Page 106 of The Witch's Pet

I let myself in through the back door and kick off my shoes. The house is deafeningly silent. No TV left on, no signs of life, just emptiness waiting to swallow me whole.

The floorboards creak under my feet as I shuffle like a zombie toward the couch, where I summon my very last drop of energy to call in sick to my 10 a.m. shift at Book Nook.

I pass out before I even put the phone back down.

It’s mid-afternoon by the time I wake up, groggy and aching, and try to go through the motions of normal life. I shower off the dirt and sweat and evidence of the night, avoiding looking at the marks all over my body. I make coffee with shaking hands. Sit at my kitchen table and stare at nothing.

There’s no binding spell squeezing my chest, no magical presence making the air electric. Just me and the quiet.

This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Freedom. My life back. University next year, a chance to start my life for real.

So why does it feel so awful?

I try to eat toast and nearly choke on it. Try to watch TV but can’t focus. Crawl into bed to try and sleep more, but every time I close my eyes, I see her face as she admitted she was afraid of hurting me.

This is for the best. We’re too different. She’s a century-old sanguine witch who feeds on life to survive; I’m an ordinary twenty-year-old who just wanted to get over a breakup and start a career. We make no sense.

But my fingers keep tracing the marks she gave me. My body keeps remembering the weight of her on top of me, the sound of her comingapart, and the way she looked at me when the binding broke—surprised, uncertain, almost hopeful.

So why did she leave?

I keep reminding myself that I’m better off without her, but it’s increasingly hard to convince myself that what we had was forced there by magic and spells.

If that were true, shouldn’t these feelings have gone away? Why do I miss her so much?

Maybe I don’t want to be normal anymore. Maybe I liked the danger and darkness and Julia’s terrible, wicked beauty.

The temperature drops as the sun begins to set, casting the house into amber and shadows.

I should eat, and call Dean, and doanythingexcept sit here wishing last night ended differently.

I force myself to stand, my legs stiff from sitting too long. The house is freezing because I forgot to turn the heat up when I got home.

I kneel in front of the hearth to light the fire, which also reminds me of her since this is the first place she fed from me.God dammit.

As I reach for the kindling, something moves in my periphery.

My heart jumps.

I leap to my feet, peering out the window into the backyard.

Past the dead grass, past the ash and debris strewn across the lawn from last night, a shadow moves in the forest.

And there, standing among the skeletal trees and the carpet of orange leaves, is Julia.

33

Julia

ItoldmyselfI’dleaveher be.

I made it an hour from Elizabeth’s before the hunger dragged me back—not the binding spell this time, nor the familiar hunger for life force, but something else I have no name for.

A tracking spell proved easy this time, now that her essence flows through my veins.

The forest behind her house welcomes me like an old friend as I stalk through the shadows. There’s a trail here, slick and well-trod from people and animals. A man jogs past within arm’s reach, his life force warm and inviting. The old Julia would have taken him without hesitation. But he is so dull and tasteless compared to what I’m craving.

I can see Hannah through her windows. She shuffles around her house with a solemn, listless energy. She sits for an hour at the table, not moving, not eating. Lights turn on and off as she travels from room to room. Over and over, she touches the marks I left on her skin and examines them in her reflection.