by Ruby Raine
"I'm amazed by you," he whispered. He let go and put some space between them, in case that was what she needed. He was spinning in that his empathy wasn't tuned in to what she wanted. It was driving him crazy one minute at a time.
"I didn't lie, Michael." She shook her head when he squinted in question. "I mean, when I said the Isle is where I want to be, and that we are meant to be together. I meant every word of that."
"Where ever you are, Emily, that's my home."
"Then why are we so—weird?" she moaned in frustration. Michael stiffened, then softened his posture in response.
"It's my fault," he claimed. "I'm sorry." He jumped off the bed. "I don't know what you want. What you need," he tried to clarify. "I want to be here for you, but also give you space. I want to be by your side twenty-four seven, but let you live your own life too. I don't—" he sighed. "I don't know how to be around you. I'm afraid everything I do might push you away and—" he stopped himself again. "I want you to be happy, however that is."
Emily felt the cutoff was intentional and wondered what he had really wanted to say, but was also stuck on the bitter fact that she'd made him this way. Unintentionally, but in her abrupt departure with no promise of ever returning, she'd broken part of him—broken part of them. Especially when she'd blamed him and his family and the supernatural world for what had happened to her and her father.
"Please don't say it's your fault," he pleaded, sensing the words on her tongue. "It's not. I guess it's just being in this house, I'm worried it'll—"
"Bring up all the reasons I left," she finished. "It has," she admitted. "But I'm not running, Michael. I'm not going anywhere. I'll never get over my dad dying here. But I've put the blame where it really belongs, and that's not on you." God, how she wished she could take back those things she'd said out of desperation and fear. But it was too late. She's said those things and it had forever changed them. It made Michael afraid of her, believing that he could do no right in her eyes and was, in part, at least, responsible for her father's death.
"Just, promise me, Emily, that if I'm too clingy, or not clingy enough that you'll tell me what you need. I can't trust myself right now and I don't want to lose you again. That's one thing I am absolutely sure of. I am determined to find our way through this, but I feel like I'm doing everything wrong."
Again though, Emily had an inkling that he wasn't sharing some vital thing with her.
"I guess we can't expect to go back to who we were before it all happened, at least not overnight."
"Or maybe ever," Michael let slip out. "We've both been changed by this. What if—" he shook off his thought. He didn't want to think it, never mind voice it.
"What if what?" Emily urged, though anxiously.
"What if we can't be the same? What if who we are now, doesn’t work...together? What if you'd be happier with someone else? Or living somewhere else?"
Hell. Didn't he feel like shit for saying it. But he'd been thinking it. Wondering, what if Emily changed her mind? What if she suddenly wasn't able to forgive him or this place? And worse, could he let her go if he truly believed she'd be happier with someone else, or somewhere else?
A tear slipped down Emily's cheek, but not because she was angry at his thoughts. More that he had those doubts. That he'd be willing to give her up, because he loved her so much that he'd rather see her happy without him.
"Emily, my world isn't ever going to change. I'm a witch for life. And that means trouble will always find me. I can't guarantee another tragedy won't strike. Are you sure you want to be part of that world?"
"But I am part of that world, whether I want to be or not."
"Yes. But being a Spirit Vessel doesn’t have to be—dangerous. And with me you'd be exposed to danger far more often than with someone who's, well, not part of the supernatural world."
He closed his eyes, unwilling to see the truth in hers but let out a shaky breath when he heard the bed lift as she got up and wrapped her arms around him.
"Neither of us can guarantee anything about our futures, Michael." But where did this leave them and their future? Before more words escaped her lips and desperate heart, Courtney called up the stairs that they needed Emily's help with something.
They broke apart and it was almost like a fissure formed between them, a deep one neither was sure how to mend. Loving each other wasn't enough. A history together wasn't enough. And Emily would be kidding herself if she didn't admit to having some of the thoughts Michael was, in that she wasn't sure how the new them fit into each other's lives again. But she in no way even once thought that she'd be happy anywhere else, or with someone else, and somehow, she'd prove this and gain his trust and confidence back.
"We don't give up," she told him. "I won't give up."
Michael smiled, tiredly so. "My heart is already yours."
And for now, this was enough.
CHAPTER 2
A FEW HOURS LATER AS the sun was setting and exhaustion from the day set in, a late dinner was eaten and cleaned up at the Deane Manor, leaving Michael, Emily, and Lily—via Lucy—having a conversation in the vast living room. A hilarious conversation in which, somehow, Michael was the butt of the joke that had them all laughing.
This, he could handle. This felt more like the him and Emily he missed so dearly.
They'd been reminiscing their teen years, right after he and Emily had met and become fast friends. And a night in particular that clung to memory. It was the first time Michael met Emily's parents, and it hadn't been the most elegant of moments.
It had also been the night Emily accidentally discovered his secret—that he was a witch and that the supernatural rumors about the Isle were real. But for this part of the story, after a rather adventurous night, he'd wanted to make sure a spooked Emily had made it home okay. Only, somehow, he'd managed to trip and fall on top of her in the front yard at the same moment the porch lights flooded the yard and out strode mom and dad Morgan.
Woops.
Caught in the accidental act.
Michael was mortified. Emily too—but also disappointed because if he'd stayed there a minute longer in the dark, maybe, just maybe, he'd have given in and kissed her. But that wasn't to be that night.
This night, however, was a bit heaven-like. If he let himself stop worrying so much and look at the larger picture of his life, he was the luckiest man alive. Emily was back with him; they'd find their stride again. And she had her mother back—if only for a time.
One day all too soon they'd have to say goodbye, but for tonight it was a happy memory in the making. A new one, forging ahead with a new them, and a new future together.
Some days, magic was a real pain in the ass. But at times like this, it was rather miraculous and worth every bit of hell. But like all good things, it came to an end when Lily let Lucy retake control of her body, and Lucy bid her goodnights leaving Michael and Emily on their own.
She let out a languid sigh that held so much sadness in it.
The heaven part broke up a little and Michael didn't need his empathy for the answer why. He pulled Emily close and kissed her forehead.
"I don't want to say goodbye to her," she whispered, speaking of her mother. She pulled back just a little. "It's all so selfish really. I mean, I got a chance pretty much no one gets, like, freaking ever. A chance to be with my mom again. It's so—surreal. Some days I still don't believe it. I'm not ready for her to go, but I can feel the end coming. She can't stay here forever."
Michael had no words that would truly comfort Emily, so he pulled her back in for another tight squeeze and kiss.
"Our lives are like living both in heaven and hell," he muttered, not really meaning to.
She replied with a dark chuckle.
"Sorry, that's not really helpful of me." And like he was back at square one he filled with doubts again and wondered if he was smothering, or if she wanted him this close. The fissure etched its way back in and he hated himself for it.
But Emily grabbe
d him right back in and kissed him, having felt him pulling away and he ordered the fissure to go to hell and stay there.
"It is like you said, though," she agreed a moment later. "One moment everything is so much more amazing than I could ever imagine in a hundred years, and the next, I'm watching it all be stripped away or counting down the hours until it happens."
"Your mother isn't gone yet," he comforted.
"But she will be, all too soon. And there I go worrying about things that haven't happened yet. Is this how it is when you age? Are we just catching up to Charlie's level?" she joked tersely.
"Charlie's been a pro since birth," Michael retorted. "Humans—supernatural—doesn't matter which, turns out we are all pros at creating problems before they exist. I'm getting better at it by the minute and pretty soon, I'll be vying for Charlie's throne."
Emily laughed, but it was equal parts desperation and humor.
Michael gently gripped her chin and kissed her delectable peachy lips. "If I could promise it, I'd never let anything bad happen to you ever again."
"I know. And that means the world to me, Michael. It really does. But I get it now. I really do. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't mine. It wasn't this place. Evil won that round, that's all." It was a simplified version of the story, but she wasn't wrong. Evil had won that round.
"I really missed you, Emily." The words slipped out and held the pain he'd not let go of completely.
"I missed you too." They stayed there for a moment, quiet and at peace, until a memory flitted into Emily's head and she pulled back with a grin. "That night, when I found out you were a witch..."
The night they'd been laughing about earlier.
"A night forever burned in my memory banks. We were at that beach party right before the start of junior year. I'd just broken up with—what's her name—Sophia Markus."
"And I was your wall to hide behind," retorted Emily.
"And I was the jackass that used you like a wall." He shook his head in personal disappointment. "I really was a brat back then, huh?"
"A darn cute one though. And I always knew it was a façade. I just had to wait for you to realize it too."
"I wish it hadn't taken me so long."
"Let me see," Emily wrinkled her brow counting on her fingers. "After Sophia was Nev Harvey, and then Shirley Caster, and then Becky Gardiner. She actually lasted half your senior year. I think that was a record for you."
"Well, I was running out of girls to date. Only so many on an island." And a terrible argument that had Emily hitting his arm playfully. "How about we forget about all the girls come and gone. I'd much rather just think about my memories with you."
"Like when I found out witches were real?" she chimed with a humored gleam in her eyes.
"Yeah. That was one of my favorite nights."
"A strix flying out of the shadows and attacking you was one of your favorite nights?"
"Not that part, no. And the poor guy didn't even have a clue he was a strix until we caught him and showed him. He turned out okay in the end."
"Because you guys helped him. But it was a heck of a night. I mean, at first I just thought, really? An attacking owl? Like, owls attack? And then that owl had sharp ass fangs and wickedly long claws—and you stunned it with magic and a second later it was Julius, the exchange student!"
"I remember your face when he shifted. I'll never forget it. And even though you were shocked and spooked, when I explained you just—accepted it, without question. And helped me catch him and help him."
"Maybe it was my underlying supernatural blood that I didn't know about yet. Who knows now. But yeah, I didn't question the truth for a second. I guess that's because even for all the smug-ass Michael Howard show you put on, my heart was absolutely certain above anything else that you'd never lie to me."
Her point at last.
"It wasn't possible for me to lie to you. Other than admitting what my own heart felt back then. I remember being so very glad it was you that found out my secret. Not like a lot of people didn't suspect. But suspecting, or even knowing, it isn't the same as having someone to share your world with. It was—a relief—to have someone see the real you. Someone I could trust. Talk to. I'm really glad it was you, Emily. Although, I'm pretty sure Becky had her suspicions," he chuckled darkly. "Most of the local kids found out about the supernatural one way or another."
"You can't live long on The Demon Isle and not find out, I'd wager." Emily shifted a little closer. "Did Becky see you use magic or something?"
"I was never totally sure. There was one time that maybe she did. But if so, she didn't ever come out and call me on it. I think she preferred the mystery of it."
"You mean that make any girl fall to their knees smile who wore that mystery," Emily teased.
"I suppose I did use that to my advantage, more than once..." he batted his eyes, an evil gleam settling in.
"Too bad it doesn't work on me," Emily claimed darkly.
Michael growled, intent to prove her wrong. "How fast can we get up to the bedroom?" But just as they were about to race up the stairs, his cell phone chimed. He let out a growl of a different kind, because this ding was a specific tone that only came from one person—Mackenzie Briggs—aka Mack, The Demon Isle sheriff.
Emily reached over to the coffee table since she was able to reach it for him and handed him the phone, hoping it wasn't some witchy emergency as she had other much naughtier plans in mind for their night. But when he read the text message Emily wasn't able to get a read on him right away.
"What is it?" she asked. "Don't tell me the world is ebbing toward disaster already."
"It's from Mack. There's been a death."
Emily slouched and sighed in disappointment, but hurriedly straightened herself to show her undying support.
"Okay. So, a death reading?" she assumed.
"Not sure." And he wasn't sure how to feel about what he was reading. And how strange that they'd been thinking back to their high school days minutes ago. Dark fate, perhaps? Magic working in yet more witchy and mysterious ways?
But the delay in his explanation had Emily on edge because she realized what he was processing...
"We know whoever died, don't we?"
"Yeah, we do. Did. It's um—it's Becky Gardiner."
"From school, Becky? Becky we were just talking about Becky? Wow. Shit. Wow." Emily plunked back against the sofa and they sat in befuddled silence for a moment until she broke the deafening quiet engulfing them.
"She was our age, Michael. What happened? How did she die?"
"Mack didn't say. Only that she was found dead in her home earlier today. I'm going to call."
The sheriff picked up with the sounds of someone purring naughtily in the background, and she giggled—actually freaking giggled—into the line before saying hello.
"Catch you at a bad time?" Michael teased, caught off guard.
Mack cleared her throat and told someone in the background to knock it off so she could do her dang job. Michael smirked and shook his head as he heard the sounds of the sheriff's feet padding away from someone, so she could speak privately.
"Just heading to bed actually," she replied a moment later all too innocently. "But I wanted to send you the news before it went live in the paper tomorrow morning and the entire Isle finds out. Plus, I might need your help."
"And here I thought you were in the same room as the man who runs the local paper?" Michael mumbled goodhumoredly.
Mack choked a little over her words and mumbled something about islands and small towns and can't keep a damn secret around here, but finally got out, "It's an island, Michael. Chances are Grace has already told half the dang town already. No use in holding off the article."
"Can't argue that. So what happened?"
"Found poor Becky lying dead in her bed this morning. Looking as peaceful as a woman who went to sleep and simply never woke up again."
"Shit. So no cause of death?"
"Not yet. Running
some tests and such, but initial exam shows no signs of foul play or anything natural or unnatural for that matter."
"You need a reading?"
"I hate to ask, Michael, seeing as you knew her and all. But yeah, it might be helpful to figure out what happened so we can give her family some closure. Thing is, we haven't reached her parents yet. They're traveling abroad, and Becky was home house sitting for a few months before she started a new job on the mainland."
"Okay. You need me tonight?"
"No. Come by around noon tomorrow. I can set up a private meeting so you and Becky can have a little—chat."
"That's one way to look at it I guess." Michael released an abrupt sigh. "See you then, Mack. Night. Oh, and um, tell Mr. Dante we said hello." He clicked off his phone to the sounds of Mack saying something along the sorts of "Oh good fucking Christ." And Michael could practically see the eyeroll Mack had to be making.
"Sounds like Mack is having a good night?" Emily quirked a brow.
"She and Nethaniel Dante are all cozied up—guess he finally won her over."
"Well, good for them. And Becky?"
Michael explained to Emily what little they'd discovered so far.
"Geez. Kind of puts witchy problems in perspective," said Emily a minute later. "I wasn't ever a fan of Becky's, but I'd never have wished this on her in a million years."
"Emily, you don't have a mean bone in your body."
"You didn't see me when you were dating Becky," she grumbled back.
"Becky couldn't hold a candle to you, she never could. I was dumb not to see it back then."
"I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it? Stupid to be jealous of a woman who's dead. What do you think could have happened?"
"It's unclear, and Mack's stumped. Becky had no known illnesses. No signs of foul play. Guess maybe we'll find out tomorrow if I can read anything from her death."
"And I don't need your abilities to see how much you're not looking forward to doing that."
