Authors: Liz Reinhardt
I stomp out to the truck so fast, Jonas actually has to jog a little to keep up.
“Wren! Wren!” he calls.
“What?” I don’t mean to scream at him, but I don’t know where else to direct my fury.
“What’s up?” We slide into the truck and he turns my way before he starts the engine.
“I’m fine,” I grit out. So what if my hands are shaking and I’m grinding my teeth to nubs? So what if my freakishly lovely surprise cousin has invaded my life and seems hell bent on ruining my social plans and stealing my friend and maybe boyfriend? So what?
“You seem kind of pissed.” Jonas pulls out and starts for my house.
“I’m not,” I insist, but the annoyance in my voice screeches like nails on a chalkboard.
We drive right up to my house in total silence. Jonas starts to open his door when I get out.
“You don’t have to get out,” I say, ready to just collapse in my bed and forget Sakura, Loki, Jonas, Vee, Zivalus, and every other crazy aspect of my life.
“I’m walking you to your door.” There’s no argument.
I march ahead and he follows at a much slower pace, his hands straining the pockets of his jacket. At the crumbling concrete steps, I turn and face him.
“Thanks. A lot. That sounds bitchy, I know, but I really do mean it. I appreciate that you’re so concerned and everything. You’re super nice. And if this was a different time and I knew more about what the hell was going on and what’s up with this fox and my cousin and my grandma, it could be so—”
But I never get to finish my ramble.
Because Jonas leans in and kisses me. He takes his hands out of his pockets, curls them around my shoulders, pulls me to him, and puts his mouth over mine. He kisses like he’s taking a long, slow drink after running the track in the blistering heat. The way he kisses makes my head spin, and I have this deep-rooted desire to wrap my arms and legs around him and let him carry me wherever he wants so we can do whatever we want.
But just when I’m wet and dizzy and on the verge of moaning right against his mouth, he pulls back. The pop of his lips off mine is the only sound except for our heavy panting. I can feel the breeze on the saliva rimmed around my lips and my face burns a little from the raw scrape of his stubble.
“You’re welcome.” He takes two gigantic steps backwards and walks to his truck.
I take two gigantic steps backwards and almost kill myself falling into my front door. Those little animated birds are back, singing their hearts out and whizzing around my head. I double check Bestemor, float to my room, and try to muster up all the arguments I had against dating Jonas. I know there were some really good, solid ones.
Loki jumps up on my bed and licks her paws with a delicate pink tongue. I reach my hand out and she arches against my palm. My fingers settle into her soft, dense fur and when I rub her, I try to communicate through my skin the good, bursting feeling that clamors to get out of my heart and explode all over the place. Just petting her soothes me, makes me feel like I’m regaining the center that had just been spinning so completely off kilter.
In the dark of my room, I take deep, long breaths and imagine Jonas. I imagine being with him, unafraid of all the crazy wish mess that’s been wreaking havoc on my life. I imagine focusing on loving him. I imagine not being scared about how I feel when I’m around him.
I dated JR because I knew my heart would never, ever get tangled up in him. I avoided Jonas because I knew there was no choice but to get completely tangled up in him. And that scares me more than I can say.
“Loki, I think I’m falling for Jonas,” I whisper. She puts her little fox chin on her paws and looks at me like she hears every word and is waiting to hear more. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should stop being so scared of my own shadow and embrace things a little!”
Loki licks her paws with satisfaction, and it’s like that primal satisfaction hooks in and connects directly to me.
“So do you always talk to me? Or just when you feel like it?” I ask, because I want more than this blurry, buzzing feeling. I’m so much more comfortable with the words that communicate what she thinks and wants. Those are unignorable. I’m not nearly as sure about these feelings that pierce like they’ve been arrow shot from her little body to mine. Unfortunately, my mind resounds with silence. “Or maybe I’m just a lunatic, and I imagined you talking to me?”
Still nothing except the humming glow that ferries me toward an easy, sweet sleep.
I relax and roll over. I have an early tutoring session in the morning and a shift at the diner, plus loads of homework. I’m not looking forward to any of it, but those worries dissipate like fog in the morning sun.
I fall asleep and when I wake up, I make the decision not to look at the alarm clock. I get dressed and eat breakfast, and, like magic, when I finally check the clock, I have plenty of time to get to Immaculate for my session. This wish-fox business definitely has its perks.
I kiss Bestemor and rub Loki’s ears, then give in to the urge to gather her in my arms. She rubs a head against my shoulder and I stroke down her fur, feeling that vibration of calm strength seep from her body to mine. This fox is growing on me, or maybe even with me. I can’t deny how amazing it is to have her waiting for me when I get home, pleased to see me and ready to spread her particularly calming comfort over all my jittery worries. If I ignore all the worrisome magic components, she’s an awesome pet.
Pet.
Sakura threw a shit fit when I called Loki my pet. I have no idea why.
I’m glad the truck doesn’t give me any problems, and promise myself I’ll pick up a new battery. Maybe Jonas can help me put it in. Is it ridiculous that the thought of putting a new battery in my truck with him fills me with pure, giddy excitement?
I make a real effort not to sigh heavily when his name crosses my mind. I dreamed about his kiss all night, and I haven’t been able to stop myself from daydreaming about it since I got up.
How can one kiss feel that incredible?
I wonder about the fact that it was different last night. I didn’t turn into the golden-eyed sex freak I was the first time. Why?
“Wren? Wren?” Robert Adamson whines.
Robert is a sophomore with a major fragment problem.
“What is it, Robert?” I ask, a little more sharply than I intended.
“It’s just I don’t understand why this is a fragment, that’s all.” He taps his pen on the sentence I underlined with a friendly, non-confrontational green pen.
“Because it has a subject, but no predicate. Look, you’re telling me the who. You introduce Beowulf as courageous, strong, smart, and proud. You even tell where he came from and who his father is. But you never finish your thought. What did Beowulf do? All this introduction just hangs there.”
“But this can’t be a fragment,” Robert whines. “It’s so long.”
I sigh. A long, weary sigh. I love this job. I help other students, and I earn decent money doing it. But it can get very aggravating. Especially when I have to go from trying to explain sentence fragments to waiting tables to tackling homework. It makes for a super long day.
“Give me a predicate, Robert,” I demand. While he puzzles it out, cursing me under his breath, I daydream about Jonas.
Don’t be such a sissy,
a voice in my head hisses. I sit up so fast, Robert looks at me, his brows knit in confusion. I tap his essay and he gets back to work.
This is what you want?
The voice slithers through my ears and into my brain.
Really? Stuck in this musty room with a lackluster student correcting grammar? The rumor is that you’re the strongest of all of us! I find that really hard to believe.
Sakura.
Just like Loki, she was able to link into my brain and communicate with me. The aggravating thing is, I have no idea how to communicate back. How do I tell her to go to hell and get out of my damn head?
I think it as hard as I can, but all I hear is her laugh zinging through my brain, inflaming my neurons.
Wow! To think I thought I had something to worry about with you! It’s sad, really. I just want you to know, I’m not even going to bother taking you down. That would just be an embarrassment. You’re not a remotely worthy opponent!
I clap my hands over my ears, but, obviously, it does nothing to stop the voice that’s planted firmly inside my brain. Robert looks at me like I’m a lunatic.
“I’m fine,” I insist.
He quickly looks back at his paper, eyes as big as saucers.
The rest of Robert’s session is uneventful, at least as far as voices in my head go. And it remains pretty uneventful on the complete sentence front, too.
By the time I leave for the diner, I manage to convince myself the voice was a big figment of my imagination, the result of too little sleep and too much time mooning over Jonas Balto, coupled with aggravation at the sudden appearance of this mystery cousin.
But it happens again. Just a little prick this time when I’m waiting on a table, and wish for some particularly rude customers to get lost. I still have a gnawing shakiness when I will myself to wish, but they leave suddenly and drop a decent tip on the table to boot, so I’m happy.
That’s that best you can do! Why not wish a fiery car crash on them? They were rude enough to you. But you seem like you enjoy being stepped on.
I swallow hard and keep going, focusing on paying attention to my orders and keeping a smile etched on my face.
But the voice doesn’t go away.
That dark haired waitress is making all the big money. You should wish she trips over her skates so you can take her place. If you’re going to be a crappy waitress, you might as well make big money.
Ooh, that guy is hot. His girlfriend just went to the bathroom. Slip him your number and wish yourself a hot night after he drops her off. The gods know you need a good screw.
Did your boss just yell at you again? Wish that jackoff an embolism. That would be too nice.
Sakura’s voice peels away all of my focus and happiness and leaves me emotionally stripped. When I hear her words in my head for the tenth time at the end of my shift, I can’t stand it anymore. I drop what I’m holding and clap my hands over my ears.
The other waitresses turn to look at me, my eyes screwed shut, ears plugged, shaking my head like a lunatic. The two orders of chili cheese fries I was about to bring to my booth sludge down my skirt and plop onto my shoes, but I’m beyond caring.
“Wren?” Macie tugs on my elbow and exposes one ear. “Wren, sweetie, are you alright?”
I nod, tears wobbling on the rims of my eyes. “I have, um, a really serious migraine. Like I think I might puke.”
Luckily my coworkers are wonderful, sympathetic people and they jump into action around me. Pammy and Jimmy clean up the mess, Macie leads me to the back office and gets me a glass of water and some aspirin, which I actually do need. I don’t have a migraine, but my head is pounding.
Tony, my boss, checks in on me. His face, usually intimidating with its huge, blond beard and fierce eyebrows, is lined with sympathy.
“You did a good job today. Take a load off, kid. When you feel better, clear out. Macie has your tables covered. Get some rest.”
I thank him, my voice tiny and weak, a wilted stem of a voice, and that makes me sad. I walk to the office bathroom and stare in the industrial square of a mirror. Who is this tiny-voiced, mind-losing girl staring back at me?
By the time I pull in at my house, word of my breakdown has spread. Nevaeh sits on the steps, tapping her shiny nails against the planter at her side. She leaps at me, drags me in the house and pushes me on the bed. She plunks an icy mask scented with lavender over my eyes and tugs my chili-encrusted poodle skirt off.
Loki paces at the foot of the bed, rubbing a persistent head on my ankles.
“Sorry, but you stink like diner fries!”
I hear her throw my skirt into the hamper and feel the depression of the mattress when she sits down. Loki trots up and nestles against my side. I spoon an arm around her and run my fingers through her fur, my rough day instantly smoothed around the rough edges.
“Things are getting weird, Vee. Really weird.”
“Tell me.”
I go back and fill her in on every strange detail, every unexplained, perplexing inconsistency in this mess while Loki purrs at my side.
Nevaeh’s so quiet when I finish, I slide the ice-mask off of my eyes and peek to confirm she’s still there. She licks her lips, her eyes wide and hazel. Calculating.
“What do you think?” I ask and nudge her leg.
She pulls a huge book out of her purse. Its title is
Rudimentary Guide to Familiars,
and the cover is plain maroon with white letters.
“Zivalus took me to the city and we got this at some dive bookstore. You really have to read it.”
Vee pushes the book my way and lets me flip through it for a minute. It’s dense and chock full of tiny writing that makes the headache that was about to go away flare up again. “What did it tell you?” Loki’s nose nudges my hand, and I pet her again, my nerves relaxed with the balm of her loyal affection.
“Tons. More than I had time to read. But there’s a whole chapter on foxes. The basic idea is that foxes can sometimes bond with particular witches and they work as a destiny-fulfilling team. And that sometimes people steal foxes from each other to try and force a connection. But a fox and a witch have to connect on a certain level, and it can’t be forced. The most connected witches can actually hear things their foxes say. Like the foxes can speak to them.”
I listen. My ears are wide open.
But the words refuse to make sense.
“Back up a second. Witches?”
Witches? Witches who work with foxes? Witches who hear foxes in their heads? I’m a freaking witch! My little problem is multiplying exponentially right in front of my eyes.
Chapter 12
“A witch? A witch!” I fan my hands in front of my face, wild flaps that do nothing to make me feel better. Loki sits up and watches me with puzzled gold eyes.