Page 4 of Extraordinary Quests for Amateur Witches

That night, long after the mugger was taken into custody, Kieran sat at his bedroom window watching as snow covered up the tracks on the sidewalk.

Delilah had fawned over him for hours, stress baking until Kieran had had to politely inform her that fifty mini cupcakes were plenty when it came to eating his feelings.

Briar, meanwhile, had paced the living room, muttering about how they should probably move to a safer neighborhood once she had a steady job.

The whole time, Kieran had sat under a pile of blankets, staring at a wall despondently.

The only positive thing about the whole evening was that the girls were so caught up in the attack that they completely forgot to ask about Kieran’s date.

He let out a sigh, turning away from the window. He’d tell them in the morning. Luckily, he had the day off tomorrow, so at least he didn’t have to worry about putting on a fake smile at work while he took coffee orders.

Kieran stood. His room was still bare six months after he’d moved in.

He’d gotten the smaller of the apartment’s two bedrooms, but it still had enough space for a bed, a desk, and a little reading nook in the corner by the window.

His bed was a tangle of sheets and pillows, while his desk was covered in stacks of books and old cups of coffee.

He shoved them out of the way as he sat in the creaky old wooden chair he’d snagged off the curb when they first moved in.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he might as well get something done in the meantime. Hopefully, something that would help him get his mind off the fact that this might well have been in the top ten of worst nights of his life thus far.

It’s just a break, Kieran reminded himself. He could change his mind and take me back.

The mere thought felt hollow.

Kieran sighed, then reached to where his coat hung over one of the bedposts and withdrew a small leather-bound journal from a pocket.

It was his book of poems. He’d only started writing a few months ago when Delilah had asked him which form he wanted his magic to take.

Up until then, he’d always envisioned himself doing something elegant and sophisticated, but he’d never actually picked anything.

After a few miserable days trying to learn how to play the violin, and a few more smearing watercolors in a sketchbook with the skill of a drunk toddler, he’d elected to go with poetry.

After all, being a tortured poet felt right: He could get his feelings out and cast spells all in one fell swoop.

Granted, he hadn’t quite gotten the whole spellcasting part down yet—each time he’d tried to weave magic into the words, he’d been unable to focus enough to summon magic and write at the same time. He figured it would come in time as he honed his craft. Writing first, magic second.

Kieran cracked open the journal to the next clean page.

It stared back at him as he took a pen from a jar at his side and chewed absently on the end.

He decided to start with just writing down each snippet of thought that had been on repeat in his mind all evening.

Everything Ash had said at the restaurant, the fear Kieran had felt when the attacker had pointed the knife at him, and ultimately the self-loathing that bubbled up from both.

Kieran Pelumbra: world’s worst witch and even worse boyfriend.

Tears welled. Kieran felt a strange sensation in his chest, almost like the twinge of something alive between his ribs. He tapped his pen against the page, staring at the words before him.

He flipped to a new page and began to write.

As soon as the lines were on the page, the sensation in his chest became stronger, engulfing him in warmth.

It was strange but pleasant. The more Kieran wrote, the better he felt.

He’d kept everything bottled up for so long that letting himself finally feel was more freeing than he’d anticipated.

While he’d written plenty of poems, something about this one was different. This one felt… alive.

He worked at it, picking out the knots in the words, for hours.

For the first time since he moved in, his bedroom didn’t feel frigid.

The air had an almost palpable electricity and warmth to it.

Kieran’s hand moved quickly, slashing through words and rewriting new ones in their place. It was raw, and painful, but freeing.

This is how art is supposed to feel, he thought.

As the sky outside began to turn pink with the sunrise, Kieran sat back in his chair, staring down at the page before him. He finished it with a title, nodding to himself.

Better Off, he’d written, by Kieran Pelumbra.

You met me downtown on a snowy night,

But a blizzard could never be as icy cold

As what you said to me:

“I can’t be what you want.”

But how can you know

What my shattered heart yearns for?

Have you considered that what I want

Is a life where I deserve you?

Instead of this one, where I’m nothing

But a whisper on the frigid winter wind—

Imperceptible, barely a memory—

To you, the only man I’ve ever loved.

Maybe in a different time, sooner than later,

When I’m worthy of your tender heart,

When I’m confident, sure, and skilled,

You can see me again

And I’ll be something better than the boy

You left downtown on a snowy night.

He liked it. There was still work to be done to polish it, but it felt good to express his feelings honestly.

It helped that the weight that had been hanging heavy inside him seemed to have dissipated as he worked, and for the first time in hours, his shoulders relaxed.

Kieran stood, closed the book, and took a deep breath.

I’ll talk to Ash when I wake up, he silently promised as he crawled into bed. And apologize for everything. Maybe I can convince him that I can change and stop comparing myself to others so much.

And maybe then he’ll decide we don’t need a break.

The moment he shut his eyes, Kieran fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

The next day, after scraping together a few hours of sleep, Kieran woke up with a new sense of purpose.

Sure, Ash seemed set on leaving him for being an insecure ass, and yes, he’d had to depend on his sister and her girlfriend to defend him from a mugger, but that was yesterday.

New dawn, new day, and all that. He could fix this.

Kieran caught the trolley near their apartment and took it across town to the Gellingham Library, better known as the Library of Curses for its sweeping collection of cursed scrolls, tomes, and slates.

Cursewriting had long been illegal in Celdwyn—with magic removal being the typical punishment for witches who defied the Council—but the library was still one of the most bustling hubs for witches in the world.

Ash’s apprenticeship there was a testament to how good he was at what he did.

The only downside was that witches who had yet to pass their Calling weren’t allowed inside.

Which meant that for half an hour, Kieran stood outside the front entrance, shivering in the snow, waiting for Ash’s shift to end.

The entire time, he rehearsed what he was going to say: I’m so sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough for me.

I swear I’ll be better. Just give me a chance.

When Ash finally appeared, Kieran’s heart leapt. The other boy had shadows under his eyes, and Kieran wondered if maybe he’d had trouble sleeping last night too. Maybe he was having second thoughts about the break.

“Ash!” Kieran called, waving a hand in the air. “Wait up!”

Ash, however, didn’t turn. He was heading toward the trolley, seeming not to have heard Kieran’s shout. Kieran cursed under his breath, then jogged to catch up with him, careful not to step wrong on the cobblestones and twist his ankle.

“Ash!” he tried again. The other boy didn’t so much as look up at the sound of his voice, staring ahead. Kieran felt a stab of hurt—he knew they hadn’t exactly ended on the best of terms last night, but Ash’s flat-out ignoring him seemed a little juvenile. “Hey!”

Kieran was right next to him now, but despite his saying Ash’s name a few more times and waving a hand at him, Ash didn’t respond. Kieran’s forehead wrinkled. Is he really that mad at me?

“Ash, come on,” Kieran said, walking beside him. They had reached the crosswalk, and Ash checked both ways before heading forward. As he turned his head to the right, he looked Kieran directly in the face.

Still, he didn’t react. He simply stepped into the crosswalk, unfazed.

“Ash, seriously!” Kieran reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “Can we just talk—”

“Ah!” Ash yelped at Kieran’s touch. He flipped around, pressing a hand to the spot where Kieran had touched him. His eyes darted back and forth, passing over Kieran more than once. He muttered under his breath, “What was that?”

Kieran blinked. Huh?

In lieu of a better idea, Kieran reached out and poked him. “Hello?”

Ash jumped again, eyes widening. He said, “Okay, this isn’t funny. Whoever that was, show yourself. I’m not sure how you managed an invisibility spell, but you got me.”

Invisibility spell? Kieran hadn’t cast anything of the sort.

At least, not on purpose. And it wasn’t as if other people hadn’t seen him today—Delilah had said goodbye to him when he left the apartment, and the ticket taker on the trolley had given him a dirty look as he’d dug through his pockets trying to find his trolley pass for a few moments too long.

He hadn’t successfully managed to cast a spell that did more than a create a few sparks, well…

ever. The closest he’d ever gotten was when he was writing—

His stomach dropped.

Poetry.

“No,” Kieran muttered under his breath. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his poetry notebook. Last night had felt different. The way the words had flowed, the way he’d tapped into a well of emotion in his chest and it had been so cathartic. Could that have been…?