by Skylar Finn
“Hello.” Lindy smiled warmly. She drifted into the empty chair at our table. “It’s so nice to meet you. Bridget has told me all about you.”
“I did,” said Bridget with a little nod. “I just had this, like…feeling, that you guys would get along.”
I stifled a laugh. Bridget was the most easily influenced person I’d ever met. I was unsurprised that in a New Age shop, around an alleged psychic, she suddenly developed strong “feelings” about things she had no way of knowing.
The curtains rattled again as Magdalena swept back in the room, carrying a silver teapot on a matching tray. She placed it in the center of the table, then unhooked three mugs from her ring-bedecked fingers. She placed the cups in a half-circle in front of us.
“There’s sugar and honey on the tray there, dears. Do any of you take milk?”
All of us shook our heads with varying expressions of distaste. Magdalena looked startled. “I don’t know what it is with you young people and milk,” she said. “It’s a very efficient way to soothe demons.”
“What?” Lindy looked like she was holding back a laugh. I decided I liked her.
“Well, technically it appeases them,” Magdalena amended. “I never go to bed without a bowl of milk in front of my mirror. So they don’t come through and possess me while I’m sleeping, you know.”
I turned away and had a coughing fit into the crook of my arm. Lindy watched me, amused. “I’m so sorry,” I said, turning back once I’d regained control of myself. “My allergies are so, so terrible this year.”
“Use honey, not sugar,” Magdalena admonished me.
“Of course,” I said, my eyes still watering. The bell over the door rang at the front of the store. It sounded like wind chimes.
“Enjoy,” sang Magdalena as she swept out of the room again.
“What a woman,” said Bridget admiringly, watching her go.
“Indeed,” said Lindy, straight-faced. “So, Sam.” She turned to me, her small hand wrapped around the steaming mug. I reached for mine and immediately burned myself. “What do you do?”
I pretended to occupy myself with my burn so I wouldn’t have to meet her intense gaze. “I’m currently in between jobs, actually. I’m mostly just focused on…” I trailed off, having no prepared lie to end this sentence.
“That’s okay, Sam.” I looked up and found that her eyes were filled with sympathy. I felt momentarily lost in them. “You don’t always have to know what you’re doing. That’s often how we discover what we’re truly meant to do.”
Bridget looked back and forth between us. She looked ridiculously pleased with herself, as if Lindy was her own personal discovery. “I was just telling Sam how perceptive you are, Lindy. I think you might be psychic.”
Lindy smiled and ducked her head modestly. “Being perceptive doesn’t mean being psychic, Bridget,” she said. I noted her tendency to use other people’s names, like a hostage negotiator. “I’m maybe a bit more intuitive than most, but I’m hardly psychic.”
“That’s not true,” protested Bridget. “You do way more than that. What about your readings?”
“Well, I don’t really do them professionally,” Lindy clarified. “Just occasionally, for friends if they ask. I’d be happy to do one for you, Sam.”
I hesitated. I was reluctant to have a complete stranger look into my mind. Who knows what she might see? What if she realized I was a witch? The first thing Tamsin ever told me about being a witch was that the entire coven was sworn to secrecy, for our own protection. I’d have to be very careful in this situation. However silly I might have found Magdalena or her store, Lindy seemed like the real deal. And that meant I would have to be extremely careful from here on out.
“Maybe another time,” I said with a polite smile.
“Oh, but Sam! You must,” Bridget urged. “It’s life-changing.” She sounded like she was describing a juice cleanse.
“That’s fine, Sam.” Lindy smiled at me reassuringly. “Whenever you’re ready.” She favored me with another one of her soul-penetrating glances. I felt uneasy, as she seemed certain that no matter what I said, eventually I would ask for her insight—that sooner or later, it was an inevitability.
“You felt like she was appropriating our culture?” Tamsin laughed so hard tears formed in her eyes. “I don’t know if you realize this, Sam, but witchcraft is not exactly protected under the Constitution.”
“Maybe it should be.” I crossed my arms and slouched in Tamsin’s velvet armchair. “You should have seen it, Tam. There was all this weird stuff everywhere, unicorn candles and geodes and things, then she tells me that the clock on the wall is set to the witching hour. Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Every hour is the witching hour, for witches,” said Tamsin reasonably. “It’s kind of like happy hour that way. For alcoholics.”
“She had crystals and dream catchers,” I continued my description of the shop. “And a tea room, for some reason. She offered to read the leaves when we were done.”
“What a crock.” Tamsin snorted as she dumped a bag of popcorn into a large bowl and poured melted butter on it, followed by a generous helping of sea salt. She offered me the bowl. I wrinkled my nose.
“You know, there’s a gym in Peter’s building,” I said conversationally. “If you ever want to check it out.”
“Shut up, witch.” Tamsin shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “With all the walking I have to do in this damn place, there’s no way for me to actually gain weight. I calculated it.”
“You mean the city?” I laughed at her. “How did you get around before?”
“I mean, I walked, but everything was within a six-block radius. And those were like normal blocks, not city blocks. I asked this guy for directions and he told me to take the bus because it was sixteen blocks. And I was like, I can walk that no problem. And he looked at me like I was crazy. And then it took me forty-five minutes and I understood why.”
“Seriously, I do have something really important to tell you, though,” I said. Tamsin perked up and regarded me inquisitively, eating a piece of popcorn off her long, manicured fingernail. “My mom and your mom appeared in my bathwater last night to warn me there’s an extremely powerful presence near us, and they’re concerned it might be related to the human heart Peter’s writing about for work.”
“Wait, wait, hold up.” Tamsin held up a hand. “Back the train up for a second. First off, what were they doing in your bathwater? Like did you invite them, or did they just show up? And why is Peter writing about hearts?”
“It was some new spell they were trying,” I explained. “They said they couldn’t tell if the presence was light or dark or dormant or active. And Peter happened to get assigned to cover a disembodied heart in a doughnut shop the same day I had a vision of one in his vegetable crisper.”
Tamsin blew her bangs up in a noisy sigh. “This is exactly what I hate about all that old-world, old-school garbage,” she complained. “Scrying or whatever. I mean, that’s not what they were doing, but all that stuff is so vague. Is there magic, or is it asleep? Is it good, is it evil? We don’t know. Just stop leaving your homes, just to be safe.” She gave me a pointed look. “I assume that’s what my mother wanted you to say.”
“Well, yes,” I admitted. “She is a bit worried about you.”
“I don’t think this heart situation has anything to do with us,” said Tamsin. “And this magic or whatever it is—I mean, neither of us has noticed it. What are they doing playing neighborhood watch, anyway? They’re obviously checking up on us, if they know what’s going on in the vicinity.”
“They’ve always done that,” I said mildly.
“For you, maybe. I’ve always been in their line of sight, so they never had to. And they probably trust me way less.” She scowled. “I don’t like this at all.”
“What do you think about Lindy?” I asked. “Do you think she’s a witch?”
“I find it unlikely,” said Tamsin. “A
lot of women are highly intuitive without being witches, and some of them make a big deal over it. It’s like they think they’re the Oracle themselves, like middle-school girls doing tarot readings for all their friends at slumber parties.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re the ones who always want to stare into a candle and pretend to see the future, or push the planchette on the Ouija board and act like it’s ghosts. She’s probably one of those.”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “There was something weird about her. Something I couldn’t quite place.”
Tamsin shrugged, flopping down on her narrow twin bed. “She’s probably been acting all spooky and mysterious since middle school. I bet her Instagram is like, selfies of her looking into crystal balls and staring at the moon. She probably takes pictures of herself in the middle of empty fields, then goes home and Photoshops storm clouds into the background. And lightning.”
“People do that?” I asked, intrigued.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Tamsin tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, caught it, choked, and spat it out. “I used to look at that stuff all the time when I was homeschooled and felt separated from people my age,” she continued when she regained her breath. “Then I saw how dumb they were, and felt way less bad about it. It’s like they can sense there really are witches and are trying to visually represent it, but they have this misguided idea about what it is.” She bit her lip, looking pensive. “So I guess I can see what you mean about that lady in that store. It is kind of offensive, honestly. We have all this responsibility, you know? It’s not like it can be reduced to a simple hashtag.”
I smiled. “You’re so in college.”
She sat up, looking indignant. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No, no, it’s not bad. It’s good,” I hastily explained. “It’s like when you start deeply analyzing everything in your world because you’re being asked these questions on a daily basis and it’s causing you to think more critically. It’s opening up new pathways in your brain.”
“Oh, I like that.” She flopped back onto her bed. “Never mind. Are you sure you don’t want any of this popcorn?”
“No thanks. I’m kind of anxious, honestly.”
“What about?” She propped her head on her hand to regard me.
“Peter,” I admitted.
“This isn’t about that barista, is it?” Tamsin eyed me knowingly. “Because you should really know, all those girls who used to hang around Peter, at the bar? He never slept with any of them. He’s just not that kind of guy.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s my vision, combined with what Peter told me, on top of what our mothers told us. I want to pretend it’s just a one-off, but I’m worried it’s the beginning of something.” I looked out the window. The spring sun had vanished, and a line of clouds gathered outside. “Something bad.”
6
The Is, The Never Was, and The Could Be
By the time I left Tamsin’s dorm room, I felt reassured that we were safe—for the time being, at least. I knew I should defer to my mother and Minerva, who were both older and wiser. But even my grandmother had told them not to contact me unless they had something concrete, which they didn’t. Tamsin’s breezy attitude gave me permission to relax. Which unfortunately only led to me worrying again.
I took the elevator up to Peter’s apartment. He’d texted me when he got out of work and asked if I wanted to go to happy hour at a bar around the corner from his building. I hoped he had a better day today than he had yesterday.
I got nervous as the doors slid open. I hadn’t even known Peter for a year, so I guess it was unsurprising that he could still make me nervous. But I felt surprised by the feeling, anyway. My head buzzed with anticipation as I crossed the carpeted hallway to his door and lightly knocked. The door swung inward under my hand; he’d left it ajar for me.
Peter was sprawled on the couch, his eyes closed. Every time I saw him felt like the first time. Well, maybe not the first time. The first time I saw Peter, I thought he was unbelievably arrogant. I found him maddening. But now he drove me crazy in a different way.
He opened his eyes to see me looking at him from across the room and smiled sleepily. “Where did you come from?” he asked.
“It’s six o’clock,” I said.
“Already?” He looked bewildered, glancing at the clock over his TV. “I must have dozed off.” He leaned forward, plucking a bottle of wine off the coffee table and opening it with a corkscrew. “I picked this up on my way home so we could pre-game happy hour,” he said. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being around people tonight sober.”
“I don’t mind.” I went over to the couch and sat next to him. My heart beat a little faster. He poured the wine into two glasses.
“What’s up?” He eyed me curiously.
“Nothing,” I said faintly. “How was your day?”
“Equally terrible as yesterday,” he said casually. “I’m practicing a new system of denial, where I pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I’m sorry.” I felt guilty for what I’d been imagining a moment ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He took his glasses off and set them on the table, the ultimate Peter symbol of resignation. He was blind without them. “I guess I should. I’m just getting really worried. About you, about Tamsin. Really about every woman in the city. People I met when I was still in school.”
“Wait, what? Why?” I accepted the glass of wine he handed me.
“There’s an unrelated case a co-worker of mine is covering. About several women who have gone missing over the last two weeks. At least, it was unrelated, but we’re starting to think there’s a correlation between the two. The last disappearance was twenty-four hours before the heart was discovered, and according to the coroner, it was ‘practically still beating.’” He drained his glass of wine.
I shuddered. I imagined someone snatching Tamsin off the street and stealing her heart. Literally.
Peter wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back on the couch. “If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I would do,” he mumbled into my hair. I closed my eyes.
I knew why Peter felt the way he did; he thought of me as fragile and vulnerable in the world. Peter didn’t know the truth about my family or about me. He knew we were a little eccentric, but that was about it. He didn’t know that I was basically invincible. My experience with practicing magic was limited, but the first time I’d ever unleashed it, I felt a power flow through me the likes of which I’d never known.
I felt certain that I could protect myself, if it came down to it, though I wasn’t yet entirely sure how. But could I protect everyone else? Tamsin had great power too, she had been using it all her life. But what about Bridget? Bridget was so friendly and naïve, she’d gladly climb into the back of a van with an axe murderer if he offered her birthday cake. Not to mention all the other women I didn’t know who were vulnerable.
Maybe I should get involved. Maybe I could use my powers to help Peter figure out who was behind this. I liked the idea that he wanted to protect me, but I was much more worried about protecting Peter. What if he got too close to whoever was doing this? What if something happened to him?
“Do you mind if we just stay in tonight?” Peter asked. “On second thought, I don’t think I can handle being around people at all.”
“Of course,” I said. He tightened his arms around me and sighed. I closed my eyes. My mind, however, was elsewhere. I was there but I wasn’t there. My mind was racing a million miles a minute. How could I protect Peter?
I thought about what Tamsin had said about Lindy. What if she was wrong? She hadn’t met her; hadn’t felt the energy radiating off of her in waves. And if Lindy was abnormally perceptive and could sense things that ordinary people couldn’t, maybe she could tell me what to do about Peter. Maybe she could help me figure out a way to keep him safe.
I studied my phone, looking at the address
Lindy had given me after I ran into her at the co-op that morning. It was an unfamiliar part of the city, one I didn’t usually venture to. It existed outside my limited stratosphere of home, Cameron’s, Tamsin’s, and Peter’s. Once, work had been part of this bubble, but even that felt like a distant memory now.
I looked up at the building in front of me, puzzled. Lindy said this was her apartment, but it looked like a deli. I saw no sign of it being inhabited by anything other than cold cuts and butchers. It was twelve-thirty, and a line snaked from the front door down the cracked cement steps.
The second-floor window slid open and Lindy poked her head out. “Sam!” she called. “There’s a gate that leads to the alley. Take it and you’ll find the stairs.”
I waved and crossed the street. The old wooden gate next to the deli was unlatched and I let myself in, the gate creaking noisily behind me. I climbed a steep set of wooden stairs leading from the stone courtyard, up to a bright red door. The door swung inward and Lindy stepped out, holding it open for me.
“I just moved, so the place is in a bit of a disarray,” Lindy said apologetically as I entered her apartment.
I glanced around. The apartment was mostly empty, save several boxes stacked on top of each other. She pulled a few milk crates from the closet in the hallway. I couldn’t see where it led.
Lindy set up a makeshift table and chairs. “I would normally have something better set up for you than this,” she said, sounding abashed.
“It’s okay, really.” I smiled at her encouragingly. “Moving’s the worst.”
“Especially for a single girl, am I right?” She rolled her eyes. “What a pain.”
I shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to boast about my good luck. “I just met somebody, actually. This might be the first year I don’t have to move by myself. Or, you know. With my dad.” I felt embarrassed.
Lindy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s right! The journalist, right? Bridget mentioned him when she spoke about you, I completely forgot.” She winked at me conspiratorially. “I heard he’s very handsome.”
