A Wicked Magic

by Sasha Laurens

  “For now,” she said, kneeling next to him. “You’ll get better. It just takes time.”

  His voice fell into a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  He sounded so miserable that her heart perked up in a familiar way at the challenge. She would do anything, give anything. She had promised herself that she would always try one more time for Johnny. She reached for his hand. It was balled into a fist. “I can help.”

  He flinched at her touch. His hand didn’t relax in hers at all. “Can you? Really?”

  Seeing him like that, his knees pulled up to his chest and his T-shirt loose on his malnourished frame, made her feel young and afraid. She remembered Kasyan’s cruel smile, her terror at the unending darkness of his eyes, the liquid relief she felt to see his pale hand trapped in that rock. She felt Johnny’s name on her lips that night she cast the spell that set all of this in motion. Johnny had had a hole blasted in his life and no matter how badly she wanted it or how many plans she came up with, she couldn’t fix that.

  She let his hand go.

  “I don’t know. But you’re not alone. You never were. I was always coming for you.” She swallowed hard. “I love you, Johnny.”

  He looked at her like he didn’t know what that meant; maybe, Liss thought, neither did she. “I’m sorry,” he eventually said. “The doctors say I’m still processing.”

  Liss stood to leave. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m here whenever you want to talk,” she said, although something told her she would never see him again. “I’m so sorry, Johnny, for everything.”

  * * *

  —

  Liss got in the red Range Rover and drove into Fort Gratton’s downtown. She parked near a corner of Main Street where a cluster of dried flowers and candles and peace signs woven from twigs were gathered in front of a laminated picture of an old woman. There was a ballot initiative to install a permanent plaque, but for now a sign read:

  IN MEMORY OF

  MAGGIE “MAD MAGS” KELLY

  NORTH COASTER AND FRIEND

  Liss paused at the memorial. Mad Mags died the night of the Solstice too, watching the Pacific from Dogtown Beach. No one could remember a North Coast without her, and no one knew how to reach any of her family, although only three of them knew this was because she was nearly two hundred years old. The whole community had mourned her loss, and Dogtown had already declared that next year’s Solstice Parade would be held in Mags’s honor. Liss hoped she’d found some peace, and her love Ivan, now that her ordeal with Kasyan had ended.

  Leaving the memorial, Liss made her way to the last Victorian on the block, shoved open the red door, and waved a greeting at the tattooed receptionist before heading up the back stairs.

  When Swann saw Liss standing there, she leaned against the doorjamb and folded her thin arms. “You again.”

  “Me again,” Liss said. Apparently the bad impression she’d made on Swann hadn’t faded.

  “What can I help you with today?”

  Liss raised her chin and took a deep breath. “I want to join the Wardens.”

  Swann cocked her head. “And what makes you think you’d be suitable for the Wardens?”

  “I miss doing magic,” she began.

  “That’s not what the Wardens are about.”

  “You didn’t let me finish!” Liss steadied herself. Swann wasn’t her enemy, and more importantly, she needed to speak from the heart. “I know that the Wardens aren’t running around doing whatever magic they feel like. That’s not what I want either. I spent months using magic selfishly, and I’m not an idiot—I can see where that got me. I don’t need magic for myself anymore. I want to make sure no one else goes through what Johnny did, or worse. I want to help people, and the Wardens can help me do that.”

  Swann regarded her, lips pursed.

  “And the whole facing-down-Kasyan thing has to count for something, right?”

  Swann shook her head. “You think you have experience, but you’re still a naive witch. Most Warden witches start out with inherited knowledge. There will be a very great deal to learn.”

  “I’m an excellent student.”

  “You will have to be relentless.”

  Liss grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Swann moved aside and welcomed Liss into her den.

  Dan

  Dan slammed the front door, bounded up the stairs to her attic room, and shut the door behind her.

  “Dan!” Alexa called from downstairs. “They’re going to be here in like fifteen minutes!”

  “I know,” she yelled back. “I can get ready fast.”

  Dan looked at the dress lying on her bed, then back to the mirror. Her eyes were a little puffy from crying, but she could distract from that with eyeliner and mascara. She cried all the time in therapy, almost every week for months. She’d considered rescheduling her appointment this afternoon, but when she had asked her mom to help her find a therapist in January, Dan promised herself that she would do her best, even if it was hard.

  And it was hard. Really hard. It turned out that she had learned some bad coping mechanisms to deal with some even worse emotions. It was important to stop cutting, but it was even more important to look directly at why she’d started doing it in the first place.

  So she hadn’t canceled, even though today was senior prom.

  Dan took a deep breath and eyed the dress again. She and Alexa and Liss had spent hours looking at literally thousands of dresses online to find one she loved. It was black, with sparkly silver stars all over, and it had a skirt perfect for twirling. But the dress was sleeveless, which meant it would be impossible to hide the hatch of whitening scars on her arm like she usually did.

  They had spent the whole of today’s session on it: what to say if people asked, how to deal if they didn’t ask but obviously saw anyway. One thing Dan was sure of: she was done with lying about it. Maybe she wasn’t fine and maybe she never would be—but maybe fine was boring and the braver thing to do was work every day on at least being okay.

  Sometimes, she was even good. It was a feeling she deserved, and more than that, she had earned.

  If other people saw her scars and saw someone who was weak or sick or fucked up, that was their problem.

  Because when she pulled the dress on and looked at herself against the white wall behind her—she’d torn down all the posters of Rickey and IronWeaks; she hadn’t listened to them since that night—what Dan saw was pretty amazing.

  “They’re here!” Graciela called up.

  She looked out the window to see Liss’s red Range Rover parked in front of the house. (A new UC Santa Barbara sticker was on the back window. Liss promised her parents she’d apply to transfer to Berkeley the next year. She promised herself she’d see if she liked UCSB first.)

  Dan wriggled into her heels and grabbed her phone.

  * * *

  —

  “Aren’t you beautiful?” Graciela beamed as Dan came down the stairs. “That dress!”

  “Love the stars,” Zephyr said, her hand already laced with Alexa’s. Alexa was looking very Grease in a black ’50s-style halter dress with a poofy skirt, and Zephyr had gone for something sleeker in purple.

  “Look, we match!” Alexa chirped, flipping up the hem of her skirt to show a purple petticoat. They’d gotten each other coordinated corsages, too.

  “You don’t match, you go. Matching is lame, which is why I stopped you from doing it,” Liss said, who looked extremely chic in a forest green jumpsuit. She had flowers woven into her hair and wore a fierce red lipstick.

  Dan broke into a smile. They looked brilliant.

  “Oh, you girls,” Graciela said as Dan’s dad juggled everyone’s phones for pictures. “So much power and beauty in one place!”

  Dan cringed. “Mom, honestly! It’s just
prom.”

  “I see everyone went for dark colors,” Dan’s dad said as he snapped a picture.

  “The theme is fancy witches, Dad,” Dan said, as they shifted to a new pose.

  “Your prom’s theme is fancy witches?” he asked.

  “It’s more like a personal theme,” Dan answered, and all of them grinned. “Just for the four of us.”

  Acknowledgments

  There are too many people I’ve depended on and celebrated with and learned from since I began this journey to thank everyone here. I’ve wanted to write a book since before I knew how to write. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me since then.

  Ruta Rimas, thank you for understanding my girls and making sure their story had a home. I’m very grateful to the team at Razorbill and Penguin Random House: Casey McIntyre, for believing in this book; Jayne Ziemba, for watching over it; Abigail Powers, for copyediting; Dana Li, for designing a far better cover than I ever dared imagine, and Rebecca Aidlin, for the interior design; everyone at marketing and publicity, especially Christina Colangelo, Bri Lockhart, Bree Martinez, and Felicity Vallence; and Gretchen Durning for keeping track of everything along the way.

  I am hardly the first to claim to have the best agent ever, but in my case it’s actually true. Jennifer Udden, I’m not sure why you took a chance on me, but when you did, I found a tireless champion, friend, occasional ice-skating buddy, and much more. Thank you.

  Melissa Eastlake, my critique partner, you’ve taught me more about craft than any writing instructor I’ve ever had. Thank you for responding to my ten thousand whiny emails with care and encouragement.

  Blake Miller, Joe Klaver, Michael Thompson, Steven Moore, and Zander Furnas, I don’t know where I would be without you, but probably not in freaking Michigan, so thanks for nothing. Just kidding. Thank you for always having my back, for celebrating my successes and failures, and for making fun of me. I love you guys. Devi Mays, thank you for pointing out when I am being too extremely Capricorn. I’m grateful Hannah Begley and Pippa Kelly gave me a reason to get to know West Marin, which is the inspiration for North Coast. Thank you to Morgan Whitcomb for a friendship that feels like home. Ashraya Gupta, you’ve read practically every word I’ve written since I turned nineteen, and incredibly most of the time you even seemed to enjoy it. Thank you for always being there and for laughing at all of my jokes, even the ones no one else hears.

  Alissa de Vogel, I love you more than anything and trust you more than anyone. I’m so lucky to have you as a sister. Thank you to my parents. It kind of goes without saying that I wouldn’t be who I am without you. You have never doubted I could achieve whatever I dedicated myself to, even when I didn’t see it myself. I love you.

  Finally, I’m so grateful to every reader who gave this book a chance. I hope you find the witch gang you need.

  About the Author

  Sasha Laurens is originally from Northern California and has lived in New York and St. Petersburg, Russia. When she's not writing fiction and missing the West Coast, she is pursuing a PhD in political science on protest movements in authoritarian states.

  Find her on Twitter @sasha_laurens

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