by H. D. Gordon
“Goddess help us,” my sister mumbles as she loops her arm through mine again and tugs me toward the train.
“He was cute,” Flora says as we find a couple seats on the train and settle beside each other.
“Mmhmm,” I reply.
“‘Mmhmm,’ she says,” Flora jokes. “‘Mmhmm,’ instead of, Damn, that boy was fine.” She laughs. “Sometimes you are so full of shit I wonder how you can breathe past it.”
“Shut your butt,” I say. “Of course he was fine. There, you happy?”
“Hell no, I’m not happy. How could I be? I’m starting to get really nervous about all of this. My gut tells me we are stumbling into very dangerous territory.”
I stare out the window as the city goes by, tall gray buildings and squat rows of homes, cars speeding down the highways. “So what do we do about it?” I say without much inflection. I am tired all of a sudden. Exhausted even. “Stay in our bubble, where it’s safe? Toe the line? Do as we’re told?”
Flora sighs. “It doesn’t sound as palatable when you put it like that.”
I snort. “No, it does not.”
There are not many others on the train at the moment, but we keep our voices low, nonetheless.
A pretty young woman sits alone near the front, long black hair falling over her shoulders in waves. She offers a smile as our eyes make contact, then politely looks away.
Two men with bro hair cuts sit near her, and it is only now that I realize they are paying the dark-haired young woman special attention. Their heads are together and smirks hold their lips.
I nudge Flora so that she takes notice. I glance around. Other than the previously mentioned, there is only one other person on our car; an older man reading a novel. He seems blissfully ignorant to the situation. But any female past her rags would intuit the intentions of the two bros. They stink of the night’s revelries.
“Psst. Hey there,” says the beefier one. When the woman doesn’t look up, he adds, “Hey, pretty girl.”
I’m sure the douche thinks his address a compliment. Flora and I exchange a look and roll our eyes.
The girl shifts uncomfortably in her seat and raises her eyebrows in question. She has wireless headphones in each ear. She does not take them out.
The beefy bro is clearly the bigger asshole, the other, the company he keeps. Beefhead gestures to his ears, miming removing a headphone.
My jaw clenches, and I just bet the young woman’s does the same. She removes a headphone and asks tightly and politely, “Yes?”
Beef leans forward. “You’re very pretty,” he says. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
The woman holds up her left hand. “I’m engaged, actually, but thank you.”
That should end it, right? She didn’t want to thank him for his leering compliment. She didn’t want to talk to him at all. But, of course, Beef can’t take a hint.
Men like him never can.
“That’s too bad,” says Beef. “He’s a lucky man.”
The woman moves to replace her earbud. “Thanks,” she repeats.
Beef slides to the edge of his seat, close enough now to nearly brush knees with his quarry. “You don’t have to be a little bitch,” he says.
My mouth opens before I know what is going to come out.
But someone else beats me to the punch.
“I think the lady is done talking to you, young man.”
It’s the older gentlemen who’d been reading his novel near the back of the car. The book now rests open upon his knee.
“I think the lady would like to be left alone,” he adds.
“Fuck off, geezer,” says Beef. He reaches out to place his large hand on the woman’s leg. She stands and scoots quickly out of reach.
Beef stands as well. So does his complacent comrade.
Shit.
To his credit, the older gentleman climbs to his feet along with them, though he moves in a much slower, less fluid manner. The old guy is brave, that’s for certain.
The train comes to a stop, and the young woman climbs off with the older man. The two bros watch them go, as if considering whether to follow.
No one else climbs aboard, but there are a half dozen others waiting on the platform. Beef decides to let it go. He slumps back down into his seat, his partner following suit.
A mercy. I wasn’t sure I could handle any added drama at the moment.
Then the dumbass looks in our direction. Dude is seriously on one.
He manages to utter half a word before his mouth snaps shut and his muscles lock up. His eyes can’t widen, but I see the shock slide over them.
The binding spell holds tight, not even allowing him to vibrate his vocal cords, though I know the coward wants to scream. I am staring at him. I don’t want to make a scene, but I want him to know it’s me.
I do not remove my gaze, but I sense his friend’s confusion. Because he is also a coward, he says nothing, just turns and stares out the window of the train. Maybe he’s not as dumb as he looks.
We come to our stop only a handful of moments later, and my sister and I rise to exit.
I continue to hold Beef’s gaze, as well as the binding spell I’ve placed over him, which is no doubt freaking him the fuck out right about now. I’m allowing his heart to pound, his blood to flow, his lungs to expand—and all three are firmly in panic mode.
As I step off the train, I could release him, I could drop the spell… but I don’t. I hold on for a moment longer than necessary. I hold it still as the doors close and the train begins to pull away. I stare into his terrified eyes. Only when the car is out of sight do I let go.
I clear my throat, and realize my sister is staring at me, her lips pursed tightly.
But Flora says nothing as we climb up the station steps and are released onto the street, the well manicured row homes of Old City greeting us.
11
9:05 p.m.
I sit in the bay window, staring out at the quiet street.
A cup of tea is clutched between my hands, warm and soothing. Lucifer, our black cat and familiar, is curled up by my toes. He blinks slowly, big emerald eyes unconcerned with anything beyond mice and other small game.
Not for the first time in my life, I wish I was a cat—petite and powerful, beautiful and deadly. Instead, I was a person, with all the problems that came along with that.
I am a moment from tumbling down a rabbit hole of negative thoughts and self-pity when Echo bounds into the room. Her honey blond hair sticks out in every direction, and her face is all big green eyes and teeth she hasn’t yet grown into.
“Hey, Aunt Mir,” she says. “Watch this.”
Echo sticks her arms straight up into the air. Then she bends over backwards and kicks her legs up and over, feet over head before she lands gracefully back on her feet.
I clap my hands. “That’s awesome, Coco,” I say, using our nickname for her.
“Wanna see me do a back handspring?”
“I do, but not in here. There are too many things to break, including your own bones.”
“Pfft,” Echo says. “I’m not going to break a bone. And if I did, you could just use your magic to heal it.”
I shake my head, smiling. “It would still take time until you’d be fully healed, and it would hurt like the devil.”
Echo’s little round nose wrinkles. Then her eyes light up again. “Oh, check this out, then.” She holds out a hand, turns her palm upward, and narrows her gaze in concentration.
Weak sparks appear between her fingers, and a grin spreads across her lips as she carefully kindles the sparks into small flames.
I scoff, both delighted and alarmed. “Where did you learn that?” I ask, nearly hopping out of my seat.
Echo shrugs, clearly feeling cool and accomplished but also not having anticipated my reaction. “On TiMo,” she says. “It’s a trend. Everyone is doing it.”
“What?” I say. I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone. Show me.”
Echo looks abou
t to break for it. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” I say, not sure if I’m lying or not. “Just let me see.”
Echo looks unsure, but does what I ask, coming forward with slightly slumped shoulders.
“It’s no big deal,” she mumbles, pulling her phone out of her pocket and typing in the passcode to unlock it.
I wonder if her phone should even have a lock… but I tuck that away for a later conversation with her mother.
“Everyone’s doing it. It’s a trend,” she repeats.
I try to keep my tone gentle and understanding. “Just because everyone is doing a thing doesn’t make it right, Coco. I want you to remember that. When you find yourself on the side of the majority, it’s time to pause and reflect,” I add, feeling hella smart. “Who said that?”
“Mark Twain,” she says, and I can tell only her respect for me keeps her from rolling her eyes.
“Right. Now show me.”
Echo opens the TiMo app, clicking the little yellow and orange icon that seems to be her generation’s latest obsession.
I scroll through her feed, looking for magical videos, but I do not find any. Posting such materials online is strictly against Coven Law.
Of course, I knew it was impossible to keep all witches from posting things online, but in the past, it could just be chalked up to fake or doctored video. Now that the cat was out of the bag about supernaturals, writing off such things was proving harder and harder.
But I was sure that Echo had not learned a fire spell at the human school she attended, and since she hadn’t learned it from us, nor the sisters of the Coven…
She must be telling the truth. It’s here… I just don’t know how to find it. Since when had I become an old person?
Echo sighs and takes the phone from me, clearly having let me struggle long enough. “You have to use a little magic to access it,” she says.
She hesitates, as if she is not sure she wants to show me. Then, she whispers, “I swear to the Goddess my ears are green, and my lips won’t reveal what my eyes will see.”
A bit of magic travels out of her thumb, which is poised over her touchscreen. I actually gasp as the images there shift and reform.
Fuckin’ kids! I think, but do not say.
The feed of the app is now all magic users and other supernaturals, the background now a magical, shifting rainbow rather than the stark white. I watch video after video, both horrified and intrigued.
This one shows three witches, clearly sisters, ranging in ages five to probably twelve. They turn their palms up one at a time, and fire appears between each of their fingers.
The next video is of a teen shifter, making the change from her beast form to her human one. I clap my hand over my mouth. This shit is downright scandalous.
The next is a close up of a female vamp who can be no older than nine, revealing and retracting her fangs.
On and on the videos go, and before I know it, half an hour has passed and Echo has taken to doing more backbend-walk-overs around the living room.
“Good Goddess,” I mumble.
“Am I in trouble?” Echo asks again. “Are you going to tell my mom?”
I realize something and click out of the feed and onto Echo’s personal page. My heart drops as I see video after video of my precious niece performing small, but unsanctioned magic spells.
“Oh, Coco,” I say, shaking my head.
“Tell me what?” Flora asks as she enters the living room, eyes narrowed, steaming cup of tea held in her hands.
I shoot my niece a look that tells her she’s dug her own grave on this one. In answer, the little butt snatches her phone out of my hand and is bounding up the stairs before my sister can utter another word.
“Goddess,” Flora sighs, staring after her youngest child. Then she looks at me. “Do I even want to know?”
I scoff. “Probably not.”
Flora tosses a hand up. Then, she says, “Echo, come here! And bring your damn phone.”
Echo shoots me a look that relays her betrayal.
Then, she heads back to her room—sans phone—with her head hung between her shoulders, grumbles on her lips.
On the list of uncomfortable conversations, the one we just had ranks pretty high. Somewhere just below the Birds and Bees talk, I would say.
Flora rubs her forehead. “She’s only nine,” she says, after we hear Echo’s bedroom door close on the second floor. “We would have been given a scalding if we’d been caught doing half the things those children are doing on that app when we were their age. Not to mention filming it and posting it for the world to see.” She points at Echo’s smartphone where it sits on the nearby end table as though it is something expired and has begun to stink. “Whoever is behind that clever little spell is in for it if they get caught… I wonder if the Sisters Superior know about it.”
I think of earlier this morning—Goddess, how could that have just been this morning?—and how Olympia Owens, our local Coven leader, had shown up at the police station, lawyer in tow. If local chapters had that kind of insight and power, I didn’t doubt the Superiors, of which there were only five in the world, knew about the magical side of the TiMo app.
I say as much to my sister. Then add, “I bet it’s more a question of, they don’t yet know how to stop it.”
“Ugh, fuckin’ kids these days,” Flora grumbles. “Too damn smart by half.”
“That’s the truth,” I agree. I meet her gaze, the worry that’s been spiraling in my gut since this morning is reflected in the hazel of her eyes. “The world’s just changing, sis, and the young ones are rising to meet it.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to drop a bomb on me?” Flora asks.
Because she is my sister. Because she knows me too well.
I am afraid even as I speak the words, but I am relieved as well, if only marginally. “I have to let the Pack know what I witnessed… I have to, or I don’t know if I can live with myself.”
I expect her to argue, to mention the contract I signed, or the safety of the children whom we both love so much.
But all she says is, “How do you propose to do that?”
And I’m not sure if I’ve ever loved her more than right in this moment, which is a feat based on the sheer magnitude of my affection for her.
12
9:45 p.m.
“Umm, are you going on a date?” Flora asks as she stands in my doorway, taking in my appearance.
My cheeks go a little red. “Shut up, you butt.” I check my reflection for the hundredth time in the mirror. “Is it too much?”
I’m wearing black skinny jeans (which, Echo recently told me, apparently marks me as an “old person”) and a red v-neck t-shirt with black wedge boots. My blond hair is pulled back into a loose pony, and I’ve gone to the trouble of applying mascara and red lipstick.
“You look beautiful,” Flora says. “I was just messing with you. Sam should be here soon to stay with the girls.” She holds my gaze in the reflection of the mirror as she says, “So we’re really doing this.”
It is not a question, rather a resigned confirmation.
I nod. A lump has formed in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow past.
“Because once the cat is out of the bag, there won’t be any shoving it back in,” Flora says.
“I know.”
Flora nods, looking down in thought, as if she is contemplating trying to talk me out of it. “Okay,” she says at last. “Let’s hit the Harbor.”
We head downstairs in silence. The doorbell rings just as we reach the foyer. The camera poised above the door outside reveals that the caller is Samantha Salazar, a teen witch we pay to babysit the girls on occasion. She is just old enough to be responsible, and young enough for both Echo and Winter to really get along with.
The night is quiet as we step out onto the porch and descend to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to come with me,” I say. “I can go alone.”
Flora snorts. “And what
? Pantomime what you witnessed? You can’t speak or write about it, remember? That paper you signed guarantees that. I, however, am under no such constraints. And, anyway, you think I’d let you go into another territory in this city alone after what just happened to you? Now shut your butt, and let’s go.”
I sigh.
“I’m going to break the contract,” I tell her.
She pauses in her tracks. Her jaw clenches. She is silent a moment, staring at me. “You can take a potion to free your tongue, Mir,” she says, voice low. “But not one to break the obligation. If you speak about what you saw, the Coven will know… and then…”
I stare back at her.
“Either way, I’m coming with you.” She strides past me toward the train station.
I follow, using her confidence to bolster my own. It is a Saturday night, and the station is buzzing with people going here and there. We climb onto a car that is mostly full and ride in silence, casting each other apprehensive looks at intervals. Eventually, we dismount at the Senna Street Harbor station.
The night is warm and young, just how the general population likes her. We walk side-by-side as we pass others, humans and supes alike. There are a string of bars here that line the waterway, complete with large outdoor decks strung with golden lights that glow in the reflection of the water.
The mighty Delaware River rushes far below, too quiet to be acknowledged by human ears, but no doubt a low, constant thrum to all the wolf ears present.
And there are a lot of wolf ears present.
This is, after all, firmly their territory. There are other supes here, too, but the vast majority are wolf shifters, with their strong, lean builds and boisterous behavior.
Both the males and females of the species tend to be taller, more corded with muscle, and lighter on their feet than humans and even other supes. Their senses are keener as well, not so much as a vampire’s, but certainly more than a fae or witch.
Their magic was very physical, whereas mine was surely the opposite.
