Page 38 of Charmed, I'm Sure
“You know when you were babies, you always were the one to give us the most issues. Always screaming or crying no matter what your father and I did. Unlike Elora, she was always smiling, cooing, and quiet. Some things never do change.”
Insert the heaviest eye roll you can imagine. Like I ever had a choice in how I behaved as an infant. Regardless, in our mother’s eyes, I chose to be the problem.
“I had another vision.”
“Great,” I mutter, flipping the page. “Is this the one with my tragic death? Don’t tell me I choke on my favorite gummy bats and perish in the sugary stickiness? Because honestly, I’d prefer that to this conversation.”
“No,” she says. “It’s the same one. You and him. Except I’ve been given more. He’s not just who our Goddesses want you with. He’s your fated mate. So even his Moon Goddessbelieves in you. Just like with Calix, our great Uncle, you are fated to a wolf.”
I go still. “Yeah, and look how well that worked out for him. Mad with grief after poachers killed his mate for her fur, he ripped a hole in the veil between the living and the dead. In his pursuit to bring her soul back, he perished, spending far too much magic at once to keep it open. So go ahead and put me down for a no, thanks.”
There’s a long pregnant pause. I know she’s considering what to say. She knows the stories. The room fills with the scent of warming herbs and a flicker of tension.
“You know how this works, El,” I say, quieter now. “Every seventh generation, twins are born to the Sinclair line. One light, one dark. And every single dark twin? Dead. Tragically. Burned at the stake, cursed to live a painful life, or the one who was turned into a tree? It doesn’t matter. The story ends the same.”
I’ve spent years reading over ever single tome that I could, doing everything I could to find a way to break the curse. It hurt to watch my sister flourish, making connections with others, and being accepted by our coven. Meanwhile, the more I learned, story after story, all the way back to Ivora, the further I recessed into myself. Why bother building friendships? So I can hurt them with my untimely death? Pfft, don’t even mention romantic endeavors. The idea of building a life with someone so I can shatter their heart, take half their heart with me, and leave them a hollow version of themselves? I couldn’t do that to anyone. Which is why I’ve never dated, let alone spoken to the opposite sex outside of customers.
Elora’s voice softens. “You’re not them. I’ve seen how this story unfolds. I know the story, Bells. I hate that you’ve had this dark cloud over your head since we were children. If I could switch with you, I would. I want to see you smile like you did before we learned about the dark twin fate. Gosh Bells, I miss when we used to just hang out with other witches. I know why you pulled back, and I get it. But, I’ve seen it. I know you can get there again. You just have to lethim in.”
“Be that as it may,” I meet her gaze, “I will be. That’s what fate means, El. And I’m not interested in dying dramatically for some great cosmic love story. You may have seen it play out, but we both know the threads of fate are ever-changing. It might not be my magic, but I still studied it right along with you.”
She studies me for a moment, sadness creeping into her expression. “You know…you can fight fate all you want. But don’t be surprised when it fights back. You can fight it all you want, but I’ve seen all the versions of this story. You still end up together. Some of them, it’s soon. For some of them, it’s a while from now. But regardless of the path, he still shows up for you every single time.”
Before I can respond, the door chimes again. Something that shouldn’t happen with the ward that I cast.
I glare at Elora, who only smirks before she winks and turns away.
Speaking of the golden retriever.
Miles steps in with two cups of coffee. One that is mine and one that is his. Balancing on top of the two coffees is a brown paper sack that smells suspiciously like cinnamon rolls made by Maisie, the old earth witch who runs The Crumb Cauldron. I cut my eyes at him. Did he stand in her long line this morning to get me a Witch’s Swirl Cinnamon Roll? The ones that she sells out of in the first thirty minutes of being open??
His hair is still pink and perfectly tousled. His curls look so soft that I itch to run my fingers through them. Wait, where did that come from?
He walks over to me, his face bright with happiness and a smile that would knock someone off their feet. He sets the coffees down in front of me, and I eye his sweatshirt that reads, “Professional Menace, Amateur Ghost Wrangler.”
I hear the door chime, and I lean to peek around him to glare at Elora. She lights up with the kind of knowing smile that makes me want to hex everyone within a ten-foot radius of me. She puts a finger beside her nose and wigglesit. Something we’ve done as a running joke since we were kids and watched witch movies.
“Good luck,” she mouths to me.
Turning to Miles, she says, “Have a Mootastic day today, Miles.” With a giggle, she closes the door behind her.
“What?” He blinks.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly. “Nothing at all. So do you just have an endless supply of these sweaters?”
“Actually, they keep appearing in my closet every morning. I thought it was just another quirk of this town.”
“You know you don’t have to bring me coffee every morning,” I murmur, fingers curling around the warm paper cup. It’s my exact order I always get from Hex & Harken. Down to the oatmilk and cinnamon dusting. He was there one time when I ordered this and he’s memorized it.
“I know,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his ridiculous hoodie, “but I wanted to. The best witch in the whole world deserves to start her day off with the magical bean juice. Also thought maybe you would hex me a little less if I brought offerings. I read somewhere that if you give offerings to the Goddesses then you will receive blessings.”
“I’m not a Goddess, Miles.”
“You are to me,” he says as he takes a drink of his coffee.
His words catch me off guard, heat prickling up my neck before I smother it with a raised brow. “I see you are still wearing the pink hair.”
He grins. “That feels like affection at this point.” His fingers twist around one of the glittering pink curls. Soft. Fluffy.AndGoddess I would imagine they’d feel amazing tangled around my hand.Wait? Where did that come from?