The Witch's Complement

by Elle Beauregard

  She had. All night long. While she pressed her fingers to her own body.

  She must have sent some sort of energy into the space because Scott’s brows furrow.

  “Okay, not my business, but did you guys...? Already?”

  “Nope,” Abby replied, buttoning her shit right up. It was like Wren’s magic still swirled under her skin. She turned to leave his station on a slow stroll with her hands clasped behind her back. “We shared one very chaste,” excruciatingly hot, “kiss. And said goodnight.” Because Abby had pushed too far, and Wren had spooked.

  Which made Abby think of something and turn to Scott once more, only to find him smirking like he knew she wasn’t telling the entire truth. “Has Wren had a girlfriend before?”

  Scott’s brows rose and he gave a nod. “Yes. And you should talk to her about that.”

  Huh. Abby wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news as she went back to her station. On the one hand, it meant the kiss alone wasn’t to blame—Wren had kissed at least one other woman. It also meant that something more subtle was to blame for Wren’s sudden exit.

  Ugh. I suck at subtle!

  And, to Scott’s point, she’d love to talk to Wren about her past relationships, or about whatever the hell Abby did that sent her scurrying into the night. About anything! But apparently that wasn’t going to happen because—she pulled her phone from the pocket on the front of her sweatshirt and checked the screen—Wren hadn’t texted her back all morning.

  Sort of hard to have a conversation with someone who wasn’t talking to you. But it had only been a few hours. Or, like, five hours. She was probably busy.

  Abby wasn’t aware of having wondered to the front of the shop, but when the front door swung open with the ding! that announced it, Abby’s gaze lifted from her phone in time to see Scott’s girlfriend, Cecily, push through like there was a tiger chasing her.

  And dark, foreboding energy hung from her like swaths of sticky, black honey that wanted to pull her back out onto the sidewalk even as she pushed forward into the shop.

  “Oh, hey Abby.” Her smile was forced, and Abby had to fight a very tangible instinct to step back, to get away from that darkness.

  “Hey. You need Scott?” She definitely needed Scott. Like, now.

  “Yeah, is he between clients?”

  “Yep. He’s in his station.” Abby watched Cecily make her way down the hall, unable to move until she was out of sight.

  Then she pulled up a fresh new text to Wren. Fuck the should-I-shouldn’t-I-text-again bullshit. This superseded all of that.

  Wren, text me back, okay? We don’t have to talk about last night.

  Maybe she should have said what it was about, she thought as she hit send. Then again, maybe it was better that she didn’t. If Wren wasn’t up for this, it was better that she didn’t get pulled into it. Because Abby was in—all in—as she headed to Scott’s station.

  She couldn’t leave him alone with Cecily’s energy like that. Hell, she couldn’t leave Cecily alone with her own energy. It wasn’t hers. That’s why it hung off of her in ribbons like forever-dripping oil. And the reason Abby could see it as much as feel it was because that was other-side energy. That was energy from The Underneath, clinging to Cecily and willing her back out the door.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Scott was staring at the runes he didn’t remember drawing again when the sound of the shop door pinged through the bustling studio. That damned ding! could be heard even when everybody’s tattoo machines were buzzing a harsh, discordant orchestra in the shop.

  He’d left his privacy screens up from his last appointment because he’d need them for the next, so he couldn’t see who was walking in, but it was safe to bet it would be his next client. He glanced at the clock on the wall. They were thirty minutes early.

  Normally he blocked out a couple of breaks on Saturdays but those had been filled with clients rescheduled from his day off. He put on his game face, ready to power through when Cecily came around the corner.

  And she looked like hell.

  She was beautiful—she was always beautiful as far as he was concerned—but there were shadows under her eyes like she’d been crying, and her hair was a mess of brunette in a slap dash ponytail that was sliding down the back of her head—the kind she normally reserved for housework and blow jobs.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked as she stepped into him and wrapped her arms around him.

  A wave of stomach clenching nausea went through him, so quick it almost didn’t register. Then it was gone.

  “I just needed to see you.” She didn’t even try to step back, so he held her against him.

  “You okay?”

  “I am now.”

  Now? It was him who pulled back, just enough to look down at her. “What happened? Is—” he dropped his voice. “The baby?”

  “Fine,” she assured him. “We’re fine. I just... it’s been a rough morning.”

  “What happened?” he asked as she stepped back and unlooped her bag from her shoulder.

  She groaned as she dropped it into the chair across the room. “Well, first, Mom told us that my and Zander’s dad, isn’t our dad.”

  Whoa. “What?” That was big deal, Earth shattering kind of news.

  “Yeah...” She drew the word out like she was only getting started. “Then, when I stopped in to grab this chai, he was there and cornered me into taking to him.”

  “Wait. Who was there?”

  “My dad.” Cecily’s eyes were wide with what-the-fuck? “Only, not my dad. The guy I thought was my dad.” She sighed and rubbed her temples while brakes screeched in Scott’s head.

  “Hold up. You just saw your dad—whatever—at the coffee shop down the street?” Was she kidding?

  “Yep! And he’s still a fucking winner.”

  “Cecily, holy shit. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she sighed. “Just... so done with today.”

  “What did he want to talk to you about?” Cecily’s dad was bad news. Like, abusive asshole levels of bad news. Scott hated the idea of her alone with the guy. More than hated it, the idea made his skin crawl and his thoughts go all possessive.

  “He told me—” but she stopped and dropped her voice, “He told me he’s a medium, and showed me these tattoos.” She grabbed her phone from her purse. “I snapped a pic when he wasn’t looking.” Then she put the phone on the table Abby had been sitting at a few minutes ago. “Have you ever seen anything like these?”

  Curious, Scott glanced down at the photo on her phone—and the floor fell out from under him. “What the fuck?” His feet took him backward, away from the runes on her screen.

  Smother. Control. Dominate.

  Cecily looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Scott?”

  “Delete it.”

  The symbols started flipping in front of his eyes, faster and faster.

  Harm. Dominion. Manipulation. Summon. Ensnare. Compel.

  “What?” Her expression through the symbols was full of what-the-hell and he didn’t even care.

  “Delete it! I said fucking delete it, Cecily!”

  “Okay! Okay!” She fumbled with her phone for a moment, then, “Done. They’re gone.”

  Scott blinked, his heart pounding. The symbols were gone.

  “What the fuck was that?” Cecily snatched her bag from the chair. She turned and looked at him, brows furrowed and lips parted like she was waiting for him to explain—but he couldn’t.

  He literally couldn’t—because he had no idea what had just happened.

  “Fine. We’ll talk later.” Her scoff was laced with hurt as she shook her head and charged out of his station.

  “Cecily—” He heard Abby try to say something to her, but Cecily bit her head off.

  “I’m fine.”

  Fuuuuuuck.

  Cecily had just had the worst morning in recorded history—and he’d just provided the cherry on that shit sundae.

  Nice
, Scott. Just fucking perfect.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Wren wasn’t avoiding Abby. She was just... not answering her messages. Or, like, checking her phone much.

  Her hands had been shaking so bad after leaving Abby at that coffee shop/bar/game store last night she’d dropped her keys twice while letting herself back into her RV.

  It was that kiss. No, it was all of it—her energy, the magic between them, Abby’s power. But that kiss had—yeah, it had scrambled her brain. She could still feel the hum of Abby’s magic in her skin—still taste the memory of Abby’s lip gloss.

  When they kissed, it was like Wren’s future had opened up before her, a beautiful view, like the times she’d driven through mountain passes and stopped at look-out points. Nothing but a gorgeous vista of incredible unknown. Landscape that curved and bent, shadows and light, trees and cliffs and riverbeds.

  And it was all Abby.

  She was the sunlight and shade, the forest, the flowing water and the steady mountains. All of it could be theirs.

  It was so much more than she’d ever had with anyone.

  It was so much more than she would have ever had with Bridgette.

  Wren’s eyes filled with tears as she sat in front of her closet with a T-shirt in her hands. She’d spent the day alone, scheduling social media posts and booking clients for next week. She’d started tidying the RV after dinner, which had led to a total kitchen cabinet clean-out (which was no big deal when you had exactly two tiny cabinets), a fridge purge, and now, a full wardrobe review and assessment.

  All while she fought thinking about Abby, and how easy she’d been to talk to; how beautiful, and smart, and confident she was. While she tried not to think about how good it had felt to be with her. And while she tried not to recognize how lonely she’d been before meeting her.

  She’d been happy with Bridgette. Really happy. They’d been great together.

  And if Bridgette were still here, Wren wouldn’t ever have known there was somebody like Abby out there.

  She wouldn’t have missed her, because she would be Bridgette’s partner. But now she was grateful she wasn’t blind to Abby—she wasn’t blind to the reality that there was someone that could make her feel the way Abby made her feel. What happened when Wren was with Abby had to do with magical compatibility—literally, their magic being complementary to one another’s. It was something she never could have had with Bridgette.

  And the fact that she wanted that, despite the fact that it was Bridgette’s death that had given her the opportunity to have it, made her the shittiest person in the entire damned world.

  It was such a betrayal to Bridge, to everything they’d had, and everything Wren had thought she wanted—had really, truly wanted to have. She’d loved Bridgette, deeply and sincerely. For two years, they’d been inseparable.

  Well, not inseparable, clearly. Death, that ultimate separator, had seen to that.

  But now... now she wanted Abby. And she hated herself for it.

  With a heavy sigh, she forced her eyes to focus on the T-shirt in her hands again.

  It was so much easier to go through her small wardrobe and throw away the shit she didn’t want than it was to throw away a future she’d fought for and lost. So much easier to make room in her closet for new things than it was to make room in her heart for a new future that was bigger and brighter than what she’d known she could ask for.

  Shit, her head was so fucked up, she didn’t know what to think.

  She was holding the T-shirt at arm’s length, attempting to decide its fate, when there was a knock at the door to her RV—just one second before the presence of Abby’s energy registered.

  Then more knocking: Knock-knock-knock!

  Nope. Not answering. Wren could not do this right now. She was liable to start bawling the minute she saw her—or kiss her—and either scenario was completely inappropriate considering all the shit spinning in Wren’s head. Not to mention the way she’d left things last night.

  Bang-bang-bang!

  Now Abby wasn’t knocking but pounding with a fist, or maybe an open palm. “Wren, I can feel you’re home!”

  Shit.

  “We don’t have to talk about last night. There’s something going on with Scott’s girlfriend and I need your help!”

  Wait, what? Wren pushed herself up to her feet, curiosity and concern winning out over her imminent mortification. When she pushed open the door, the words that fell out of her mouth were flat. “Sometimes magic is a real bitch.”

  Abby shrugged and nodded like she didn’t disagree. “I didn’t locator spell you, I swear. And I tried texting. I even called.”

  Well, damn. Wren had missed the call, but she knew about the texts. She had planned to respond—at some point. She stepped aside and let Abby up into her RV. “Sorry I’ve been MIA.”

  “Are you okay?” Abby kept her distance and Wren wasn’t sure whether she hated that or loved her for it.

  She shoved her hands into the back pocket of her jeans. “Yeah. I’m good.” Then she looked at Abby in earnest: a color coordinated red-and-black cozy-casual feast for the eyes in her knee socks, tights and a sweatshirt that barely covered the junction of her thighs. “Did you come here straight from work?” Wren pulled her eyes back up to Abby’s face. Her lips were painted red to match the ensemble.

  “Yeah, I finished with my last client and took off,” she replied like she was exhausted. “Scott was still there.”

  “Okay, so tell me what happened,” Wren prompted after Abby rubbed her temple like her head was killing her. “And do you need an Advil?”

  Abby’s brown eyes went hopeful. “Sweet mother earth, do you have one?”

  Wren chuckled at the turn of phrase as she headed for the bathroom cabinet she’d cleaned out and tidied earlier in the evening. “And Acetaminophen.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tylenol.”

  “Whichever.”

  Wren popped the top and dosed the pills into the palm of her hand. Then she grabbed a glass and cranked the tap before handing the whole thing over to Abby, who downed them with one big gulp of a swallow before leveling her brown eyes and latching them onto Wren’s.

  “Does Scott have magic?”

  Surprise sent Wren’s eyes wide and her mouth falling open. “No?”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Last I checked, yeah.” She motioned for the empty glass back from Abby.

  “Okay, well something changed because he’s seeing runes now, and it’s freaking him the fuck out.”

  Whoa. “He told you this? Does he know—”

  “No, and no,” Abby replied, handing Wren the glass like she’d only just remembered she was holding it.

  “No he hasn’t told you?”

  “And no, he still doesn’t know about my magic.”

  “Then how do you know about his?”

  Abby shrugged like it was obvious. “Because I can feel it. And because he’s drawing runes all over his shit, even when he doesn’t mean to.”

  This was huge. If what Abby was sensing was true, it was bigger than huge. Wren tried to force her whirring thoughts back into order. “Okay, wait. What does this have to do with Cecily?”

  “Oh right.” Abby shook her head like she’d gotten off track—then proceeded to tell Wren all about Cecily coming into the shop earlier in the day, dripping in dark energy. And about how Abby had “sort of, kind of” (her words) spied on them.

  “I’d have done the same thing,” Wren interjected.

  “Right?” Abby exclaimed. “Thank you. Anyways, she said something about seeing her dad—”

  “Whoa.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Possibly.” It definitely wasn’t good. As far as Wren knew, Zander and Cecily were estranged from their father. Like, way estranged.

  “Okay, well—get this—he told her he’s a medium.” Abby paused like she expected a reaction—so Wren drummed one up real quick.

  “Oh wow.
That’s unexpected.” Not a lie. Wren hadn’t known their dad was a medium. It just wasn’t a huge shock considering Cecily was one.

  “Yeah. Cecily didn’t seem super pleased with it. Then she showed Scott a pic on her phone—said it was a tattoo from her dad’s arm.”

  “Weird.”

  “Gets weirder. Scott flipped the fuck out.”

  Okay, that was actually unexpected. “Flipped out. Like, how?” She’d never seen Scott more flustered than a sigh. Sometimes he stumbled over words when he was stressed, but that was it.

  “He yelled at her to delete the pic while he stumbled backward like the thing might burn him.”

  Wren felt her mouth fall open.

  “I’ve never seen him do anything like that,” Abby added.

  “Because he never has.” At least not as far as Wren was aware. Something was very, very wrong here. And it made her think of the conversation she’d had with Zander and Callum those nights ago, about Bridgette and Trevor telling them there was darkness and “static” around Callum and Cecily. Could this all be related?

  “What are you thinking?” Abby asked.

  Wren looked at her. “That you should tell Scott what you know. About the bad energy, and him seeing runes, and all of it.”

  She was surprised by how dinner plate large Abby’s eyes got. “I can’t do that.” She shook her head.

  “He needs to know,” Wren countered.

  “You’re right, he does. So, maybe you can tell him?”

  Wren’s lip curled and her eyes narrowed as a what-the-hell soundtrack looped in her head. “No. I wasn’t there for anything you’re describing—it’d be weird for me to tell him. Plus, I might leave out something important. Just talk to him.”

  “Wren.” Abby reached and wrapped the fingers of both of her hands around one of Wren’s. “I can’t lose this job. Please.”

  Wren stopped. She looked at Abby’s wide eyes and pleading expression, and she felt, in the magic, a shadow of the genuine fear Abby was feeling over the idea of telling Scott what she knew—and by extension telling Scott what she was.

  “Ba—” She stopped mid-word when she almost called Abby “baby.” That would have been awkward, considering everything else. But damn, it had felt so natural. She swallowed it all down and started again. “Abby—Scott knows I’m a witch.”