There’s an elephant in the room—one that undoubtedly matches the size and shape of the hole in Stevie’s heart.
Anna must sense it, Stevie’s pain. Her conflicting feelings about her new mission, working for the academy that ruined her parents’ lives. The animosity simmering beneath the polite veneer.
How could Anna not feel it?
I narrow my eyes at the woman, silently begging her to do the right thing. In this moment, she has one shot to set the tone for Stevie’s entire academic career. With her next words, she can either build a bridge… or burn it down.
“Miss Milan,” Anna says, and I know from the sudden sap dripping from her voice she’s going to burn it, likely taking us all down with her. “We are truly glad you’re here. Magick is your legacy, regardless of what happened in the past. I know your mother would—”
“Stop.” Stevie holds up a hand, immediately halting Anna’s words. “I’m going to stop you right there, because I don’t believe for aminuteyou knew my mother. Not enough to speak for her.”
Anna bristles. “Begging your pardon, but your mother was a friend and mentee of mine for many years, both as an undergraduate and a graduate student. I actually knew her quite well.”
“Really?” Stevie shrugs. “Then it’s a shame you couldn’t make it to the memorial service. Since you guys were so tight and all.”
Anna lowers her gaze, absently fidgeting with a stack of papers on her desk. “Miss Milan, I only meant—”
“Here’s something I bet you didn’t know. My mother loved yellow roses. And Dad—you haven’t mentioned him yet, though you must’ve known him too, right? He had a thing for Mexican chocolate—the kind with chili peppers ground up inside—even though he had high blood sugar and the doctor wanted him to cut back on sweets.”
Anna sets down her papers, but still doesn’t meet Stevie’s eyes.
Fucking coward.
Every instinct is telling me to go stand by Stevie’s side, to put an arm around her, to let her and everyone else in this room know Idohave her back, rules and propriety be damned. But she’s so focused, so intent on getting the words out, I don’t dare interrupt.
“After they died,” Stevie continues, stepping closer to Anna’s desk until the woman has no choice but to look up and meet her gaze, “I’d pop into Sienna’s Gifts, a few blocks from Kettle Black—that’s our tea shop. Every Friday, without fail, I’d bike over there and buy a big bouquet of roses I couldn’t really afford and a box of Mexican chocolates to go with. Sometimes, if Sienna’s daughter was working, she’d take pity and cut me a deal. Then I’d get back on my bike and ride out to Los Pinones Cemetery, flowers sticking out of my backpack, sweat making my eyes sting. I couldn’t afford a car, since I was supporting myself by then, but it didn’t matter. I’d hoof it up the small hill that led to their gravesite, park the bike, then kneel at the headstone with my meager offerings. Of course, the flowers would be dry and the chocolates melted by sunset—I knew that. But I did it anyway. I did it because my mother loved flowers and my father loved chocolates, and I wanted them to know I still remembered, even if no one else did.”
“Miss Milan,” Anna says, attempting a gentle tone, which is supremely difficult for her. “I understand. You don’t have to relive this. You—”
“Here’s somethingelseyou probably don’t know about my parents,” Stevie said. “By the time their bodies were recovered, the floodwater had all but evaporated from the canyon, but not from their flesh. They were so bloated and blue, the medical examiner wouldn’t even let me view them. Wouldn’t let me say goodbye. If it wasn’t for dental records and the government-issued serial numbers tattooed on their skin, they wouldn’t have been able to ID them.”
My stomach churns, my heart breaking for her. How she managed to get out of bed after this kind of tragedy, I can only imagine.
Anna shakes her head, eyes full of sympathy, cheeks dark with shame. Genuine, for once.
“I am so, so sorry for—”
“The day I buried them,” Stevie continues, her voice quavering now but her chin still held high, “it was a hundred and ten degrees in the desert. I stood there in a black dress that was much too heavy for the day, melting in the heat, the whole thing like a hazy mirage as they lowered the little box into the hole. Yeah, just a little box—we had to cremate them, so there wasn’t much point in having anything bigger. That worked out okay, because after the other expenses, caskets weren’t in the budget. So I stood there, hot outside and dead inside, my best friend Jessa the only thing keeping me upright. There were a handful of neighbors too—Kettle Black customers, Mom’s book club. Rita Hernandez. Not a big crowd by any means, but enough to remind me that my parents meant something to the people in our community. That someone other than me and Jessa would miss them, remember them. There weren’t any other witches or mages there, funny enough. No one from the Academy, from their coven. You weren’t there, Miss Trello—I would’ve remembered if you had been, or if you’d called to offer your condolences for your so-called friends. But it didn’t matter. My parents were loved, and if they were watching over us that day, they knew it. The rest of us made sure of that.”
A few tears glitter on her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop.
“The funeral was on a Friday,” she says. “So I just started going back to the cemetery, same day each week, with the flowers and chocolates. Sometimes I brought a to-go pot of their favorite tea, too—vanilla mint, they both liked that one. Silly, right? It’s not like they could drink it. Or smell the flowers or eat the chocolates. I don’t know why I kept going. After a while it just became my ritual. I never missed a visit.”
Anna doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Everyone in this room knows what’s coming next.
“What day is it today?” Stevie asks casually.
“It’s…” Anna tries to speak, but it gets stuck. She clears her throat. Tries again. “It’s Saturday.”
“Do you know where I was yesterday, Miss Trello?”
My own heart feels sticky and sluggish, and it’s an effort not to go to her. To comfort her.
“Yes, Starla,” Anna replies. “I know you were in prison.”
“Yep. I missed my visit to the cemetery. First time in four years. First time since I buried them, because even in the months after, when I was basically catatonic, I still found it in me to go. But I missed yesterday, and now I’m here, a dead murderer for all anyone in Tres Búhos believes, so I guess future visits are out of the question too. I didn’t even get to say goodbye, to tell them what I had to do, to beg forgiveness for breaking the one promise they’d ever really asked of me—no magick. I didn’t get to leave one more bouquet and box of chocolates, or to remind them how much I love them. All because some crazy-ass mage decided to light up my friend and frame me for murder—a murder that my mother probably saw in the cards, which means you probably could’ve interceded.” Stevie leans forward, her hands flat on Anna’s desk as she peers into the woman’s steel-gray eyes. “My parents died heretics, Miss Trello. Betrayed by you and your Academy. Afraid of magick—theirs and mine. Convinced that the only way I could live a long and happy life was to avoid that magick at all costs, despite the fact that this power has been churning inside me since birth. I was born on a fault line between two worlds, between loyalty and destiny, torn between them every day of my life. That pain, that confusion, that uncertainty?That’smy legacy. Not the one left by my parents, but the one left by the Arcana Academy of Arts.”
There’s absolutely nothing Anna can say to that, so wisely, she doesn’t.
