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I run a hand through my hair with a long breath. Why Mei is so invested in Esme’s journey into witchcraft, I truly cannot fathom. “Now we let Esmeralda get accustomed with her new reality. Study her mother’s teachings. She’s so new to her powers, anyway, that a grimoire would do her little good.”
“But what about —“
“About what, Meilin?” I snap. “The game? The curse? Is that what you were going to say?”
She chews aggressively on her bottom lip. “We only have —“
“Less than forty days left,” I cut her off again. “I’m perfectly well aware.” Abandoning my armchair, I pace my way to the piano. “And it’s not we, Mei, it’s Esmeralda’s time. If she fails, I will continue to do this in perpetuity. You could’ve left a long time ago, still can. Esme’s the one with a clock over her head. Let her spend her time as she pleases. She’s gotten farther than anyone else, so her methods are clearly working.”
Mei watches me with her head cocked, the same curiosity in her gaze as a child observing a peculiar feral animal behind the bars of a zoo.
“You have feelings for her,” she finally says with all the conviction of someone who’s pieced together a puzzle.
My scoff is all the answer she’s going to get, because I can’t make a lie believable enough to sway her. The ugly truth has been burrowing in my soul like a parassite for days. Mei is right, I do feel something for the little witch.
I’ve come to the maddening realization in her absence, heavy like lead on my chest. The feeling is entirely foolish, as if I haven’t learnt my lesson once already, and yet I can’t help it.
The thought that, if we fail, she’s the one who will be paying the price with her life, keeps me up at night. Some of the lives I’ve taken playing this game have felt pointless, but this is on a different level. When I imagine Esmeralda’s death, a piece of my soul leaves with her.
The doorbell saves me from dark thoughts of my little witch’s demise, or from Mei’s continued third degree. She tries to stop me by yelling “we’re not done having this conversation,” but her voice grows fainter behind me as I stride down the long hallway.
Esmeralda — still very much alive — is a sight to behold. She holds her canvas tote bag over her head as a makeshift umbrella to cover herself from the rain, but the droplets still find her, sliding down her gorgeous, long neck. Her skin is the same golden color, her copper hair a mass of waves piled high on her head, but something feels different about her.
Maybe it’s her short burgundy skirt, barely scraping the top of her thighs, or her marigold sweater that keeps sliding off one shoulder, baring the freckle-kissed skin there. Color suits her; it makes her look brighter, more alive. But it’s not just her appearance that’s different, it’s her aura, her energy. Power, however subtle, sizzles off her skin. Even her scent has grown stronger, sweeter with the aroma of apricots. If I smelled her like this, when we’d met, I’d have had no doubts about her witchcraft. It likely would’ve kept me away.
I can’t find it in me to be upset that it didn’t.
Holding her hand in mine, I pull her inside and shut the door behind her before backing her up against it. My fingers find the back of her head, twisting with her hair to tip her chin forward, then my mouth is on hers. She tastes like Mediterranean summers, like sweet olive oil cake dripping in honey.
She grins against my lips as she pushes me away with no real conviction. “This is why I wanted to study on my own. I knew we’d get nothing done.”
“I beg to differ.” I find her mouth again, punctuating my words with kisses. “I think this is getting plenty done.”
She mumbles, her lips still on mine. The vibration sends a shiver down my body. “But it’s not why I’m here.”
After stealing one last taste of her, I step away with my hands up. “Very well. Would you like to sit in the library? I can make some tea.”
She nods, running gentle fingers down my arms. Even her touch feels different, more electric. What kind of sick, twisted natural order made witches so enticing, and yet so dangerous to my kind?
By the time I join Esmeralda in the parlor, she’s deep in conversation with Mei. The ghost hovers cross-legged off the floor, while Esme sits on the couch with her feet tucked underneath her. Her muddy boots have been discarded at the door, and she’s draped her wet sweater over the back of an armchair, leaving her in just a small, lacy bralette and that short skirt. The thought of wanting to lick every inch of her exposed skin is one I don’t get under control quickly enough.
I hand her a mug of steaming earl gray before sitting next to her on the couch. “So, care to share the reason for your visit?”
“I can’t just want to spend some time with my friends?”
Mei’s entire face lights up in a ghoulish grin at Esme’s words. My stomach tightens.
Your friend isn’t the role I want to play in your life, little gem.
“If a friendly check in is all you’re here for, I can think of better ways to spend our time than to sip tea on the couch.”
Esme cough, sputtering the small sip of tea she just took, then nails me with a glare. I hold back a laugh. Was she trying to keep our tryst a secret? Too damn bad. I plan on branding her every which way I know how.
“Okay, maybe that’s not entirely why I’m here.” She reaches for the tote bag she dropped on the floor and fishes the spell book out of it. Flipping through the pages, she lands on one adorned with one simple drawing.
My body snaps to attention.
I’ve seen the symbol before. Many times in person, and many more in my nightmares. “That figure is etched on the coin.” The last trinket, the one we haven’t identified.
