Page 31 of Extraordinary Quests for Amateur Witches

“And you’re also the only one in the family who was born with such a special purpose,” his father cut in.

He reached out, putting a hand on young Kieran’s shoulder.

Kieran winced: From the outside, the gesture might look comforting, but he was all too familiar with it.

It was a power play on his father’s part, meant to hold him in place if he tried to draw back or run.

“You have so little time, Kieran. Do not waste it on something that will only cut it shorter.”

At Kieran’s side, he heard a sniffle. He glanced down to see that Little Kieran had begun to cry, wiping tears away with his fists. Kieran’s chest ached. Despite the years that had passed since this moment, it still made him want to cry too.

“He wanted me to stay weak,” he said to no one in particular.

Little Kieran and Seaweed looked up at him as he continued: “That was his plan all along. Keep me uneducated in magic and complacent so there was no chance I’d be able to defy him.

No chance I’d defy the family.” He sighed.

“And I’m still weak. I guess he succeeded at that in the long run. ”

Little Kieran frowned at him. “You’re not very nice, you know that?”

Seaweed chirped in agreement.

“Not very—what?” Kieran wrinkled his forehead. “I’m just saying—”

“Come on,” Little Kieran said, snapping his fingers. The vision in front of them vanished. “You’re still not getting it. Follow me.”

“Still not getting what?” The younger boy ran off again, Seaweed on his heels, and Kieran groaned. “Oh, come on. ”

He ran to catch up. He wished he could see the sky better—time was beginning to feel a bit too nebulous for his taste, and not being able to track the sun wasn’t helping. He could have been following his younger self for minutes or days—he couldn’t be sure.

Anxiety tightened his throat again. If he was gone for too long, it would give Elias time to catch up with them. All he knew was that running through the brush had scraped up his exposed skin, and the wound on his neck still throbbed whenever his heart rate rose.

Finally, Little Kieran stopped. He waved Kieran over as a new vision appeared before them, reflected all around in the trees.

Kieran recognized it instantly. This was himself eight months ago, wearing all black as he prepared to run away.

He was minutes from heading to the Pelumbra airfield, where the aeroship he’d decided to steal with Santiago, Ariel, and Adelaide was parked.

The curse had begun to progress, leaving him pale and thin but not yet withered, as he’d been in the funeral vision.

In his hands, he held either side of a large portrait.

“Remember this?” Little Kieran asked.

Kieran nodded. “It’s the night I ran away—I was terrified. I was so sure I was going to get caught. But at that point, I knew it was either run away or just…die. So I ran.”

In the vision, the other Kieran held the painting up.

It was a familiar one—a portrait of Kieran with his parents, all dressed in finery.

None of them were smiling. Kieran remembered the afternoon they’d spent sitting for it—how his mother had kept standing up to correct the painter, her annoyance palpable.

Make Kieran look like he’s sitting straighter.

Make my waist narrower. Could my husband be taller?

All the while, Kieran had sat silent, his father behind him like an evil entity ready to spirit him away if he so much as breathed wrong.

“They got that made to use at my funeral,” Kieran said, feeling his shoulders sink. “Father had noticed that the curse had begun to impact me physically, so they wanted the painting finished before I got worse. It was a way to memorialize me before I even died.”

In the vision, the other Kieran withdrew something from his pocket—a steak knife, stolen from the kitchen.

Gritting his teeth, he stabbed it into the portrait, ripping it down the canvas so it tore with a satisfying rip.

He hacked at it until he’d cut a triangular piece free: the painted image of himself, sitting with his back straight and hands folded neatly in his lap.

He stared at it for a moment, a scowl on his face.

Kieran remembered the way rage had bubbled up inside him at the sight—physical proof that his parents had long given up on keeping him alive, if it had even been a priority in the first place.

His entire life he’d been the perfect martyr—so kind, so giving, so patient.

And he was tired of it.

The other Kieran crumpled the painted image of himself in his hand before tossing it sideways into the roaring fireplace. He flipped up his black hood as the flames licked up the side of his painted face, turning it to cinders.

He shot the burning image one more look before whispering, “I’ll never be you again.”

The vision vanished, the last ashes of the image the final thing to go. Kieran felt as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. To see all those versions of himself back-to-back, pain and loathing tingeing each of them, was overwhelming.

All he’d wanted when he ran away was to get away from that. To be the master of his own destiny. To be someone who wasn’t just the family sacrifice.

To be anyone other than Kieran Pelumbra.

Little Kieran tugged Kieran’s sleeve, and when he looked down, he found the child crying. Seaweed let out a small whimper at the sound.

“Is that still what you want?” Little Kieran asked. “To not be me anymore?”

The words felt like needles driven straight into Kieran’s chest. He thought back to telling Delilah soon after they met that he wanted to distance himself from who he’d been.

At the time, it had felt like the most practical solution.

Burn his old self with the fury of a forest fire so something new could grow in its place.

But nothing had. Just an emptiness that only seemed to spread and spread.

“I…I don’t know,” Kieran admitted.

“You don’t have to be me,” Little Kieran said. He reached into the waistband of his pants and withdrew something silver. “If you don’t want to.”

The child held it out to Kieran, and with a start, he realized what it was: a long staff with a pointed end, sharp enough to stab.

Kieran reached out and carefully took it, immediately feeling an electric hum of magic coming off it.

At the sight of it, Seaweed jumped back, bristling and hissing.

Kieran’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was looking at.

This was the Stave.

Little Kieran’s arms dropped as Kieran turned the Stave over in his hands, eyes wide. The boy was sniffling, trembling slightly. Kieran’s eyes flicked back to him, but the child wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“All you have to do is put it through my heart,” Little Kieran said. He was doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip but wasn’t particularly successful. “And I’ll be gone. You can be whoever you want.”

Kieran opened his mouth but closed it again.

Was that what he wanted? To truly be able to start over?

He’d wanted that so badly when he’d first fallen for Ash.

Ash’s family had hated the Pelumbras, and Kieran had felt even more inclined to change his identity because of that.

If he could just reinvent himself—be someone else—then maybe he could be happy.

Not a body in a coffin or an angry teenager or a crying little boy.

Kieran’s hand tightened around the Stave. It felt heavy and cold against his palm. Seaweed squeaked in alarm at his feet.

Little Kieran sniffled. “Please make it quick.”

Kieran blinked as tears welled in his eyes.

He raised the Stave, his pulse quick. His eyes went to Little Kieran, with his chubby cheeks and teary eyes.

He’d been so small back then. He’d believed that his mother truly loved him and he was special.

Sometimes, in secret, he’d use a tiny spark of magic to make the flowers bloom early, a smile breaking across his face every time he saw their petals unfurl. He’d been innocent. Happy.

Before everyone had failed him.

It had never been his fault. All those moments that had broken him down, one after another, had been because of other people’s selfish desires.

He’d never been enough for any of them. Not his mother, or his father, or even Ash, if he was being honest. Ash was just another person in the long line of people who had looked at him and decided that there was nothing permanent about Kieran Pelumbra.

With a shuddering breath, tears streaking his cheeks, Kieran dropped the Stave.

His younger self barely had time to blink before Kieran bent down and threw his arms around him, pulling him tightly against his chest. The little boy stiffened for a moment before he melted into his older self’s arms, crying quietly against his shoulder.

Seaweed too hopped up, snuggling between the two of them.

“I’m sorry no one stood up for you,” Kieran said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“And no one was there to step in when things got bad. I wish I could go back in time and protect you from them. You didn’t deserve that.

Nor did you deserve the way I acted like it was all your fault.

I just didn’t want to face how much it hurt to think about the past. I thought if I was someone else, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so broken anymore, but…

I’m never going to be someone else. I’ll always just be Kieran. ”

“Maybe that’s not so bad,” the child in his arms whispered between sniffles.

“Yeah.” Kieran squeezed him even tighter. “Maybe it’s not. Not if I get to give you the life you always deserved. I…just have to figure out what exactly that is.”

“Thank you.” The little boy nuzzled his face deeper into Kieran’s shirt, holding on to him as if he was the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I’ll make you proud someday,” he said. “I promise.”

The little boy squeezed him back. “You already have.”

The next moment, the weight against Kieran vanished.

He opened his eyes to find himself alone in the trees, save for Seaweed squeaking at his side.

Below him on the grass sat the Stave, framed by the silver-green grass.

He reached for it, careful not to let it get close to Seaweed, who shied away from it as if it were a flame.

Kieran saw his own face mirrored back in its surface, eyes red from crying.

But after everything, it was still him. And maybe that wasn’t so bad.