by Lily Velez
“Well, praise the bloody gods then. That definitely will make me sleep more easily tonight.”
“To be fair,” I interjected, “I hardly think Misaki’s the pitchfork and gallows type.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Connor said. “Think about how close Jack came to undergoing the Purge back in Dublin. We can’t take any risks. Ever. Misaki’s memory of Five Maidens ends today.”
“I’m not going to let you use magic on him,” Rory said.
Connor leveled him with that searing look he’d more than mastered. “I wasn’t asking,” he said.
With that, he turned and strode for the door, a man on a mission. Halfway there, though, the door slammed shut, the naked lightbulbs above us flickering. Jinx darted to a corner of the greenhouse, hiding behind potted shrubbery with a whimper.
Connor scoffed. “A ward? We can’t all stay trapped in here forever.”
“Stay away from Liam,” Rory said.
“Or what? Are you going to threaten me?”
“I don’t need to,” Rory countered. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that was definitely never there.
Either Connor didn’t notice it or he didn’t care. He jerked his St. Andrew’s jacket off his shoulders, throwing it aside before he loosened his tie. Next, he shoved the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.
“You want to have at it? Come on then.”
“I’m not going to fight you,” Rory said.
“You’re going to have to,” Connor replied. “Because the moment I step out of here, I’m going to make it so that Misaki doesn’t even remember you exist.”
Ignited, Rory shoved his hands outward, and in a tidal wave of air, he threw Connor back so hard, our brother soared into the far wall of the greenhouse, the structure shuddering from the impact.
“Oh, that’s definitely going to leave a mark,” I said with a grin, dipping another chip in ketchup.
Connor, naturally, was used to this sort of thing, considering the fact he couldn’t get through a single rugby game without starting a fight with someone. He was on his feet not a second later, and with a swing of his arm, Rory’s worktable flew up and over, his vials of ingredients smashing to pieces onto the ground.
Poor Jinx was yowling at this point. The fox probably thought he’d been dragged into the mother of all dysfunctional families. He hadn’t even seen the bulk of it yet.
For the next few minutes, it was war. Connor and Rory sacked each other with magic in blows that would become bruises and sore muscles soon enough. Potted plants sailed through the air, shattering windows. Tables overturned, grimoires and other texts sliding across the floor. Lightbulbs brightened until they burst into glass shards, and the water pipes overhead that released timed mist onto our collection of plants snapped like bones, water gushing out of their thoroughfares.
At one point, something crashed into the table I was eating on, sending my food flying.
“Oh, come on. Not my chips!” Now they were just being savages.
“You can’t protect him forever,” Connor said, breathing hard, his shirt stained with potting soil and crushed flower petals. “Don’t think I won’t involve The Council if I have to. If you were worried about me using my magic on him, think of what they’ll do.”
Rory’s fists tightened at his sides. Being the one who usually got into it with Connor, I enjoyed a different vantage point for once. Beyond that, it was refreshing to see Rory stand up for himself and cause a bit of trouble. It’d all been in fun.
But there was an unexpected shift all of a sudden, the energy in the greenhouse changing rapidly.
All around us, there was a straining noise. I kept looking up, down, left, and right for the source of it. That’s when I noticed the veins forming in the remaining greenhouse windowpanes. They stretched from edge to edge, branching out like growing saplings.
Rory’s fists tightened further and every last pane shattered at once. But the glass shards didn’t fall to the ground. Slowly, they rotated, their points facing in. Their points facing Connor.
Bollocks.
“Rory!” I shouted.
He was in another zone, his eyes fastened to Connor. His infantry of broken glass drew closer and closer to their target, waiting for Rory’s command.
“Rory!” I tried again. I ducked under the glass and bolted for him, coming up to him from behind. I yanked him back by the shoulders.
He startled, twisting toward me, ready to attack.
I threw up my palms to show him I meant no harm. “It’s me! Lucas.”
He blinked rapidly, as if he’d been pulled from a daydream. The connection with his surge of magic broken, he looked around the greenhouse, confused by the war zone it’d become. When he saw the floating glass shards, though, he stepped back in shock, his fists releasing. The broken pieces instantly rained down in a high-pitched, clattering composition.
“What happened?” Rory asked.
Oh, you only just lost total and complete control of your magic and nearly impaled your brother with a hundred pieces of glass.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, clapping a hand to his shoulder.
But I glanced across the greenhouse to Connor, his gaze meeting mine, and I saw in his eyes exactly what I felt, something I never felt when it came to Rory, and something I never thought I’d ever feel.
Fear.
33
Rory
The dream was the same as always.
A terror-filled chase through the woods behind Elizabeth’s cottage as I fled for my life along with other witches. Then the sudden aloneness, the ring of trees, the white butterflies, Jinx playing with them.
At the center of the clearing, I turned in place, leaves crunching under my feet. The light of a full moon filtered in through the branches of the surrounding trees, dappling the earth. I looked for anything that stood out. I looked for anything that might hold significance.
There had to be a reason I kept returning here.
Unless it really was only a dream…
Not a dream.
I twisted at the voice, but there was no one else around. My eyes dropped to Jinx, however, who, now sitting down, was angled to face me. His golden eyes were trained on me, as if he were trying to convey something.
I startled awake.
I’d fallen asleep atop my sketchpad, an unfinished drawing of Jinx staring up at me. I turned to see where he was and found him perched atop my bed, sitting exactly the way he had in my dream, staring at me in the same eerie, unblinking manner. Alert, aware.
My thoughts tripped over themselves. My empathic gifts allowed me to communicate with plants and animals but not through language. Through energy. You didn’t need words to express meaning when you could already feel another living thing’s fear or pain or despair.
What I’d experienced in the dream, though, had been something different. Those were definitely words I’d heard in my head.
Jinx’s black-tipped ears twitched, but other than that, he remained as still as a statue as we continued facing off in our staring contest. With winter only weeks away, his rust-colored fur was gradually thickening, giving him a regal look. I couldn’t help but feel like he was holding court right this moment.
A number of questions clogged the back of my throat. I waited for what I’d experienced in the dream to happen again, but outside of the confines of sleep, Jinx was no more than an ordinary fox. Bored with our standoff, he yawned indulgently and curled into a ball before he took to grooming his front paws.
What did you expect to happen? I asked myself.
Three knocks at the door pulled me from my thoughts.
“Folaím,” I whispered in Jinx’s direction. Conceal. The magic would render him invisible to whoever I chose.
Normally, when someone knocked, I pretended not to be in the room. It saved me from the trouble of having to interact with Lucas’s friends, who were the only ones who’d be coming by at this hour.
I didn’t have anything against th
em. They were just loud. They’d spend hours in the room doing nothing more than taking the piss out of each other or reminiscing about idiotic things they each had done ‘that one time.’ Or they’d create colorful names for classmates they didn’t get on with, or they’d get into intense debates about a newly released video game, or they’d play said video game and sling heated curses at the screen as if the volume of their words had any direct correlation with actually winning the game.
Needless to say, when Lucas was having them over, I made myself scarce and escaped to the greenhouse.
I was making an exception today because Lucas claimed a classmate was dropping off lecture notes for him. Of course, considering he was far from being the slightest bit studious, I was almost sure he was speaking in code. He did enjoy trafficking in school contraband after all.
He’d recently begun amassing fireworks, for instance, which I assumed were intended for some sort of prank at the end of the term. He could’ve easily bought the fireworks himself, but naturally, this option didn’t appeal to him. There was no danger involved, no threat of him or his network of smugglers getting caught by the school administration.
“Adrenaline junkie much?” I’d told him once.
He’d laughed while hacking into the school network from his laptop. “I’m only cashing in on opportunity. We’re at the top of the food chain. Being able to say you’re friends with a Connelly is the best type of currency here. One could even say I’m offering a charitable service.”
“The church must be hard at work planning your canonization.” Though I didn’t think the clergy would take too kindly to a saint called ‘Lukifer’ by his disciples.
With a sigh, I opened the door, wondering who Lucas’s newest convert was.
Except it was Liam who stood opposite me, and his face instantly lit up.
It had to be one of the wonders of the world, how Liam Misaki was never anything but cheerful. I couldn’t imagine where he got his endless supply of one-hundred-watt enthusiasm from. He always wore a smile and was never anything but friendly toward our classmates. Twice, he’d been nominated for Most Congenial in the school’s annual awards. Unfortunately, Lucas had beat him out, easily claiming victory thanks to the votes of his loyal following.
“I just wanted to check in,” Liam said. “I had an interesting encounter with Connor yesterday. I think he was trying to use magic to erase—”
I quickly pulled Liam into the room, looking up and down the hallway to ensure no one loitered nearby in eavesdropping range. I closed the door, locked it for good measure, and turned to him.
“You really can’t say things like that out in the open.”
“Right, of course. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. About Connor…”
I sank into my desk chair, only to belatedly realize my hair probably looked a mess, seeing as how I hadn’t bothered to do anything with it since waking. I quickly passed a hand through it, though I was sure it only looked even more disheveled now.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I was doing enough worrying for all of us. I’d wrestled with embarrassment and shame all night over the way I’d lost control of my magic, nearly to Connor’s detriment. I could hardly believe I’d even fought with him. I’d never physically fought with any of my brothers. That was usually Connor and Lucas’s thing.
“I don’t want to come between you and your brothers,” Liam said. “I would never share your secret with anyone, but I can understand why it’s something your family would prefer to keep to itself. Especially in light of what happened only centuries ago.”
The local witch trials, he meant. Because while we were in the twenty-first century, that didn’t mean persecution had ended. In many parts of the world, people were still persecuted on suspicions of being a witch.
Liam’s concern had to stem from what he’d observed from the townspeople of Rosalyn Bay, the way they acted whenever my brothers and I were in town. Maybe he worried they were on the verge of turning against us. Maybe he thought that one more confirmation was all they needed before they did.
“So if you want this back,” he said, starting to undo the latch at the back of his neck, “I understand.”
“No,” I said quickly, stopping him. “Keep it.” I didn’t think Connor would defy my wishes a second time, but…well, it was Connor. “The necklace is yours. No one’s going to take away your memories. I—uhm…” I tapped my finger against my sketchpad, trying to string the words together.
“Is that a fox?” Liam asked.
I startled, thinking the cloaking magic had somehow come undone. Then I realized Liam was referring to my drawing, which was probably worse. I hated showing my work when it was unfinished. Frankly, I hated showing my work even when it was.
I started to close the sketchpad, but Liam was quicker. He relieved me of it to admire the drawing up close. I inwardly cringed, my cheeks heating. While I’d come around to sharing a handful of sketches here and there with Liam, it was only ever upon his request, and only after I’d spent days agonizing over possible candidates and putting them through an intense vetting session. Even then, it felt like I was being dissected alive as his eyes combed over every last line and shadow.
Jack had once asked me years ago why I kept so many of my drawings hidden in folders and drawers. “You’re gifted, Rory. You should be posting these sketches online. Isn’t that the purpose of art? To share your drawings with other people?”
“They’re not for other people,” I said quietly. They were for me. Whenever I picked up a charcoal pencil, it was like I could bleed out everything building up in me, all the day’s worries and troubles and stress. It was cathartic. I never wanted to lose that.
“It looks so real,” Liam was saying. “Like it could jump off the page at any moment. I’d love to see an animal like this in the wild one day.”
“You might not have to go that far,” I said. Despite my better judgment, I uttered the Irish word for ‘reveal.’ Liam followed my line of sight, his jaw falling open as Jinx shimmered into existence before him. The fox had looked up at Liam’s initial entrance but otherwise had remained in his cozy position on the bed. Even now, he continued sleeping.
Liam quietly drew a few steps closer, setting his hands on his knees as he leaned in to study Jinx. “Is it really here? Or is it only a magic trick? Either way, my mind is blown. You’re just full of all kinds of surprises this week, aren’t you? It’s actually pretty fitting that you, of all people, would take in a fox too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your affinity for Japanese culture,” he said.
I shook my head, still not catching on.
“Foxes are a common subject in Japanese folklore,” he explained. “They’re called kitsune. They’re often portrayed as wise guardian spirits with magical abilities. In many stories, they're able to shapeshift. In others, they can generate fire, make themselves invisible, or create powerful illusions. Some can even bend the laws of time.”
I watched as Jinx continued luxuriating in his nap, seemingly more concerned with creature comforts than in exuding the magic of a guardian spirit.
“Is he your familiar?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the question.
“I’m sorry,” Liam quickly added. “Was that an insensitive thing to ask? I’m trying to stay away from stereotypes as I learn more about your world.”
“Learn more?”
“Sure, I’ve been researching all things witch ever since Five Maidens Beach. I even watched a few documentaries online about the history of witchcraft and persecution. Familiars came up at one point, so I just assumed he was yours. Is that not a thing?”
“No, it is,” I said, surprised that he’d pored over so much information about witch-kind. I was still waiting for him to be afraid of what I was or what I could do. The fact that he wasn’t was proof that not all the Sightless were alike as Connor so strongly believed.
“Plenty of witches have familiars,” I went on. “It’s
a sacred bond you share with an animal. There are entire rituals for it. But Jinx is just a fox I happened to find in the woods. I’ve been helping him get back on his feet. Well, paws.”
Liam nodded with a smile, straightening. “Are you sure you’re okay with me knowing about all of this? You’re not breaking any important witch rules, are you?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, going back and forth between the questions. Could I somehow avoid answering the second one?
“I’m glad you know,” is what I ultimately went with.
And I was. Because for the first time, it truly felt like I had a genuine friend outside of my brothers, one I could be my complete self with.
34
Connor
“Just once,” Lucas said, “couldn’t the townspeople leave cheese and onion crisps as offerings? What am I supposed to do with all this fruit?”
I plucked a teddy bear from the ground by its ear and stared down at its smiling face. A second later, I eviscerated it with my pocket knife. Cotton white stuffing pressed out of the cut, and I pushed it aside to excavate whatever witch-repelling charm or herb I could find. As it were, the teddy bear was harmless. I let it fall to the floorboards, already scanning the other offerings.
As we drew closer to the day Elizabeth Connelly was burnt at the stake by the town’s ‘founders,’ the quantity of offerings left on the patio of her cottage saw an exponential increase. The cause was none other than the loose spirits in town, who’d had about enough of lurking in the shadows when they could instead be wreaking havoc on the living. In the past few days alone, there’d been over half a dozen unique sightings, with Father Nolan reporting a surge in requests for house visits and prayer.
One apparition had appeared to a fishing crew shortly after dusk, standing just beside the mooring bollard to which their boat was secured. According to the crew’s account, the apparition had been of a woman, bone-thin with waist-length hair. She’d simply pointed at them with a stoic face. Then her bluish form flickered twice before vanishing.
