“We fixed each other.”
The green light grew brighter, and some dark witches began to run, but there was no time. The words reverberated down the corridor of Broad Street and up the sides of buildings: “Luaithreach a luaithreach.”
Like Zoe, every dark witch began turning to ash. The night filled with screams. Some pointed accusatory fingers, damning the Dorcha—their supposed leader, now murderer. Legs turned gray as though consumed by invisible flame. Torsos tumbled, fingers scraping concrete. Faces twisted into grimaces of hate and horror. Then, the wind blew. The ashes swept across the street like dead leaves and disappeared down sewers and up darkened alleys. Liam’s hands stopped glowing.
Slowly, the great Dorcha turned around and said, “I need a drink.”
With Christmas soon to arrive, the entire city of Charleston was covered in big, red bows and white twinkle lights. Apparently, her father felt the Burroughs backyard needed similar treatment as Cyan and Rue sat on the back patio, watching Drake do his best to untangle a string of multi-colored mini-lights. He grumbled until Liam, laid out in the hammock, waved his hand. The string jumped out of Drake’s hand—which made him cuss—untangled itself in the air, and came to rest, organized, on the edge of a bed of mulch.
Cyan smiled.
“He’s more powerful than any witch I’ve ever seen,” Rue said.
“Because he can untangle Christmas lights?”
“You know what I mean.”
“It scares him sometimes,” Cyan said.
“It’s a good thing he’s got you.”
“It’s a good thing we’ve got each other.”
Rue hummed in agreement as Sybil arrived with a pitcher of sweet tea. “Is the young man tired today?”
“Long night last night at the Bistro. Some fancy fundraiser. He didn’t get home until around three. Not that I was sleeping.” Cyan still had trouble sleeping unless Liam was with her, and he was quite busy and important now as the new owner of Broad Street Bistro.
After the War, Max left town, although not immediately. First, he tried talking Drake and Liam into a nationwide hunt. The dozen or so dark witches Liam had taken out weren’t enough, according to Max. Still hell bent on revenge for his family’s murder, he was hungry for more blood. Although Liam had listened silently, Drake had spoken up pretty fast. In fact, Drake suspected Max had a bit more darkness in him than he dared admit, in part due to his voodoo past. Cyan’s father had yet to forget the amount of power it would have taken to flip that trolley all those weeks ago. Like Zoe, Max might have sold his soul for power like that, and Drake wanted nothing to do with him, which meant Liam didn’t either. Drake had become Liam’s advisor in all things magic, really, so he listened when Cyan’s daddy said no, so Max left—and Liam bought the Bistro with money from his inheritance.
“You need to be sleeping.” Sybil sat down and eyed Cyan’s stomach meaningfully.
“I sleep enough.” She watched Liam roll onto his side in the hammock. His hair was getting longer, and the dark locks curled around the edges of his forehead. He itched his nose and looked to be sleeping again ten seconds later.
“You’re going to be wonderful parents.” Sybil grinned.
Cyan rolled her eyes and played with her grandmother’s pendant around her neck. “You keep saying that. I’ve never even changed a diaper.”
Rue scoffed. “You’re a witch. Figure it out.”
An enormous cuss word broke up their conversation, and Drake tossed the Christmas lights into the grass.
“Language,” Rue said.
“One of the damn bulbs is out,” her father muttered.
“Do I have to do everything?” Smiling, Liam rolled out of the hammock and walked barefoot across the backyard. He put his hand on Drake’s thick shoulder and said something that made her daddy laugh. She liked when Drake and Liam got along, because they didn’t always. Sometimes, her father didn’t want to see him. Sometimes, she caught him watching Liam like he wanted to hurt him—or at least like he didn’t trust him. Liam’s eyes had been green ever since the War. His magic had glowed green, too, no longer that vibrant blue that bespoke bad tidings. Maybe Drake would move on eventually—forgive Liam—but maybe not.
Liam’s immense power didn’t help. Once things had settled down, Cyan had worried about Zoe coming back. After all, she’d sold her soul for immortality; it was only a matter of time before she showed up again.
Then, one day, Liam had said, “She’s not coming back.”
“How do you know?”
“I sent her to Hell.”
There’d been a long pause around her family’s dinner table until Rue had said, pleasantly, “Oh.”
Rue was right: Liam was the most powerful witch any of them had ever heard of, which rightfully caused a bit of tension at times. There was no telling where his capability ended, but despite this, Liam didn’t use magic very much. The only times he used his abilities were to be helpful or to make Cyan laugh. He did glow green in the bedroom, but that wasn’t on purpose. That just sort of happened. At least the headaches were gone.
The boys finished decorating just in time for sunset. As the sky burned colors of bright pink, orange, and finally purple, the Burroughs homestead glowed gently, tiny twinkle lights curled through bushes and trees. Rue and Sybil oohed and congratulated Drake on a job well done as Liam pulled Cyan to the hammock. They lay together side-by-side with her face on his chest, his fingers in her hair.
“Thanks for helping Daddy.”
“Mm.”
“You feel okay?”
“I’m in a hammock with my pregnant wife. I feel perfect.”
They’d gotten married only the week before in a simple ceremony on the harbor, so it still made her stomach twitch with happy butterflies whenever he called her “wife.” For the wedding, she’d worn her leather jacket over a simple, black dress. Liam had worn a light gray suit—handmade and from London, of course. She hadn’t realized quite how many suits her husband owned until he’d moved into her tiny apartment on East Bay. It was a temporary arrangement, though. Liam wanted to buy her a house so they could have a garden and more space for the baby.
“How often do you feel her?”
She lifted her head. “Hmm?”
“You know she’s growing.” He put his hand on her stomach. “But how often do you notice?”
“Not very often.”
“I wonder what she’ll be like.”
“I’ve forbid Sybil from doing any readings.”
He chuckled against her forehead, his breath, as usual, smelling of vanilla and oak. “And definitely no paintings.”
“No. No paintings.”
“I hope she looks like you.” He held her tighter against him, and she wrapped her arm around his slim waist.
“Is this what happily ever after feels like?”
“I think so,” he whispered. He lifted his hand until she pushed her palm against his. They lit up the night with flickers of glittering gold and emerald green until the night turned to day. The darkness turned to light.
ABOUT SARA DOBIE BAUER
Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling, award-winning author, model, and mental health advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. Her short story, “Don’t Ball the Boss,” inspired by her shameless crush on Benedict Cumberbatch, was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She lives in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film. She is author of the paranormal rom-com Bite Somebody, among other ridiculously entertaining things.
Learn more at http://SaraDobieBauer.com.
Photo credit: Bill Thornhill
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