half turned upwards. It was like she was sunbathing, but inside, where there was no sun.
“Keep her from doing anything stupid,” Wren ordered.
“No guarantees,” Mocha said lazily.
Wren looked at me, as if it was important what Mocha had said.
“She said she'll try,” I paraphrased.
Wren’s chuckle made it clear she knew that wasn’t the actual wording. “Close enough.”
I smiled, shaking my arms out to try and get rid of the fizzy feeling. My whole body felt drained but exhilarated at the same time, almost like I was running on air. I was floating while still being solidly on the ground.
There was a knock on the front door that crashed me back to earth. I blinked, suddenly tired. That had definitely been adrenaline, then.
Wren gave me a careful look, as if warning me to stay sitting, before she went to get the door. I heard two quiet voices, then a pause, and Wren and Lizbeth appeared in the doorway. Lizbeth looked startled.
“I didn't know you were here,” Lizbeth said. She was holding her purse to her chest, like there was something precious in it.
“She came to ask where you wer
e,” Wren said, settling back at her spot at the table. “C’mon, sit down.” She patted the empty chair, which was burnished wood now and looking out of place compared to the white-painted table.
Lizbeth gave it a curious glance before she sat in it, pulling an album out of her large purse. No wonder she carried something that big around if that was the sort of object she kept inside it.
“I have a few things to show her,” she said, nodding to me.
I leaned forward, curious. “Yeah?”
Lizbeth smiled. “They’re of your mother,” she said.
My heart thumped in my chest. “My Mom?”
“Did she ever show you pictures of her childhood?” Lizbeth asked, looking like she already knew the answer.
Predictably, I shook my head. “It wasn't that we didn't talk about it,” I said, “but it seemed to stress her out, so I left the topic alone.” I felt kind of lame, saying it that way, almost defensive. But I wanted to stress that I wasn't going to push Mom for anything more than she was willing to give. Her past wasn’t important. Not to me.
I heard a faint meow and another cat entered the room, heading over to sit next to Cleo. It was an older cat, deep blue, and looked like it had seen and done everything.
I glanced at Wren. “Everyone has familiars?”
Surprise flashed over Lizbeth’s face. “I'd forgotten how different this world is, compared to the normal one.”
That was putting it politely, if you asked me. “It takes some getting used to,” I admitted.
“It did, even when we were children,” Lizbeth said.
She had a point. But it was different, too. At least as a kid they didn’t know otherwise.
“Your mom would've loved to see you this grown up,” Lizbeth said like she was caught in her reverie. Then she shook her head. “Right,” she said firmly, as if refocusing herself. “The photos.”
She had a whole scrapbook. It was strange, but in a nice way, seeing my mom do so many ordinary things. There was her riding a bike, eating a birthday cake. Things I'd known, intellectually, that she’d done, but things I’d never seen.
“Was she always stubborn?” I asked, looking at a photo of Mom crying. Apparently, she had been learning to ride her bike, refused help, and fallen. She was probably six or seven in the photo.
“Yes,” Lizbeth said wryly. “If she ever wasn't that stubborn, one worried if she was dead. Or possessed.”
I hid a smile. That sounded like her. “Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.
“Any time,” she said firmly. “I miss her, too.”
My eyes lingered on the photos. “So she was an orphan?” I asked. Mom had never mentioned her parents, my grandparents.
Lizbeth nodded. “Lettie took her in, when it was needed.”
I nodded, but a glance at the clock told me I had gotten sidetracked. If I was even going to consider staying in Elder, I needed to get this murder investigation cleared and solved, and away from me.
Wren was watching me closely. A single raised eyebrow told me she was onto me.
“I just want to look into a few things,” I said, trying to sound innocent.
Wren rolled her eyes. “With any luck, you'll burn down the town,” she muttered.
I felt Lizbeth’s alarm rather than heard it. “What are you up to?”
“Investigating,” Wren said. “Taking care of the idiots who think she's guilty.”
“And they are idiots,” I muttered.
“Kerrity.” Wren scowled.
“You’re a strange human,” Lizbeth said, although I heard affection in that too.
“Thanks?” I said, bemused. Where had that came from?
“You're welcome,” she said in return.
Wren stood, cracking her back with her hands on her hips. “Let's go,” she said.
“Go?” I asked.
“I'm assuming you’d like to go talk to another one of the part-time workers?” Wren looked at me like I was predictable.
I was. “Sounds good to me.”
Wren was still looking at the far wall, something distant on her face.
“I appreciate that,” I said, and I meant it. Of the two of us, Wren was the one who knew the way around, knew who to talk to.
“I just want to help,” Wren said with a shrug.
“Where's Ella?” Lizbeth asked, catching Wren's attention.
“Working late,” she said.
Lizbeth arched an eyebrow. “She's been doing that a lot lately.”
“I’d like to see you stop her,” Wren said, looking like she had tried doing that and failed.
Lizbeth looked rueful. “I’m not that stupid.”
“I know,” Wren said with a smile.
“Who are you taking her to see?” Lizbeth asked.
“Valencia,” Wren answered. “She might be willing to talk.”
“More than that man did, anyway.” Lizbeth sniffed.
I tensed, nerves making my hands clench into fists. “She knew?” I asked.
“Everyone knows everything around here,” Wren said.
“Oh,” I said. I wasn't quite sure what to say to that otherwise. “Right,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Let's go talk to Valencia.”
“I'll lock up after you leave,” Lizbeth said. She was still sitting at the table, flipping through the scrapbook like she was lost in thought.
“Thanks, Auntie Beth.” Wren leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
I was jealous, and I was adult enough to admit it. I had never really had an extended family, much less somebody that I could call an aunt. And these were people my mother had apparently grown up with. People that were special to her.
Why had she given it away? Why hadn't she told me about it? They were questions I wanted answers to.
“It's close enough to walk,” Wren said. “Or we could drive.”
I shook my head. “Walking is fine.”
Chapter Sixteen
“So how long did you work there?” I asked, hands in my pockets as I followed her down the street.
“I worked a lot of odd jobs,” Wren said absently. “Haven't really figured out what I want to do for life, so I just sort of –”
“Do a little bit of everything?” I could sympathize. “I’ve been there.” Even now, I had to admit, I wasn’t entirely certain where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. After Mom’s death, I had sort of lost my focus.
She nodded. “It led to me becoming part of her staff, but I had to go back to part-time after –” she paused. “Mom needed my help with the shop,” she finished. “I'm not sure she ever forgave me.”
“But you were helping your mom,” I said. To me that mattered more than anything.
Wren’s smile was darkly amused. “I like that you say that like you think it matters to someone like her.”
I thought of the curmudgeonly woman I'd met, and maybe conceded she had a point. If that was how Mildred approached everything, including making friends, I could see where there might've been a contingent that didn't like her. A large one.
“Here we are.” Wren straightened up, her smile becoming broader. Then it dimmed some. “I came and checked on her often, even after I left,” she admitted. “She was working for health insurance, because her boyfriend was sick.” There was more there, but Wren brushed it aside with a shake of her head. “I'm sure they're okay,” she said faux cheerfully.
I wasn’t convinced.
“Either way, we’ll find out,” she said, the cheerfulness exuding from her in an almost contagious way. Fake or not, she wore it to her very pores. She led the way to the front door, knocking with her knuckles despite the loud noise inside. It sounded like the TV was on. “Valencia?” Wren said, pitching her voice loudly so it could be heard.
There was some scuffle, somebody swearing, as if they’d tripped over something, and then the door swung open. Valencia was younger than I’d expected, probably a few years younger than I was.
Her eyes were dark with fatigue, the bluish-
black circles underneath them smudged like bad makeup. “Thanks for dropping by,” she said, her voice as tired as her appearance. She turned to look at me, and I could see she was conventionally pretty. Delicate, almost model-like features. Short, but not too short. Blunt-cut black hair.
“Any time,” Wren said fervently. And she meant it.
“Is she magic?” I asked Wren in a hush. Apparently, I wasn’t as quiet as I hoped, because Valencia’s eyes widened.
“She really is new.” She looked like something had shaken her to the core. “I assumed it was gossip.”
“She's getting there,” Wren said, almost as if she was defending my honor.
Maybe she was. Not that my honor needed to be defended to strangers.
“I'm Lou,” I said, extending a hand for her to shake. When she reached out to shake there was a loud beep, and Valencia dropped her hand and headed inside.
“Come in,” she said, leaving us behind.
“I didn't realize he was home,” Wren said, something complicated on her face.
“Who?” I was baffled.
I followed Wren inside, even though she hesitated. My question was answered soon enough. In a hospital bed in the middle of the large living room lay a man, about our age. He looked exhausted, asleep, but one of the monitors he was connected to had a flashing red light.
With long practice, Valencia studied the screen and then tapped a code, silencing it. To my surprise, the young man’s eyes flickered open, finding Valencia first before looking at us. He seemed surprised, although the emotion seemed weak on his face, like it took a lot of effort.
“How’re you doing?” Wren asked, her gaze flickering from the young man to Valencia. It took a few moments to study him. Young, gaunt. The likely answer was cancer. I wasn’t going to ask.
“He's had better days,” Valencia said, her smile tired.
“Haven't we all,” Wren said with a faint trace of irony.
He was watching us quietly now, his eyes half-closed.
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