The Witch's Complement

by Elle Beauregard

  Abby’s chin pulled back in surprise. “He does?”

  Wren nodded. “Like, really. He really knows.”

  “Like, he’s seen you use magic?”

  “More than once. You’re safe telling him.”

  She looked like she wanted to believe it. And like she was having a hard time of it.

  “Look, if you don’t want to tell him directly, tell Callum and Zander—”

  “That’s even more awkward! Wait, do they know you’re a witch?”

  “I helped save Zander from a Shadow possession last year so...yep.”

  Abby just stared at her for a second before she huffed a sigh and dropped Wren’s hand. “You said you didn’t have any magical friends!”

  “I said I don’t have any witch friends,” Wren countered. “Callum’s a medium—Zander’s a cloak. No witches among them.”

  “They’re what?”

  Her shocked expression made Wren laugh. It was going to be so much fun introducing Abby to Callum and Zander. As her friend. Not, like, introducing Abby as her girlfriend or anything.

  We can save that for later.

  Or not. Wren tried to stop the train of thought in its tracks, but too late. That beautiful view was in her head again, warm and bright and oh, so tempting.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I’ll have the French toast, extra powdered sugar.” Cecily handed her menu to the waiter who was standing at the table.

  “And I’ll have the smoked salmon scramble,” Scott said. “And more decaf when you have a minute.”

  The waiter walked away which left Cecily with nothing to look at but Scott, sitting across the table. She could have studied the grungy-chic diner decor, or riffled through the sugar packets in the little dish between them, but that would have been awkward. More awkward than this already was.

  She and Scott hadn’t said much to each other since yesterday afternoon. She’d gone to bed early, exhausted; he’d worked late, so they hadn’t even seen each other. Still, she’d woken up with her head on his chest like she did a lot of mornings, so that had to be a good sign, right?

  Yeah, it means you should talk to him. But what was there to say?

  Hey, thanks for making one of the worst days I can remember even worse?

  That’s what she wanted to say, but it wouldn’t be productive.

  Her phone buzzed against the table and rattled the spoon sitting on the saucer next to her nearly empty cup of coffee.

  She picked it up and glanced at the screen, only to tuck the thing away with a grimace she tried to keep off her face. That was the third text Marcus had sent her since yesterday.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up to see Scott watching her with concern. “Fine. Just—” Might as well tell him. Maybe this was how to start the conversation she knew they needed to have. “Marcus seems to think we’re buddies now.”

  The crease between Scott’s brows deepened. “He’s texting you?”

  “Yep.”

  She didn’t want to be pissed at Scott—in fact, she hated it—but his reaction yesterday stung. She’d been seething mad as she left the studio, the kind of mad that made her cry most of the drive home, and then made her pissed for crying, which made her cry some more.

  She’d been a mess.

  But then, as the hours passed and she thought and re-thought about what had happened, the anger changed shape.

  Scott’s reaction to seeing those runes was not normal.

  And her over-the-top reaction had not been logical. If she’d been in a better head space, she’d have seen his outburst as something to question, not rage over. But she hadn’t been in a good frame of mind. Spending even that short ten minutes with her dad had transported her emotions back in time to when her sharpest honed skill was walking on eggshells to avoid incurring her dad’s wrath. And in the aftermath of that, Scott’s over-reaction felt like a slap in the face.

  Scott was her safe space, and when she needed him, he’d lashed out.

  “Have you told Zander about seeing Marcus yesterday?” Scott’s brown eyes were sincere and full of concern.

  Cecily sat back in her seat. “Not yet.”

  “You should talk to her when we get home,” he replied.

  The waiter arrived with the warm-up for their coffees, so Cecily was forced to stare at Scott until the waiter walked away before responding. She wished the pause had given her the ability to edit her response. It didn’t.

  “That’s rich coming from you this morning,” she remarked, fingering through the sugar packets. She tossed a raw sugar at him and ripped the top off another for herself before dumping it into the freshly full mug. “You gonna talk to me about whatever the hell is going on with you?”

  He sighed and leaned back in his seat while he clasped his hands and brought them to the top of his head. “I was a dick yesterday. You have every right to be pissed.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. That alone made her feel a little better. “I know I overreacted yesterday, but you freaked out on me and I’m trying to be curious, not pissed. I’m just finding it very difficult at the moment.”

  His laugh was low in volume and humor. “Me too. Not that I’m pissed at you—I’m pissed at myself.”

  She reached and laid her hand open on the table. When he brought his hands down off the top of his head and placed one in hers, she felt the edges of her emotions smooth out. “Talk to me. We tell each other everything.”

  He stared at her for so long that anxiety began to swell in her chest.

  “I’ve been seeing things.”

  That did nothing to lessen her worry. “What kind of things?”

  “Runes and sigils.” He shook his head and sat forward, dropping his voice. “I see them everywhere. Sometimes, I see ones I’ve never seen before—and I know what they mean.” There was a thread of fear in his brown eyes that broke Cecily’s heart.

  He wasn’t hallucinating. He was seeing magic—or something—and it was scaring the shit out of him.

  “What do they look like when you see them?” She squeezed his hand, remembering what it had been like the first time she saw the Shadow. Hell, she screamed the first time she saw Trevor’s ghost, and she’d been begging the universe to let her see him one last time. She just hadn’t expected it to deliver quite so literally.

  He glanced above her head. “Like paintings, or sometimes like line drawings.” He looked above her again, and she realized he was looking at something she wouldn’t be able to see if she turned around. “When I see them while I tattoo, they look like tattoos on the walls, or floating in the air. Twice I’ve seen them on a person’s skin at the shop.”

  Wow. Okay. “That has to feel sort of scary.”

  He nodded like he didn’t have words.

  The picture formed in her mind, like a camera zooming out to take in more of the scene. “That’s why you freaked out about the picture yesterday.”

  Another nod. “Those runes in that pic were dark shit, Ceelee. I didn’t know how to explain it. I just knew I didn’t want them near you—or near me, for that matter. You deleted the picture right?”

  She squeezed again. “I deleted it.”

  Scott was her safe space. He was steady, compassionate, and thoughtful. So much so, that sometimes it was easy to forget that he needed a safe space, too. That she was that space for him.

  Yesterday, she’d needed shelter from a shitty day. He’d needed her to hear him and hold space for him—and they both failed.

  She got up from her side of the table and came around to his. He scooted over to make room as she slid in beside him and turned so they were facing one another. She didn’t care how they looked to the other patrons as she took his face into her hands and sent every ounce of love she had into the way she looked at him.

  “I love you, Scott.”

  His smile was soft and warm. “I love you, Cecily.”

  Then he lifted an arm and she tucked herself underneath it, snugging up against his side.
/>   “You want some of my French toast when it gets here?”

  “I do, yeah.” His response was comically somber. “I ordered the scramble so we’d have savory and sweet—if you wanted to share.”

  She grinned. “I always want to share my breakfast with you.”

  “Do you want to talk about what happened at your mom’s?”

  She held him tighter, so grateful to have him. “Later. After I tell Zander about Marcus.” And maybe after she looked up how to change her cell phone number.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  “Wren says they’ll be here in ten.”

  Callum turned to see Zander standing on the deck. In the gray, late-March sunlight, her dark hair was extra moody and her skin was extra pale, but her brown eyes were bright, if a little exhausted.

  She didn’t move to join him in the grass. “Any luck with Miriam?”

  Callum shook his head and headed toward her. “None.” Not that he’d expected to see her. At this point, he came out into the grass every morning to prove things were still the way they had been, not out of any hope that the circumstances that were keeping her away—by choice or magic—had changed.

  Zander lifted her arms as he stepped onto the wood planks of the deck and he went to her because her arms was the best place to be.

  “Didn’t Cecily and Scott go to breakfast?” he asked as they turned together toward the house.

  She gave a nod. “They left right before Wren texted saying she wanted to come over to talk.”

  Good. He was glad the two of them were getting some one-on-one time. They were clearly in some sort of tiff, evidenced by their quietness and two-word sentences to one another as they left.

  “Wren said she might know about the darkness and static Trey told you about.”

  That pulled Callum’s attention back to the here-and-now. “That’d be nice, if she does. And you said she’s bringing somebody?”

  He felt Zander shrug, her shoulder moving against his side. “A friend, she says.”

  “A witch friend?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  Huh. He didn’t know Wren had any witchy friends. Then again, he’d never asked.

  As they let themselves back into the silent house, Callum had the sudden, full realization that they were alone. Like, completely alone. Between four adults living in a house, and Zander’s schedule, that almost never happened.

  “Is ten minutes enough time to...?”

  Zander’s chuckle was low like she’d been thinking the same thing. “With a vibrator and half dressed, absolutely.”

  “Deal.” Thank the universe for tiny favors.

  Exactly ten minutes later, Callum finger combed his hair back into messy-place before he spit the mouthwash he’d been swishing into the sink.

  Turned out, they hadn’t needed the vibrator after all.

  The sound of the doorbell had him jogging down the stairs—then stopping dead in his tracks halfway down when Zander opened the door and Abby walked into the house on Wren’s heels.

  She raised a hand in a waveless wave with a smile that bordered on a grimace. “Hey, Callum.”

  He took the rest of the flight. “Hey. What are you—? Are you and Wren friends?”

  The two exchanged a glance and Callum kept his expression composed by sheer force of will. They were not just friends, but it was clear neither of them were cool to divulge that yet, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “I brought coffee!” Wren raised the tray of to-go cups in her hands.

  “You’re my favorite!” Zander rushed forward and took the cup Wren pried from the holder for her.

  “Sixteen-ounce vanilla soy latte—is that still your order?”

  “Blast from the pass!” Zander exclaimed. “This works great.”

  Wren laughed. “Have you met Abby?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Zander came forward with the coffee in one hand and the other outstretched. “I’m Cecily’s sister—and Callum’s girlfriend.”

  Callum’s attention caught on that word as Abby and Zander shook. Girlfriend didn’t feel right. Partner? Maybe. He didn’t love that term to describe her either. Eh, he’d unpack that later.

  Wren handed him one of the to go cups. “I figure everybody likes a mocha.”

  “Mocha is perfect,” he replied as he took it from her. He hadn’t drunk many mochas in NOLA, but now living in the cold-and-gray, they were a staple of his deepening coffee obsession.

  It was hard not to become entrenched in coffee bean culture with Zander in your life.

  “Let’s all sit,” Zander said as she headed for the sofas. “Abby, Scott’s raved about your work.”

  Abby’s laugh was lined with nerves.

  “Zander said you might have info,” Callum said as soon as they were all sitting down. He looked to Wren. “Info about... that static issue we were talking about.”

  How much did Abby know?

  “Possibly,” Wren replied simply—then looked to Abby, sitting beside her. “Or, rather, she might.”

  Callum’s eyes swung to Abby, who looked like she might have preferred to melt into the floor.

  Pieces clicked together in Callum’s head. “Wait, are you a witch like Wren?”

  Abby went still like a deer in headlights for one breath of a second. When Wren’s hand quietly slipped onto her knee, she started like the contact surprised her and jogged her back into the moment. Still, it was clear she wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh...witch. Yeah.”

  “Badass,” Zander remarked. She ticked a nod at Callum. “He’s a medium. I’m a cloak. So... you’re in good company, I guess?”

  Abby’s worried, false smile warmed into one that was much more wow than uh-oh. She tossed a glance at Wren whose smile held a whole lot of I told you so.

  “See? No stress. Just tell them what you saw.”

  Abby’s eyes were bright when she looked to them again. “Yeah, okay. Cecily swung by the shop yesterday, which is no big deal, but there was a lot of darkness around her.”

  “Darkness? What does that mean?” Zander leaned forward with her coffee cup between her hands.

  “Dark energy,” Abby replied. “I can sense people’s energy—I don’t even need magic to do that—but if it’s energy connected to the other side of the veil, sometimes I can see it too.”

  Whoa. That was cool. “Like, you see spirits?” Callum asked.

  “Not like you can,” Abby replied. “I can’t see through the veil—at least not while I’m awake—but I can see energy that travels to this side through the veil, if there’s enough of it.”

  “And there was apparently enough of it hanging onto Cecily,” Wren tacked on.

  “Well, Cecily’s a medium, like me,” Callum said. “So could it be related to that?” Maybe all Abby saw on Cecily was just good, old fashioned spiritual energy latching on after contact with a ghost.

  But Abby shook her head. “No, this wasn’t like that. I can’t even see that, normally. This was, like, dark-dark. This was energy from The Underneath.”

  “The Underneath?” Zander turned to Callum like she expected him to explain what that was. Problem was he had no idea.

  Callum’s information about magic and spirits had come from his mom. When he was taken away from her at eight he’d wanted nothing else to do with it, aside from learning about protection runes, until Zander and Cecily came into his life.

  “The Underneath is the third realm,” Abby said. “There’s The Living Realm—where the living reside—positive and negative together. And there’s the afterlife. The afterlife is split into two sections, The Spirit Realm, and The Underneath—which is where evil energy lives and thrives.”

  “Like hell?” Zander asked.

  “Not quite,” Abby replied, her red ponytail swaying as she shook her head. “It’s more like a miasma of cast-off evil energy. It’s the balance to the peace and love of The Spirit Realm.”

  They all stared at her, and Callum was glad he wasn’t the only one pulling a how-di
d-I-not-know-this-before face.

  Abby noticed. “It’s not a place as much as a thing.” She shrugged. “At least that’s how I think of it.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Callum asked. He’d been talking to ghosts his entire damned life and he’d never heard of The Underneath, or even just the existence of a third realm—or whatever she’d called it.

  Some of the awkwardness returned to Abby’s posture as she looked at each of them. “My family. I grew up learning about it because most of us are witches or warlocks. Our magic is derived from the other side of the veil.”

  “From The Underneath?” Wren asked, eyes wide.

  “Not entirely. All magic has dark and light within it,” Abby replied. “Even living magic, like yours. You can make plants grow, right?”

  Wren gave a nod. “Yeah, for sure.”

  “And you can kill them with a touch.”

  Now, Wren glanced to Callum and Zander across the way before looking to Abby again. “I can, yeah.”

  Abby shrugged. “See? Darkness and light. There is no such thing as black-and-white in magic. All things are shades of gray. But...” She looked to Zander and Callum again, “the energy I saw on Cecily yesterday was pretty damn close to black.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Abby was a special kind of exhausted as she sat beside Wren on a gray sofa in Scott’s living room.

  Not that Scott was there, which had made this conversation both easier and more awkward. It had felt less monumental to tell Callum and his girlfriend that she was a witch because they were basically strangers—that and Wren’s persistent assurance that they weren’t going to freak out on her. Telling Scott? Well, that would feel less complicated now than it would have before she’d come out, so to speak, to his roommates.

  The whole thing would be easier if she’d slept last night. But, nope! She’d never accomplished anything more than light dozing, her sleep all dreams and no rest. It was the kind of night that felt like hovering just above the bed, never sinking into the mattress.

  She couldn’t remember all of the dreams. Some had been just undulating colors and piecemeal storylines that didn’t actually go anywhere. Others were more coherent: walking down a hallway, laying in the grass.