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There’s little hope of making my aunties see the light, and both Marta and I know this, so we give a non-committal resolution to schedule something, and shift the subject onto safer territories.
By the time we’re through with dinner, it’s well past ten in the evening, so we agree to stay the night.
“You know I have no interest in dating Mateo, right?” I tell Marta as we get ready to tuck in. Her room is minimal — just two twin beds, carved in cherry wood with tall bedposts and tucked against opposite walls, an imposing wooden armoire, and a walk-out window with a three-foot-wide balcony. Marta pulls back the covers on the bed further away from the window, so I take the other one.
“You say that now,” she says, and though she’s doing a good job keeping her voice even, her scent is piscine and briny. I’ve gotten better at discerning the scent of each emotion — especially when it comes to my cousin — and I know this means she’s upset. “But you might change your mind in a year or two. It’s not like you can be celibate for life.”
Her words are a gut punch, and I curl my legs to my chest. Marta knows. She’s the only living, breathing person who knows every detail of what happened between Tei and me, including the mark he carved on my chest.
And she believes he’s gone for good.
“I might. Dying a spinster sounds like a good deal, right now.”
Even in the darkness, my heightened senses don’t miss Marta’s eyeroll. “You’re being ridiculous. You have your entire life in front of you… if you think you won’t fall in love again, you’re more naive than I gave you credit for.”
I pick at a cuticle on my thumb. “It’s not that I don’t think I could fall in love, I think… given time, I might. It’s just that it wouldn’t be the same.”
“You don’t know that.”
But that’s the thing. I do. I can’t explain why or how I simply know; I could chalk it up to the fact that I carry a literal piece of his soul inside me, and how could I ever belong to someone else, fully and wholeheartedly, when he’s also always going to be there?
But deep down, I know that would only be half the truth. There’s something magnetic between us; we fit too perfectly to be coincidence. What we have is electricity — sure, there might be someone else out there able to light up the darkness, but it would be by candlelight. Nothing could compare to that brightness.
“Regardless. It won’t be Mateo. I’d never do that to you, and I need you to know that.”
Marta just shrugs. “Maybe it should be him. He’d give you powerful babies.”
I let myself fall back against my pillow. “I have no intention of having his babies.” The simple thought makes me want to throw up the dinner that still sits heavy on my stomach.
“If I ever choose to be with someone again, it won’t be someone from the coven. That much I can promise you.”
Marta gasps. “Àvia would never allow that.”
“She doesn’t have a choice. Think about it — you know how babies are made, yes?”
I intercept the pillow Marta throws my way before it can hit my face. “I’m serious. How exactly am I going to explain the giant sigil on my chest to another witch?”
I shake my head. To a mortal, I could pass it off as a tattoo, but another witch will immediately recognize it as a symbol of the Beyond, even if they wouldn’t know what it may mean.
“Maybe we can get it removed.”
At that, I grip my chest. There’s no universe where that is happening. “Go to sleep, cosina. I just wanted you to know that Mateo is safe from me; and if you want to pursue him, you have my support. Life is too short to live it lovelessly.”
“I could say the same thing to you.”
Her words haunt me even after I fall asleep. It’s the only reason I have to explain the dream I have, of my own death, of a lone grave, with no flowers, no visitors. No love.
I wake in the middle of the night drenched in sweat despite it being the dead of winter, and quickly shrug the heavy blanket off me. Venturing a look over to the other bed, I make sure I didn’t wake my cousin, but Marta is sleeping soundly, so I tiptoe out of bed and to the window. It creaks gently as I swing it open and step outside, closing it behind me to keep the room warm for Marta.
The night air is chilly and briny, and it dries my slick skin in no time. My body is still overheated, though, and the cold feels great. The night sky is clear, stars reflecting in the calmness of the sea. A gentle breeze makes the top of the fishermen’s boats sway, but no other noise carries. It’s complete peace, and I close my eyes as I take in the scent of the sea.
“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here too long dressed like that.”
I scoff. Marta still doesn’t realize all the changes the sigil has made to my body — one of which has been making me a furnace; I run hot all day, every day, now. I could lay out in a pile of snow and probably melt it.
“I’m —” my voice dies in my throat as my brain finally catches up to the sound of the voice that just spoke.
It wasn’t Marta’s.
