9
“Is this going to hurt?” I ask, a little more squawky than I’d like. I stare at the empty park, swings swaying in the cooling evening air, and wonder how I never knew a ley line ran through this place.
Grammy had to have known, but why she never told the rest of us, I don’t know. Frustratedly, I shake my head. Why didn’t she just pull an Aunt Hillen and slap me upside the head, demanding that I listen? Why didn’t she make it clear that I’d need to know all of this someday? She could have clued me in, told me why I needed to internalize every lesson she wanted to impart about this world and its inner workings, but she never did. She let me decide that it didn’t matter, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
I know in the grand scheme of things, none of this is her fault, it’s mine for not caring more. But I wonder why she never pushed to help me care more. Gwen being gifted made it seem like the selection was a done deal. I never thought that might not be the case.
Yes, I knew there was magic out there in the world, that bloodlines stretching back as far as the beginning of time could do incredible, unimaginable things. I was aware that witches had a world and society of their own, but I convinced myself that I was a Lesser. I refused to covet their abilities or dive into a world I knew, as a teenager, wasn’t as advertised.
I never sensed in myself what my grandmother so evidently sensed in me, then again I never wanted to. Now I wish I wouldn’t have let my anger blind me. I wish I’d spent more time seeing the truth and less time convincing myself that I’d never be a part of it. I’d categorized myself as a never going to happen, but I was wrong.
Guilt stings the back of my eyes as I close them. With a sigh, I take in the electric buzz of the ley lines running through this park, the magical hum washing over me from where we’re sitting in the car. I played at this place hundreds of times as a kid, but I never felt anything like the charge I feel here now.
I get the distinct impression of one large line with smaller lines branching off of it. It’s a spiderweb of connections all leading to other places just like this one, which is freaky when you think about it, and yet I can’t deny that I’m kind of excited at the same time.
I want to be annoyed with myself, with the eager feeling coursing through me, but how can I when this is just so epic? For one, vacations are going to be so much easier if I can just zap myself to the Bahamas instead of hopping on a plane. And a girl could really use some R & R when all this crap Rogan’s dragging me into is over.
“It doesn’t hurt, it’s more of an adrenaline rush than anything else,” he answers. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to travel them on your own though. You can get lost in them, overwhelmed by them, if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“How do you know what you’re doing?” I press as I stare out at the uninhabited space and try to see the lines that I can only feel.
“Elon and I both learned when we were around twelve,” he supplies.
“Oh, right. I guess that’s on par with the whole old and extra powerful magical line thing you’ve got going on,” I tease flatly.
“Something like that,” he responds just as flatly, and I wonder if that could have been me if I had just let it.
Rogan climbs out of the passenger side of my car, Hoot jumping down after him like the tiny little stalker he is. I don’t miss the fact that he doesn’t seem to like talking about his family much—well, other than his brother, and pretty much all I know about Elon is that he’s an Osteomancer and he’s missing.
My car door creaks as I open it, the sound loud and grating in the quiet of the empty parking lot. I’m surprised there aren’t more people out here, but I suppose the nights are starting to get colder, making it less inviting for late walks and adventures in the park.
Rogan grabs my duffel from the back seat, and I walk around my elderly SUV to meet him on the other side. A crisp breeze shoves my curls in my face, and I struggle to wrangle them back as the sun dips a little further down, and the shadows stretch out across the park like they’re rising from a deep sleep and are readying themselves for some mischief.
It’s a good night for magic.
I pause and warily look around me for a moment. Rogan starts walking to the middle of a sod-covered clearing, but I’m trying to figure out who just planted that thought in my head. I mean, how the hell would I know that it’s a nice night for magic? Or that the moon tonight is going to be a waxing crescent, with a harvest moon only eleven days away?
I give myself the side-eye.
“You’re a Blood Witch, so can you tell if my ancestors got it on with any lycans?” I ask as I hurry to catch up with Rogan. He shoots me a questioning look as I pull up even with him and Hoot.
“Why?” he asks. “You feeling the need to mark your territory or dig a hole and bury something in it?” he deadpans.
“Har har,” I mock laugh with a raised I’m not amused brow. “No, but the urge to drag my ass on carpet is getting stronger and stronger,” I snark, eliciting a quiet rumbling chuckle from Rogan. “I’m asking because I just went all Rain Man in my head about the moon, and that seems weird, or maybe I should say weirder than everything else has been so far. Why would witches care about the moon? Seems like it would be more of a Were trait,” I observe.
Rogan stops walking and looks at me like he’s not sure if I’m serious or not. “Fuck the Crone, you really are clueless,” he declares, scorn radiating out of his gaze. “Ruby should be brought up on charges for letting her line stew in such ignorance,” he states matter-of-factly, and immediately my hackles go up.
“You know, believe it or not, Rogan, Hemamancer of House Kendrick,” I quip, “not everyone gives a shit about the witching world of magic. This life isn’t exactly all that it’s cracked up to be,” I snap defensively.
How dare he come for my grandmother. She would have dropped everything to help him. I’ve seen and been on the receiving end of it enough to know how seriously she took it all. She doesn’t deserve his ridicule. I might, but not her.
“And what would you really know about this life? From everything I’ve seen, the answer to that is nothing,” he retorts dismissively.
“Please,” I snap. “I didn’t need to have magic to see what it does to the people around you who don’t. All the stories my aunts and uncles tell about their mother just up and leaving all the time because someone required her help. The stress and pressure it put on their father to never be able to count on her, to have to raise five children on his own until he keeled over from a heart attack. And don’t get me started on the fighting and backbiting this world causes. The way it taints people, makes them desperate to be powerful, to feel special, to want it so badly that they end up divided over it and lost. There’s so much collateral damage, look at what just happened to my cousin!”
I stop myself there. I don’t reveal any more, I don’t spill the other reasons I have that made me stop believing in the magic of magic. Rogan and I may be tethered, but it doesn’t give him an all-access pass into who I am and what’s made me that way.
“Grow up, Lennox,” he grumbles, throwing his hands up in exasperation.