Page 37 of Charmed, I'm Sure
“Nope,” she says with a pop of her p. “I was born here and come from a long line of witches that traces all the way back to one founder of this town, Izora Sinclair.”
My mouth falls open, and I point at her. “So, that’s what you…”
“Yep,” she says with a soft chuckle. “Izora Sinclair is my great grandmother from a few generations ago.”
“Are citizens here allowed to leave? Or are you…stuck?”
She shakes her head slowly. “We can leave, but most of us are either too terrified to leave town or just not interested in what the outside world offers.”
I shrug my shoulders because, fair.
“I can’t say that it’s grand out there, but I would love to show you my hometown one day.”
She comes to a stop in front of a Gothic, Victorian-style, two-story house that is, of course, all black. It sits on top of a small hill, with a cobblestone path leading to the front door. Rose bushes line the walkway covered in deep red roses that are almost black with how dark they are.
“This is me.”
I nod, suddenly not sure what to do with my hands or myself. This is honestly the most conversation I’ve had with her where she isn’t full of the same thorns adorning her rose bushes. I don’t want it to end or to lose the momentum I’ve made today.
“Uh, thanks for letting me hang at your shop today.”
She raises a brow. “You didn’t really give me much of a choice,” she says with a chuckle.
“I did,” I say. “You just didn’t take it.”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.
“Goodnight, Dog Boy.”
I smile my best smile. “Goodnight, Trouble.”
And for the first time since I met her…I think she didn’t mean that nickname with the same venom from the beginning. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.
Chapter Twelve
Moo-ve over, Romeo
Bellamy
The ward surrounding my shop hums in recognition of my sister’s magic. One of the perks of being twin witches is that our magic always recognizes the other’s. Down side? Both of our powers can dismantle the other’s as well.
“Don’t even think about it,” I call out, not looking up from my grimoire.
Elora’s voice is way too cheerful for someone who has clearly ignored my carefully constructed do-not-disturb ward I put around the shop on the way in this morning. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
I lift my gaze slowly, hoping that every ounce of annoyance literally drips from my expression as I stare blankly at her. “If you came here to lecture me about fate, I have bad news. I hexed him again this morning.”
She breezes over to me as if she owns this shop and I’m the one visiting. Her long, blond hair is perfect as always, even her skin shimmers with the reflection of her magic. It’s always practically glitter along her skin. With her cinnamon oat latte in one hand and her journal full of all her visions in her other hand, she comes to a stop in front of me. To everyone else she might look perfect, but I see the toll the visions are taking on her. It’s in the slight downturn of the corner of her lips and the darker than usual bags under hereyes.
“Bellamy, it’s not a bad thing to have someone show up in your life because the universe aligned it that way. It’s kind of beautiful, actually.”
I flip the pages in my grimoire a little harder than I need to. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from a seer. Would be weird for you to think of it as grossly manipulative. I’m not interested in being someone’s destiny, especially if I’m to be treated as if I’m the prize at the bottom of the cereal box.”
“You’re not a prize. Or a golden goose on a pedestal. That’s not what fate is,” she says gently, setting her coffee down on the table in front of me. “You are the perfect match for each other. A ying and yang. The blend of two souls in perfect harmony.”
“Even worse.”
Elora exhales, leaning against the table as she watches me pretend to read the words as my finger trails across the paper. She has always been the patient twin, the one who never seemed to have her feathers ruffled or a speck of anxiety. Even when we were infants, while I would scream and wail, Elora would lie there peacefully. Something my mother has not missed a moment to remind me of.