Page 58 of Charmed, I'm Sure

She flips open to the first page and there, charcoal blooms across the first sheet. A woman in profile by firelight, hair unbound, a stubborn tilt to her chin. Even in the rough strokes, I know her. Those sharp cheekbones, the mouth that looks like it’s two seconds from either offering words of wisdom or hexing you into oblivion.

“Ivora,” I whisper, and the word tastes like Bellamy.

Elora nods, “One of our coven members from back thendrew this in honor of her as our founder. Ivora, at one point, had someone sketch Elias from her memory.”

She flips to the next sketch. A man stands with a pelt hung over one arm, broad-shouldered, messy curls, a smile that looks like it’s halfway between a grin and halfway to a snarl. Someone scrawled Elias in the corner, and beneath it, a single word: Alpha.

My throat tightens as I look at what could easily be me in 1665. It’s not an exact match, but the echo is still there. Him and me. Her and Bellamy. The shape of us in an era I never would have imagined I was part of.

“He was a wolf,” Elora says softly, “of a mountain pack that roamed the Whispering Pines before Pumpkinridge even existed.”

I huff out a laugh that I don’t feel. “That’s not funny, Fate.”

She turns one more page. A quick, smaller sketch. There at the feet of Ivora is none other than a sleek, black fox. One that looks awfully familiar…A name is inked beneath it in a sure hand: Milo.

Something electric snaps down my spine and I look away quickly. Squeezing my eyes shut, trying to block out the image. But it’s too late. It’s seared into my mind, playing behind my closed eyes.

Elora notices. “You see it, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight. “I see it.”

We sit with it…the image sitting there between us—four hundred years of threads tugging tight between the sketch and my skin. The binds that tie us echoing across the eras.

When my eyes flick back up to Elora’s, she isn’t looking at me. Her eyes are still roaming over the sketches. “When you’re ready,” Elora says at last, closing the folio, “the rest of her words are waiting. I won’t tell you the price she paid. It’s something you need to read for yourself.”

Elora bundles the diary back into its clothwrap, tucking the folio of sketches on top. “Don’t stay up too late reading it,” she says, though her smirk tells me she knows I will.

“I won’t. But first, I’ve got a witch to see,” I say with a soft smile.

She gives me a look like she’s examining my soul, weighing the truth. Outside, the air bites cold, the kind that sharpens every sound. We walk together to the cobblestone road, and Elora wraps her arms around herself as she turns towards me.

“You care about her,” she says, not a question, but a truth instead.

“Yeah,” I admit, shoving my hands deep into my pockets. “She might be stubborn, but I love every second of it.”

“She’s going to fight you every step of the way.” Her eyes crinkle. “But keep showing up anyway. She needs that. Someone who will weather every storm, no matter the cost.”

She taps my shoulder with her delicate hand. I watch as she drifts back up the path to her cottage, almost as if her feet aren’t touching the ground.

As I walk through town watching as the leaves fall across the path. The crisp air breezes across my flannel shirt, pushing me down the path towards Bellamy’s shop. I have no way to know if she’s still there, but I have to try at least. The journal entries sit heavy on my heart and mind, and I just wish she would let me talk to her about them.

The lights are off, the closed sign hanging in the window, but I stand there for a moment like the proximity to it will be enough. A shadow shifts in the front window. Nyx. I suck in a breath, maybe luck is on my side tonight.

Pushing the door open, I find him curling up into his bed until he sees me. He sits up and stares blankly at me.That’s right buddy, I know. I know all about how you can talk.

I walk over to him, squatting down until our noses are almost touching. “So…” I murmur. “You can talk, huh?”

He tilts his head, slow and deliberate, as if he wants to keep up the game just a little longer.

Bellamy comes from somewhere in the back. Nyx looks at her for a moment before looking back at me.

“Yeah, I don’t know what he’s doing,” Bellamy says as she puts her spell book back on the shelf.

I look over my shoulder at her. “Alright, I know you’retalking to Nyx.”

She smirks as she lifts an eyebrow in question. “Do you now? What makes you think that?”

I stand up, puffing my chest out. “I heard Astraea talk and she said that familiars do talk. Not in those words, but close enough.”