“Look around you!” She opens her arms, encompassing the entire café. “They’ve been dead for four years, and you’re still following their rules. Managing their café. Living their life.”
“I like working at Kettle Black!”
“Yeah, and so do I. But is this your dream? Your passion? Your true calling, like it was for your parents? If you say yes, I swear I’ll shut the hell up and never mention magick again.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. She’s got me there. But still…
“That doesn’t mean it’s not worth something, Jess. This place, this life… It’s their legacy. One I’m happy to uphold. They were right—wedon’tneed magick. It’s like Mom always said—it’s nothing more than a curse. Today proved that more than anything.”
The words burn my throat on the way out. EvenIcan hear the lie in my voice.
“Listen to yourself, girl.” Jessa shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You were attacked today—targeted by a dark mage. Targeted preciselybecauseyou’re a witch, and you know nothing about how to defend yourself.”
“I survived, didn’t I?”
“On a fluke!”
“On my magick! Magick I shouldn’t even be practicing!”
“But youdidn’tpractice it. That owl thing—it justhappened. And waiting around for things to just happen is a bullshit strategy—in magick, and in life.” She storms behind the counter, but I’m out of my seat, close on her heels.
“Jessa, wait.”
Ignoring me, she grabs a stack of those Kettle Black souvenir shirts, unfolding and refolding them, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Jessa.” I yank a shirt from her hands, forcing her to look at me. “My parents spent the last eighteen years of their lives trying to put magick in the past. All they wanted—all theyeverwanted—was for me to have a safe, mundane, normal life. They wanted that for you, too.”
“But you’re not normal!” She snatches the shirt back, resuming her frantic folding. “You’re a witch! An amazing, beautiful, soulful witch. Pretending otherwise is only going to make you miserable, and possibly get you killed. And what happens to the Milan family legacy then? Spoiler alert: You all become memories—mymemories. Game over, thanks for playing, have a nice afterlife.”
Jessa turns her back on me, her whole body trembling. I don’t even have to try to read her energy; it washes over me in great big waves. Anger and fear. A fierce protectiveness. Loyalty. Sisterhood.
The anger evaporates from my heart. She’s coming from a good place. She’salwayscoming from a good place.
And she’s not wrong.
“So what am I supposed to do, then?” I ask softly.
She spins around to face me again, eyes still blazing with anger and frustration. “Learn your magick, for fuck’s sake! Find a mentor, get some books, apply to that magick school—something!”
My stomach bottoms out at the mention of the school. She’s talking about Arcana Academy, my parents’ alma mater. The very place that trashed Mom’s reputation, banished them from their coven, and basically destroyed their lives—and that’s just the highlights reel I pieced together over years of hushed whispers and overheard arguments.
The Academy is the very place I begged them—naively, insolently—to send me.
It was the last argument we ever had.
Forget magick, Stevie. It’s a curse…
I close my eyes. My anger might be gone, but the sadness isn’t, all the old regrets resurfacing from the dark ocean constantly churning inside me, washing up on the shores of my heart like oily bits of trash.
When I speak again, my throat is tight. “It feels like… like you’re asking me to shit on my parents’ graves.”
“No, Stevie.” Jessa grabs my shoulders, her touch warm, her sugary scent enveloping me like a hug. I feel her love pulsing outward, overruling everything else. She puts her hand on my cheek, and I open my eyes, meeting her soft, copper-eyed gaze. “I’m just asking you to stop tending those graves.”
“I don’t know how,” I whisper.
“Start by finding out about the Academy. From there, it’s—oh.” Her gaze darts toward the front windows, eyes narrowing. “We’ll have to pick this up again later.”
“What’s wrong?”
