Moon Magic

by Madeline Freeman

  Yeah, like I haven’t been working on that.

  Jodi is staring at me expectantly. “Uh—heads.”

  She nods before flipping the coin in the air. She catches it deftly with her right hand before slapping it on the back of her left. When she peeks at it, she grins. “Heads. Looks like you’re going to pick up the pizza.”

  I vaguely remember her asking me for topping preferences a bit ago. I didn’t realize she’d actually put in the order. “Yeah, sure.”

  Jodi rolls her eyes as I approach. “Well, of course ‘sure.’ You can’t argue with the almighty decision-making power of the quarter.”

  I do my best to offer a smile. No matter how withdrawn I’ve been these last months, Jodi’s never changed the way she interacts with me. While Dad’s been more apt to act all surly and in control and Mom’s more gentle, like she’s afraid the wrong word will send me over the edge, Jodi behaves the same way she always has, despite the fact I don’t return the favor.

  I’m a crappy niece.

  But she doesn’t know, whispers a voice in the back of my mind. If she knew what you did and how you feel about it, she wouldn’t treat you like this. She’d think you’re a monster.

  I stumble on my next step toward Jodi but recover quickly as I stuff the voice back down into the depths. I can’t let myself think like that. What’s done is done. All I can do is move forward—which is exactly what I’m doing in helping Crystal.

  I can be a good person again. I’ll prove it.

  Is it just my imagination that Jodi’s scrutinizing me a little more closely than usual as I take the bill from her hand? I’m probably imagining it—it’s not as if she can read my thoughts. I force my lips into what I hope is a more natural-looking smile. “Promise not to eat it all before I get back.”

  Her expression from a moment ago—was it concern?—disappears and is replaced by a grin. “You’d better not or I’m liable to munch on your arm.”

  “Cannibalism?” I ask, starting for the front door. “That’s a little intense, isn’t it?”

  “Clearly you have no concept of the hunger burning in my belly,” Jodi calls after me as she moves from behind the register to pick up on the job I left unfinished. “I’ll go full zombie on you,” she continues as I pull open the door. “And after I’ve had my fill, I’ll sell what’s left. You’d be surprised the number of spells that call for a tongue or an eye or a kidney…”

  I fight back a snort as Mrs. Winters enters, a horrified look washing over her age-lined face. A woman of at least seventy, she’s a regular who comes in for tinctures and herbs for her many ailments—most of which Jodi is convinced are imagined. As Jodi continues to ramble on about specific uses for human organs and Mrs. Winters’ eyes go wider and wider, I can’t contain a bubble of laughter. Jodi glances up, blanching at the look on the older woman’s face. I step out onto the street as Jodi begins sputtering out an explanation for what our customer walked in on.

  It’s with light spirits I head down the street toward the pizza parlor. I don’t remember the last time I was able to joke with my aunt. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

  Maybe I’ve squandered these last several months by shutting myself off for no reason. Maybe I’m more like the person I want to be than I think. Is it possible I’ve been stuffing my real self down beneath the surface, convincing myself things must be different because of what I’ve been through? Because of what I’ve done? People who knew what happened tried to talk with me about it. Owen, Felix—even Lexie and my dad. I refused to discuss the topic, afraid of the direction the conversation would go. Maybe it was wrong to do that.

  Maybe it’s time for a change.

  After a quick glance in either direction, I jog across Main. Technically I don’t need to cross for another block; I do so now out of habit. The coffee shop is just ahead and I definitely am there more frequently than the restaurant. Unbidden, my gaze searches through the front window as I approach, a half-formed thought about stopping in for drinks to accompany our pizza buzzing in my head. But when my eyes land on him, I freeze in my tracks.

  Sitting at a high-top table the two of us occupied on more than one occasion is Owen, his head down, his attention fixed on the textbook in front of him. The thumb and index finger of his right hand tap out a beat in time with whatever is being piped through his earbuds. Even at this angle, I can tell he just got a haircut—it’s styled slightly differently than usual to compensate for the loss in length.

  Typically I’m not one to search for hidden meaning in everyday events, but Owen’s presence in the shop without the usual throng surrounding him just as I’m thinking about how I should’ve talked to him back when I had the chance feels like a sign. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m pushing open the door and striding purposefully toward him. Maybe this is the universe telling me things don’t have to be as complicated as I’ve been making them, that I’m not so far gone as I’ve come to believe.

  Owen’s music is so loud I can hear muffled reverberations even over the hiss of the espresso machine’s steam wand and the hum of conversation from other patrons. He’s so focused on his math book he doesn’t notice my approach, and I’m standing at his side a full ten seconds before he finally looks up.

  “Krissa?” He jumps with surprise when his eyes land on me. He quickly casts his gaze around, like he’s afraid someone in one of the small clusters of people at nearby tables might have seen his reaction. He tugs at the wires of his earbuds with one hand as he turns the music off with the other. “What are you doing here?”

  He has every right to be shocked at my sudden appearance, so I try not to take offense. I honestly don’t remember the last time I approached him. In the weeks following the battle with Seth, it was Owen who did the approaching. I was the one who did the pushing away. There are so many things I could say right now—so many I probably should. There will be time later for apologies, but right now I need to get the thing between us off my chest. “I’m ready to talk.”

  Owen’s brow knits, his usually clear blue eyes clouded with confusion. “You’re ready…”

  “To talk, yeah,” I finish, nodding as I slide into the empty seat adjacent to him. “You tried to get me to so many times and I just…” I take in a breath, hoping it will help to quell the guilt surging in my chest. “But I’m here now, and I’m finally ready. And when I saw you sitting here, it was like I was supposed to come talk to you and—”

  He cuts me off with a slight shake of his head. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad you’re finally ready to open up to someone,” he begins, except he doesn’t sound glad at all. His voice is tight, almost pained, like every word is a struggle. “I hope you can process everything you’ve been going through. But…”

  My breath hitches as I wait for the rest of his sentence. I didn’t have a chance to fully imagine how I wanted this conversation to go, but this is certainly not the trajectory I would have wished for.

  He takes in a breath and releases it slowly. “I don’t think I’m the best person for you to open up to. Maybe once, but…” He breaks eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck.

  I’m having a hard time breathing. The air seems thin. “How can you say that?” My voice comes out higher and shakier than I intend. I swallow before continuing. “You know me better than anyone.”

  His eyes flick to mine for a brief moment. “Maybe that was true once.”

  The word maybe stabs through my stomach like an icy dagger. “Of course it’s true.”

  The corners of his mouth twitch. “If you’re serious about talking with someone, I’m sure Griffin or…Tucker…would be willing to listen.” He struggles so badly with Tucker’s name I’m surprised he doesn’t choke on it.

  My heart sinks. Is that what this is really about? Owen never liked Tucker, and his distaste bloomed into full-blown hatred the night Tucker almost attacked me. But that was in my old reality—the one this Owen remembers but never actually experienced. The Tucker here isn’t perfect, but
I’ve never seen him act maliciously. It took me a while to accept this version for who he is and forget about what his alternate self was like, but it seems Owen still hasn’t moved past it. Is that where this resistance is coming from? Something in me relaxes. If he’ll just let me talk, I can explain why I’ve been spending time with Tucker and Griffin, why I turned to the two of them and away from Owen. “I don’t want to talk to them. You’re the one—”

  “Krissa.” He breathes my name so gently that in another circumstance I’d be convinced it would precede a kiss. But it’s obvious from his body language—his subtle leaning toward the back of his chair—that he has no intention of brushing his lips against mine. “I can’t do this right now.”

  The air presses itself from my lungs as if I’ve been sucker-punched. It takes several tries to gulp in a breath. “Then when?”

  He rakes his upper teeth over his lower lip. “I don’t know.”

  His response does nothing to soothe me. “How can you not know?”

  He runs a hand down his face. “Don’t you understand how hard the last four months have been for me?” he snaps, drawing the attention of one of the baristas. He lowers his voice when he continues. “I barely remember my life from this reality anymore. I had to sit through a very uncomfortable talk with my dad where he asked if I was on drugs because I couldn’t remember some family trip we apparently took a couple summers back. Except there was no trip in your reality, and it’s the only one I can remember. There’s been a hundred times I’ve needed to talk to you, but you completely shut me out. So I’m doing the only thing I can: I’m trying to move on. I’m trying to figure out my place now. At first I thought it was by your side but…” He shakes his head.

  My stomach lurches violently and I’m afraid I’ll be sick. “And now?”

  “And now…” He blows out a breath. “What if I give up the life I’m starting to cobble together here only to have you shut me out? I don’t know if I can take you choosing your ex-boyfriend’s brother and the guy who attacked you over me again.”

  That’s not fair and he knows it, but I doubt pointing out the inaccuracies in his statement will win me any points. Besides, the sentiment is true enough. I’m not sure what else there is to say. I press my palms into the edge of the table to help myself to my feet. “Okay. I’ll give you time. I think it’s the least I can do, considering all the time you’ve given me.” I want to press further, find out when he thinks he might be ready, but I don’t want to push my luck. Owen simply nods and, with considerable effort, I turn away and stride on unsteady legs toward the door.

  It was foolish of me to think things would go back to how they were before just because I announced I was finally ready to talk. I can’t expect Owen to be able to switch gears that quickly. He’s respected me enough to give me space, even though it’s probably hurt him every day. I dig my nails into my palms. This was a stupid move on my part. I disregarded entirely what I’ve been doing to him these last few months. I thought pulling away was protecting him from the person I feared I was becoming, but I never considered he might still need me.

  The door opens just before I reach it, revealing the straight white teeth and blonde spiral curls of a girl who seems vaguely familiar. I stand back, allowing her to pass, and as she does it hits me. She’s Laurie, the girl who’s been spending so much time with Owen lately. Indeed, she makes a beeline for his table. A smile breaks across his face as she approaches.

  I have to turn away before she reaches him. What if he stands and hugs her—or worse? I can’t see it or I might fall apart—shatter into a billion shards right here on the coffee shop’s floor.

  Maybe it doesn’t matter how much time I give Owen. Maybe I’m already too late. I’ve put him through so much in the six months we’ve known each other. He deserves better than what I’ve been able to give. Perhaps this is for the best. He should have something pure and uncomplicated, and maybe this Laurie girl is just the person to give it to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sasha

  I’ve been spending so much time at Allegro Bread I’ve got a regular seat. What’s more, I’m starting to recognize other customers. There’s a rowdy bunch of seventy-something men who sit at a corner table meant for four. They commandeer chairs from surrounding tables as more join their ranks. I’ve counted as many as eight crammed around the small square table before. They mostly argue politics and flirt with the store manager when she comes out to check on things. Then there’s a heavy-set woman in her forties with frizzy brown hair who shows up with a new mystery novel each time I see her. She devours the story and her sandwich with fervor. There’s also a man who shows up in a business suit and a wireless earpiece which he uses to talk to clients, presumably, as he clicks through pages on his laptop.

  I wonder what these people think of me. I usually meet Anya here, but occasionally Elliot shows up, too. Do we seem to them to be a happy little family catching up with each other? Or can they see when I force a smile or pretend to be engaged in the conversation? Do the others in the restaurant even notice us?

  Lately lunch dates have been consumed by one topic: The search for Nate. I haven’t had any luck breaking whatever enchantments kept the castaways hidden, but that hasn’t stopped Anya and Elliot from looking. Elliot was convinced earlier this week that he’d located him, but his suspicions ended up proving incorrect. He was crushed to learn the car salesman living in Illinois wasn’t his relative. In our long relationship, I’ve shared in plenty of Elliot’s joys and pains, but this is the first time I can remember having to fake an emotion for his benefit. In truth, I was glad when he told us Mr. Nathan Standish of Peoria was not, in fact, his uncle. I know Uncle Nate never manifested abilities—that’s why he was cast out of the Devoted—but there’s ordinary and then there’s pitifully ordinary, and Nathan Standish definitely falls into the latter category. Still, I painted on a disappointed face and patted Elliot’s shoulder. I promised to help him continue the search for a man who, in all likelihood, will want nothing to do with us if we ever do find him. I know if I never manifested abilities, I wouldn’t want to reminded of that failure.

  Elliot and Anya arrive within about a minute of each other and are separated by only one person in line to order food. I nibble at the apple that came with my still-untouched sandwich. I’m not really hungry. I haven’t had much of an appetite since Elliot confronted me about contacting the Amaranthine.

  By the time my sister and best friend join me at the table, Anya is practically quivering with suppressed excitement. Elliot looks mildly exasperated. “Okay, we’re here now,” he says as they sit. “Are you finally going to spill what you’re so amped about?”

  Anya tries and fails to scowl at him. “It’s just tearing you up you’re not strong enough to break into my head, isn’t it?”

  He holds his hands up. “I’m practicing restraint because we’re practically family, but if you want me to go full bore, just let me know.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh,” she sighs, clearly unconvinced of his psychic prowess.

  Although I have no doubt the two could carry the conversation themselves, I decide to interject, knowing a lack of participation on my part could read as disinterest, and the last thing I want is for either of them to be suspicious of my intentions. Elliot already figured out I’m the one who brought the Amaranthine to Clearwater, and for the moment I’m pretty sure he believes I’m willing to help keep Crystal and everyone else safe. I don’t want to give him any reason to doubt me. “Since I’m not psychic, do you think you could just tell us the old-fashioned way what’s got you so happy?”

  A bright smile flashes across Anya’s face like she’s been waiting for me to ask. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, not until I was sure, but I’ve been in contact with someone recently.”

  The curve of my lips is too forced, so I take a sip of my pop and nod encouragingly. Has she found another Nate candidate? For Elliot’s sake, I almost hope she’s found the real deal th
is time, because I don’t know if I can watch him go through another disappointment.

  Elliot’s eyes stray to me for an instant before he says, “Don’t leave us in suspense.”

  Anya shakes her head, her dark hair swishing around her face. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I still can’t quite believe it. I didn’t want to say anything until I was positive, and now… The person I’ve been in contact with…” She pauses, taking in a breath as she reaches across the table to cover my hand. “It’s Misha.”

  I freeze. That’s not at all what I was expecting her to say. Elliot mentioned they were looking for her, of course, but neither of them have said anything about it since then. There’s been plenty of talk about the search for Nate, but none about finding my other sister. But I suppose it was foolish of me to think they weren’t looking.

  Anya and Elliot are both staring at me, and I realize I still haven’t reacted to the news. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I take a few pulls from my straw before trying again. “Misha. Wow.”

  “I’m sorry for springing it on you like this,” Anya says, her eyes moistening. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it wasn’t really her.”

  Get my hopes up? If I’d realized Anya was actively searching, would I really have been hoping she’d find Misha? Since her exit from my life, I haven’t spent much time thinking about her. Not long after she left, Anya also disappeared—but I was told Anya had been killed by a mob of ordinary men when she left our community on a regular errand. I mourned the loss of my eldest sister more than Misha’s leaving. After all, Anya actually had abilities. Misha was different—not really one of us.

  But now that it’s possible I’ll see her again, I can’t stem the flood of questions that surge in my mind. Where has she been for the last thirteen years? What’s her life like? Did she ever think about the Devoted? About me? Is she glad she left, or did she miss her family terribly? Did she believe it was for the greater good she was cast out, the way we were always taught?