I search for something glib or neutral, but I can’t find it. “Fine,” I say, and instantly want to snatch it back. The word feels like an insult to both of us.
Luna quirks a smile, the kind that says she’s heard every lie and every confession in the book, and she’s never once let it change her opinion of someone. “You don’t have to say you’re fine. If you want to tell me you’re angry, or scared, or that you want to set the whole system on fire, I’ll listen.” She gestures with a flick of her wrist to the rows of folding chairs, the bunting, the ceremonial bowl. “If you want to walk away, I’ll support that, too. If you don’t think this is a positive thing.”
I want to say that I don’t care, that I’m above all this. But the truth is, I want to stay. I want to belong, even if it means burning through another layer of discomfort to get there.
Instead, I say, “Doesn’t matter what I want. If the magic draws my name, that’s it, right?”
Luna shakes her head. “Not anymore. Nick and I changed that.” Her voice drops lower. “If you’re matched to someone, you get a choice. You don’t have to sign the bond if you don’t want it. But,” and here she glances at me sidelong, “if there’s someone you do want, or even someone you think you might want, it helps to say so. The magic isn’t as blind as people think.”
My heart stammers, and instantly, traitorously, my mind conjures up Caleb. His hands, big and clumsy, but so gentle when he holds Alora. The way he calls her “little wolf,” the way he’s let me into his house, and then carefully, stubbornly pushes my buttons but draws me closer somehow. And finally, how helooked when he stripped his shirt off at the BBQ…I push the thought down so hard it nearly cracks a rib.
I shake my head. “No one comes to mind,” I say, and the words taste like blood.
Luna studies me, eyes luminous in the blue dusk. “If that changes, come to me,” she says. “Or to Ruby, or Skylar. There’s no prize for staying silent in Silvercreek.”
The words make me flinch in a way history likes to slap you to remind you it’s still there, under the surface.
Luna seems to notice and reaches out to touch my arm, so I can feel her warmth radiating off her. She gives me a brief squeeze, then lets go. “You’re stronger than you think,” she says, and then she disappears into the crowd, heading for the stage.
I curse myself for thinking about Caleb like that, and immediately dismiss it as a side effect of proximity and the fact that I spend more hours with his daughter than is healthy for anyone who doesn’t want to catch feelings. I’m just around him too much.
I look up, and as if conjured by spite, there he is. Across the square, Caleb stands in a tight orbit of older women, all cooing and fussing over Alora, who is perched on his left arm, a string of drool connecting her chin to his flannel sleeve. He’s grinning, working the crowd, telling some story that makes the women laugh and touch his elbow like they can’t get enough of him.
I try not to look, but my wolf reacts nonetheless. I feel a surge of heat that isn’t embarrassment and isn’t anger, either. He’s charming, of course, but it isn’t the charm that gets me; it’s the way he keeps glancing down at Alora, searching her face to see if she’s okay with the attention, or if she wants out. He does it with a gentleness that triggers something inside me.
The whole scene is grating for reasons I can’t, or refuse to, name. I tell myself it’s because these women are all strangers to Alora, and I’m protective. But the truth is, I don’t want to imagine Caleb’s name being called and some other woman in my place, holding Alora, learning the soft spot behind her left ear, knowing the way she cries just before she falls asleep. My wolf growls at the thought, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from snarling out loud.
It’s irrational. I am not her mother. I am not anything, really, except the hired help and the occasional backup when he’s late on perimeter patrol. I have no right to feel this way. I tell myself that twice, then three times, and it doesn’t help.
The crowd is starting to settle. Someone rings the bell loud enough to cut through the chatter. I find my seat in the third row, next to Ruby, who’s wearing a blazer over a band t-shirt and looks like she’s preparing for a hostile board meeting rather than a magical matchmaking event. She leans over and nudges my arm with her elbow.
“Breathe,” she whispers, eyes on the stage. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
I force a breath, then another. “Do you think the magic is real?” I ask, quieter than I mean to. “Like, really real, or is it just a thing we tell ourselves so people don’t riot?”
Ruby doesn’t hesitate. “It’s real, but it only binds if there’s something to bind. It can’t force you. The worst it can do is make you feel a little dizzy and embarrassed in front of a hundred people.”
I laugh, or try to. “Thanks,” I reply, sarcasm dripping off the word as she laughs.
Luna and Elder Amelia take the stage and begin. The first name called is not mine, but a woman I don’t know well, Katya,from the new merged group. She looks stunned, then gets up and walks stiffly to the edge of the stage, where Luna’s magic forms a soft blue circle around her feet. The next name is from Silvercreek, then another, and then the fourth is me. I actually flinch when it’s called, like someone shot a rifle beside my head. Ruby grabs my hand and squeezes, then lets go so I can stand.
I walk up, boots loud against the boards, and join the others. Five in total. We stand in a line, facing the crowd. The men’s draw goes next.
I try not to look, but I can’t help it. The first name is a guy I’ve seen around the logging yards; he walks up, all nerves and bravado. The next two are strangers to me. I count three, then four, then the fifth: Caleb. It’s a slap. I forget to breathe as he stands, hands in pockets, the crowd parting for him. He’s wearing clean jeans, a shirt that nearly fits, and I watch as Skylar leans in and takes Alora from him, cradling her to her chest while he mounts the stage. The difference in him is subtle but real; he’s not performing for once, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
When he steps onto the boards, my wolf goes wild. I hate that I feel it, hate that the thought of him paired with anyone else makes my senses burn, and hate even more that I understand why. He’s the only one up here who doesn’t even look terrified. He doesn’t look at me, either.
Elder Amelia raises her cane and the bowl between us all, and Luna’s magic flares, drawing thin blue lines between every possible pair, like a demented connect-the-dots. “The lottery seeks true bonds,” Amelia intones, “but it does not force what is not wanted. If a match is found, the flame will burn blue. If not, you will enter another lottery in the summer.”
I suddenly feel a surge of hope, perhaps neither of us will be chosen, and things can just continue as normal. Whatever normal is.
They go first from the left. Katya and the logger guy hand over the bowl. Nothing. The next woman steps up, and there’s nothing again. Eventually, we’ve all tried, and the man is sent back to his seat. I’m not sure if he looks relieved or disappointed.
Caleb’s name is called next, and I watch as he takes his place in front of the flame.
The first woman is called, and I hate the way my wolf rears up, and for the first time in my life, I wish I could just overrule her. I stuff down the reaction and watch as they both rest their hands on the rim of the bowl, and Elder Amelia lights the candle beneath it. The flame snaps up, yellow, and flickers for a long, uncomfortable moment. The woman’s jaw ticks. Caleb stares straight ahead, and then the flame splutters, dying with a thin wisp of smoke. No match. The air relaxes by a fraction. Even my wolf seems to exhale.
I’m next.
