Meiner reached out, gently taking her hand again, pressing the apple back into her palm. “You know, I refused to take meds because I thought it made me seem weak. Like admitting I needed it meant I was broken. But that’s bullshit. Reaching out for help is what saved me.”
For a moment, Dayna just shut her eyes and let herself feel the warmth of Meiner’s hand, the cool surface of the apple.
She was so tired of being anxious.
Finally she opened her eyes and offered Meiner the apple back. “McIntosh.”
“What?”
“The third thing. It’s a McIntosh.”
Meiner grinned, and the expression lit something electric in Dayna’s stomach. She felt like she had that night in Meiner’s car. Impulsive, reckless.
Only this time it was the vacant apple orchard and the wind tangling through Meiner’s white hair and the edge of her razor-sharp smile that made Dayna feel a little drunk.
Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out and seized the collar of Meiner’s leather jacket, pulling her forward, pressing her lips to Meiner’s.
A second later she pulled back, lips tingling, cheeks burning.
It was a nothing kiss. Barely a brush.
The apple dropped out of Meiner’s hand, rolling on the ground at their feet.
For one beat, two, there was silence. She was still gripping the front of Meiner’s jacket. “You know, that isn’t usually how I do the three things trick,” Dayna whispered.
“Sorry.” There was nothing sorry about Meiner’s smile as she stepped toward her. Again, their faces were only inches apart, and Dayna stepped back, stomach fluttering, fingers still gripping the leather jacket. Meiner followed, until Dayna’s back touched the apple tree, the bark pressing into the bare skin of her shoulders.
Meiner smoothed one hand over Dayna’s jaw, running her fingers under her chin, tilting her face up. Their lips met a second time. She felt Meiner’s body along the length of hers. She was wrapped up in the scent of the other girl’s clothes and hair and skin, and tasting nothing but her mouth, and she wasn’t sorry either.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CORA
The older witches wanted to try yet another reading, and when Cora protested, Bronagh suggested she find Meiner and Dayna and head to the library for research.
Cora didn’t argue. The idea of getting out of the house was a good one.
Still, it was unnerving to see Bronagh taking over, making plans for them as Grandma King faded in and out. Back in the house, Cora had left the old woman shuffling around the living room, demanding to know why there was no record player. The King Witch had vanished once again, and Cora wasn’t sure how to feel in her absence. A little relieved, certainly, but disturbed all the same. Her training wasn’t going to happen if Gran didn’t hold herself together.
She paused outside the door of the farmhouse, squinting in the direction of the orchard. It was only a stone’s throw away, but the figures of Meiner and Dayna were standing beneath the farthest tree.
Cora frowned. They were awfully close. Were they…? Yes, they were. Her mouth tasted sour. There was something satisfying about calling in a cold, level voice, “If you two are about done, we’re going to the library.”
Meiner and Dayna sprang apart like she’d burned them, which only added to the satisfaction, though it faded as soon as she turned away.
Something tore at her chest as she headed for the car, leaving them to trail after her.
The sensation was painful enough to leave her momentarily breathless, and it had nothing to do with magic.
The city library was small, set in the center of everything. It had a tiny rose garden on the side, as if to make up for its lack of space, and a modest Ancient Mythology section. It was fairly empty on a Sunday morning, and she, Meiner, Dayna, and Reagan camped out in the window seat, spreading their bags and backpacks around them until they took up most of the available space.
Cora couldn’t concentrate. Scooping her bag up, she mumbled something about going out for a smoke before hastily exiting. Outside, she leaned against the side of the building, near the benches in front of the flower garden. Her thoughts kept going back to the scene beneath the tree, seeing Meiner kiss Dayna. More distracting still, the ebb and flow of voices in her head seemed to have picked up. The hissing whispers seemed to increase with every moment. Her bag felt like it weighed a million pounds, heavy with the metal box, with the dagger inside.
Her hands shook as she lifted the cigarette to her lips. Every time she looked at someone she thought about her sacrifice. What about the guy at the vending machine? Or maybe that boy across the street waiting at the bus stop? She tried to picture plunging the dagger into his chest. What would it feel like? What would it sound like? It made her feel ill.
And each time she hesitated, each time her stomach turned at the mere thought, the hissing increased. The goddess’s anger coursed through her. It was getting hotter every time, like her blood was slowly heating up the longer she put this off.
She had to get this done. She told herself it was to trigger her ascension, to become a full witch and help her coven, not because she was afraid of what the goddess might do if she refused.
Cora took a deep breath and tried to force herself to relax. In that moment she hated Grandma King and the goddess. She even hated herself, for her cowardice. She shouldn’t be this afraid. She was a witch.
A shuffle in front of her jerked her head up, and she saw him—a boy about her age, maybe a little older. He was wearing torn jeans and a band T-shirt that said Banshee Blood in bold writing across the front. He came around the corner and settled onto the bench in front of the garden, head bent over his phone.
Something shifted in the back of her mind. It felt like something uncurling, slow and lazy, and then a voice said, He will work, witchling.
Cora sucked in a breath, closing her eyes.
She could hardly cut his heart out in the middle of the rose garden, could she?
Follow him, witchling. Do not back down this time.
Shit.
There was a definite note of warning in the goddess’s voice. She was tired of waiting.
The boy stood up abruptly, phone to his ear. “Yeah?” He began moving for the sidewalk, still talking, and Cora frowned, straightening up. Maybe she could really do this. Maybe—
“Cora.”
The sound of Meiner’s voice brought her up short. She fumbled the cigarette, nearly dropping it.
“We’re running out to get sandwiches. You want to come?” Meiner’s voice was hesitant. The car ride over had been tense, and Cora had spent much of it fuming, but at the moment Meiner was a welcome distraction.
“Yeah. I’m starving.” She turned away, forcing lightness into her voice. “I could eat the twelve apostles right now.”
She was startled when Meiner actually grinned at her, and the expression seemed to ease some of that burning in her chest, just the slightest bit.
As Meiner turned to go back into the building, a flash of heat seared Cora’s insides. She staggered to a halt, bracing herself against the wall, teeth clenched. The sensation stayed longer this time, rippling through her core, setting her insides on fire. She clamped her lips shut on a scream. A second later the burning cut off, and she forced herself to stumble after Meiner.
The hissing whispers had dropped sharply in volume now, though there was a new kind of malevolence to them, and Cora swallowed hard. The warning had been clear enough.