Moon Magic

by Madeline Freeman

  An idea has been buzzing in my head now for months. I haven’t told Elliot. I don’t think he would approve. Soon after Seth died, he started spending time with my sister Anya. The two were close when we were younger, before she left the Devoted. Like me, Elliot lost everything the night Seth died. I think it’s because of that he’s decided to hold on to Anya. As if she could be a new family to make up for the one he lost.

  Except she’s a traitor. The fact that Seth is dead is partially her fault. I know she was part of the plan. For that, I can never forgive her.

  Yet here I am.

  Anya made it clear from almost the moment Seth died that she wanted me back in her life. We haven’t spoken face to face, but she’s passed messages through Elliot. According to him, she holds no ill will toward me, despite the torture, because as far as she’s concerned, I spent my whole life brainwashed by the Devoted. I almost punched Elliot when he told me that. He talked about us being brainwashed without so much as an eye roll—like he agreed with her. Just a couple weeks had passed since everything happened, and he was already talking as if he’d put our entire lives with the Devoted behind him. I asked him flat out if he believed Anya, and while he didn’t say yes, he didn’t say no either. He told me that as far as he’s concerned, we need to focus on the future. That’s all that matters to him.

  When I didn’t respond to Anya’s initial invitation back into her life, she didn’t press. Although I know Elliot sees her for dinner at least once a week, there have been no further messages, save a card at Christmas.

  Today I’m finally going to take her up on her offer. I imagine she’ll be pleased—over the moon, even. And I’ll let her be. She can think whatever she wants. My plan will work better if she accepts me without question.

  Because today is not the day I reunite with my long-lost sister. Today is the day I begin to avenge Seth’s death.

  My plan didn’t come fully into focus until earlier this week when Elliot mentioned something I didn’t know. Of course I knew Seth was dead. I knew that nearly the moment it happened—felt his presence in the world disappear. Since then I’ve pieced together that Krissa Barnette’s circle was there, along with her father. I figured the whole group did some sort of spell to kill him. But that’s not the case after all. It wasn’t magic that murdered him, it was a knife through the heart. And that knife was wielded by Krissa.

  The fact that Seth’s killer walks the same streets I do makes my blood boil. When I first found out, it took everything in me not to hunt her down and take her life. Now I’m glad I didn’t let my temper get the best of me. A quick death would be too good for her. She deserves to suffer, and I need to figure out the best way to make that happen.

  That’s why I’m here.

  I take in a breath before pulling open the door to Hannah’s Herbs. Bells tinkle above my head, a cheerful noise. I allow the sound to fill my body and inform the smile that curls my lips.

  The shop is long and narrow, with rows of shelves perpendicular to the walls giving the illusion of organization in a place full of natural elements. Jagged stones rest in a glass case up front, catching and scattering the sunlight streaming through the window. Cuttings of herbs spill out of aluminum planters in tangles. The whole place has a thick, earthy scent, and as I take a step in, I try to ignore how much it smells like the kitchen at my parents’ house.

  Anya stands behind the cash register, her dark hair swept up in a high ponytail. The style makes her look taller—even though the two of us were cursed with our mother’s short stature. Standing across from her, completing a transaction, are two of Krissa’s contemporaries. Crystal Jamison looks the same as ever, her wavy chestnut-brown hair perfectly styled, her outfit carefully selected to accentuate both her body and her family’s wealth. Her posture is ramrod straight, but there’s an air of unease around her. Maybe she’s not exactly the same after all. At her side is Dana Crawford, a girl who draws Elliot’s eye whenever she’s near. I suppose I can’t blame him. She’s the kind of girl with curves in all the right places, and she seems to know exactly how to show them off.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be more help, girls,” Anya is saying. “I’ll be sure to pass your questions along to Jodi.”

  “We appreciate it,” Crystal says.

  I wonder what that’s all about. I remember Anya seeming to know everything when I was little. The idea that there’s something magic-related that she doesn’t know takes a second for me to process. While it’s true she left when I was still young, so it’s possible she didn’t know quite as much as I thought she did, there’s something about the pitying way she looks at the girls, the way their shoulders slump, that makes me think something interesting is happening.

  Crystal takes the paper bag off the counter and starts toward the door, toward me. There’s a slight hesitation in her step as she nears. My smile is still in place, but it doesn’t seem to put her at ease. But I’m not here for her. I direct my gaze to my sister.

  Anya’s eyes widen as they land on me. The surprise is evident on her face. For a moment, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. She’s so pleased to see me. Is it right for me to lie to her?

  I shake the thought from my head. Anya will get whatever she gets from me, and she’ll deserve every bit of it. If she had stayed with the Devoted, it’s possible Seth would still be here now. She’s the one who left, who found Krissa’s dad and took him away as part of her plan to defeat Seth. So what if I’m not here to give her a fairy tale ending? It’s her own fault, and I refuse to feel guilty.

  I take long, purposeful strides toward my sister, not even glancing at Crystal and Dana as I pass them. My eyes are trained on Anya. Her mouth twitches like she wants to say something but is doing her best to hold it back. She waits until I’m mere feet away before speaking.

  “Can I help you find something?” she asks, as if I were any other customer. It’s painfully clear she’s trying not to get her hopes up.

  I take in a breath. I’ve played the scene out over and over in my head. I want it to come out just right. I want to seem sincere, of course, but I don’t want to oversell it. I don’t want to give her any reason to doubt me or my motives. “I came here… I came to see you.”

  Anya’s face breaks out in a smile of pure joy. She comes out from behind the register but doesn’t close the distance between us. She obviously wants to, but she’s afraid. She doesn’t want to push too hard. “I’m glad you’re here. Elliot tells me you’re doing all right, but it’s good to see it for myself.”

  I don’t like the idea that she and Elliot have been talking about me, but I try not to let my expression show it. “I am doing all right,” I agree. “I’m… I’m adjusting.”

  She nods like she understands exactly what I mean. “Life without the Devoted takes some adjusting. I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay.”

  Despite the number of times I’ve played out scenarios in my head of what Anya and I would say to each other in this moment, it’s still hard for me to get the words out. But I know what needs to be said. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long,” I begin. “After… After everything happened, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to think. I know Elliot’s been spending time with you. He’s invited me to come more than once. And I know you wanted me to. I just couldn’t. But now… I don’t know what changed, but I realize just how short life is. And I don’t want to spend the rest of mine alone.” I take a step toward her, a calculated move. I’m an arm’s length away now. “I realize how much I need my family. I need my sister.”

  That’s all it takes. Anya reaches for me, pulling me to her. I return her embrace. Her arms are so tight I can hardly breathe. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been hugged this way. My eyes begin to prickle and burn, and I blink rapidly to rid them of the sensation.

  It’s nothing, I tell myself. Just trying to sell the bit.

  When Anya finally pulls away, there are tears in her eyes. “Sasha, I’ve missed you so much.”

  I
attempt to swallow, but it takes a few tries before I manage. For some reason, there’s a lump in my throat. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  She wants to believe my words, so she does, even though they’re not true.

  They’re not.

  Chapter Four

  Krissa

  Tucker leads the way up the threadbare stairs to Griffin’s apartment. The two of us have been spending most of our free time here in the months since Griffin Holloway moved out of his father’s house. After the elder council spell failed to wipe the memories of its members, Griffin found it more and more difficult to live under his father’s rule. Even though his dad had known about magic before because of his wife, he hadn’t put down ground rules about using it until he found out his sons were both witches. Griffin managed to deal with the new rules through Christmas and the new year, but after one too many fights with his dad, he decided that moving out was his best course of action.

  The apartment building is a few blocks away from Main on State Street—probably Clearwater’s second most-used road. It’s not much, but it’s a safe space for Griffin to live by his own rules. It’s also a place for Tucker and me to spend our time.

  Since the night Seth died—the night I killed him—I haven’t been the same. It’s not like it was when Zane died. I was awash with guilt over his death, even though it hadn’t really been my fault. Things are different now. Zane died because of the spell I worked. I hadn’t meant anything bad to happen, yet it did. But with Seth, there was no magic involved. It was my hand that pushed the knife through his back. I looked into his eyes as the light faded from them, and I have yet to feel an ounce of remorse.

  I’m a murderer, and I don’t care.

  Luckily, Tucker and Griffin don’t care either.

  Tucker bangs two times on Griffin’s door before letting himself in. I follow. The small apartment is nothing to write home about, but it’s away from the prying eyes of any adult. Since he moved in two months ago, Griffin has managed to acquire a handful of pieces of furniture—a sagging, dilapidated couch, a stained coffee table, a handful of milk crates shoved full of car magazines. The only relatively new piece in the entire place is a flat-screen TV. Although I’ve never asked, I’m fairly certain he used magic to procure it.

  “Yeah, just come right in, why don’t you?” Griffin mumbles from the kitchen. He sounds even more irritable than usual.

  I rub the hemp bracelet woven with small chunks of Apache tears and snowflake obsidian—a charm I created months ago to keep my mind clear of other people’s thoughts and emotions. Occasionally, I wish I could still use that part of my psychic abilities. It would be handy if I could sense why Griffin is so grumpy—then I’d know whether Tucker and I should venture forward or not.

  Despite the fact that Tucker can use his abilities to figure out what’s going on, he doesn’t appear to take this opportunity to do so. Instead, he hands me the bag from the shop and strides toward the TV, probably to start up whatever video game he’s been playing lately.

  I head into the kitchen. Griffin is dabbing a broken piece of aloe plant onto the skin of his right hand. The flesh is angry and red—he must’ve burned it at work. It wouldn’t be the first time. He works on cars, so scrapes and burns aren’t abnormal, but this one looks worse than average.

  “Aren’t you glad I got that plant for you?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

  Griffin sneers over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m thrilled,” he mutters sarcastically. “I’d like it even better if the thing did anything to help.” He eyes the paper bag I’m holding. “You didn’t happen to bring any calendula, did you?”

  I shake my head, the corners of my mouth upturning. “What am I, psychic?”

  He curls his lip, clearly not amused by my joke. “Unless you have something to help me, why don’t you leave me alone? I’m not really in the mood to deal with you right now.”

  Instead of backing away, which I’m sure is what he wants me to do, I press in closer. It’s true I have no calendula, but I might still be able to help. Without asking for his permission, I knock his left hand out of the way and cover his right with my own. I’m not a natural healer, not like Bria Tate, but for the last few months, I’ve been working on strengthening those abilities in myself. Since I’m not using my psychic abilities to sense emotions or thoughts, I’ve been refining other skills so they don’t atrophy completely. There are so many other things I can do as a psychic, including healing.

  Griffin attempts to pull away, but I hold his wrist. When he catches my gaze, I raise my eyebrows, daring him to yank away again. After a beat, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, do what you’re going to do.”

  I suppress a smile as I inspect his injury more closely. The burn is shiny, red, and angry. I can tell it hurts even without being able to sense exactly how Griffin is feeling. I focus my energy on the burn. So far, I’ve only managed to heal small paper cuts I’ve sustained while pretending to do classwork, but the process is the same. I take in a breath and focus healing energy toward Griffin’s blistered flesh. The warmth builds up in my chest and I imagine it flowing down into my arms, toward my fingers, like a sparkling golden light. Once the light reaches my fingertips, in my mind’s eye I see it coating Griffin’s injury. In my head, his skin is perfectly healed and whole. The reality is somewhat less impressive. While the burn is markedly better, appearing as if it’s been healing for at least a week, the skin is still red, and it may scar.

  I sigh in frustration. “Let me try again.”

  Griffin finally succeeds in pulling his arm from my grasp and inspects the skin. “I’m not your guinea pig.” He offers one of his characteristic half-smiles and shoves my shoulder gently, affectionately. “Thanks. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  I’m not satisfied with the job, despite Griffin’s assurances. “If you let me, I might be able to get rid of some of the scarring.” I reach for his arm again, but he pulls away.

  “For real, K, it’s fine. Besides, chicks dig scars, right?” There’s a teasing glint in his eye, but there’s also something behind it, something calculating. Although he’s a witch and not a psychic, I feel like he’s looking into my thoughts. “How many merit badges did you earn doing that just now, by the way?”

  I shake my head in an attempt to dispel the heat creeping into my cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Griffin’s eyes narrow. “Yes, you do. Don’t pretend like you don’t.”

  I do my best to ignore his insinuation, to pretend it’s baseless. I’m actually surprised by the comment—it’s not as if Griffin is well known for being observant of the emotions of others. That’s part of the reason I’ve been spending time with him. He’s not ordinarily the kind of person who wants to talk about hopes or dreams or feelings. I force a smile to brush away his comment. “If this is the kind of abuse I get for trying to help you out, next time I’ll just let you suffer.” I stick my tongue out at him as I turn and head out of the kitchen.

  Tucker pauses the first-person shooter game he’s playing as Griffin and I enter. “We would have been here sooner, but she saw someone in town.”

  I punch him in the arm as I go by, not stopping until I’m seated on the far end of the couch. My nose wrinkles involuntarily the way it always does at the lingering scent of cigarettes. Although Griffin doesn’t smoke, the previous owners clearly did. I make a mental note to look through the Barnette grimoire for a spell that might help remove the stench.

  Griffin leans against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room and crosses his arms over his chest. “Let me guess…”

  “There’s no need to guess,” I say, an unintended edge to my tone. “Tucker needs to mind his own business.”

  “There’s no need to guess, all right,” Griffin mutters. He sighs as he follows my trajectory. “Look, I’m not usually one to pry into someone else’s business—”

  “And yet you’re about to,” I grumble under my breath.

  Griffin arches an eye
brow. “How long are you gonna stay in hiding?”

  My skin prickles and I roll my shoulders. “Hiding? You’re acting like I’ve gone to ground or something. What am I now, some kind of international spy?” I say it like it’s a joke, like he must be messing around, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not the direction this conversation is headed.

  Tucker sets down his controller. He and Griffin exchange glances. I don’t like their looks at all. “You ever going to talk to him?”

  My eyes glide between Tucker’s and Griffin’s faces. “What is this, an intervention?”

  “Why, do you need one?” Griffin’s tone is serious, which concerns me, since his default setting is sarcastic.

  I hold up my hands. “Look, I’m glad you guys care so much and all, but…” I let the sentence fall, unfinished, unsure how I would even complete it.

  “I saw the way you looked at him through that window,” Tucker says. “You can lie and say things are over between the two of you all you want, but I know the truth.”

  I study the looks of concern mirrored on each of their faces. This turn in the conversation couldn’t be more surprising if they suddenly professed their undying love for me. “Where is this coming from? Since when do you to care about my feelings for Owen?”

  A smile flashes across Tucker’s face, like he’s been vindicated. “I knew it. So you admit you’ve got feelings for him still?”

  Panic surges in me. Is Owen putting him up to this line of questioning? Is he going to report back everything I say as soon as our conversation is over? I shake the concern from my mind before it’s fully formed. Despite the fact that Tucker is a far more decent guy in this reality that he was in the one I came from, I can’t see Owen suddenly deciding to pal around with him. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re not together, and he’s clearly moving on with his life.”

  Griffin exhales noisily as he lowers himself onto the coffee table. “I’m not gonna pry, and I don’t mean to get all up in your business, but I think Tucker may have a point—and you know how painful it is for me to admit that.” He offers a conspiratorial wink, which I don’t return. “But you can’t tell me you’re not hiding from something. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in all the years you and Fox were together, you and I were never really friends. I don’t think your sudden interest in me has much to do with you missing my little brother.”