Page 56 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

“I did get the impression that they had some complicated feelings about your dad.” When her head snaps up, I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

“What made you—”

“Just an impression,” I interject. “It’s nothing they said. I’m probably wrong.”

Best not to mention that Kerboros caught the weirdness too.

Tara frowns. “How odd. I didn’t even realize they knew each other.”

“I should get some sleep,” I say, hoping I haven’t made things worse.

She rallies then and manages a teasing tone. “Are you sure? I do believe you’re sharing with Kerboros. Maybe you’ll finish what you started.”

I hate that she feels like she needs to hide the fact that she’s hurting, but sometimes pretending we’re okay is what lets us carry on. The kindest thing I can do is play along. “Now I regret confiding in you,” I joke.

“No, you don’t.”

I smile; she knows me too well, and there’s a particular comfort to being known. “Good night. See you in the morning.”

By the time I tiptoe into our room, Kerboros is wrapped in a blanket on the floor. I regret that I won’t get to snuggle in bed with him, but I imagine he thinks the way I reacted earlier means that I regret everything. He’s likely misinterpreted my actions, and maybe we’ll never share a moment like that again, one where he lets down his guard and allows himself to want.

I don’t know how I feel about that, but I need to rest while I can. The bed is calling me, so I crawl under the covers and drift off, listening to the comforting cadence of his breath nearby. Then I rouse to a thunderous bang on the door; it doesn’t feel like I’ve been asleep for long, and I hear Tara calling my name.

“Get up, get up! We need to get a move on, slugabed. We have to go shopping.”

Groggy, I comply and get ready as fast as I can. Kerboros is already out of the room, so we won’t have a chance to discuss what happened yesterday. Maybe that’s for the best, or possibly I’m a coward for thinking so.

It doesn’t take long for us to meet in the courtyard. As a group, we head toward the market back the way we came.

Instead of scolding us from the rooftops, Ragh offers a friendly wave. “Good to see you, friends.”

Tara turns with an astonished look. “What sorcery is this? I need an explanation.”

“Thea worked her usual magic,” Kerboros says, a hint of a smile in his tone if not reflected on his face.

And I experience a delicious frisson at his approval. Hopefully, that means he’s not upset with me. All the bustling and fretting has me hungry again. Yesterday I got too distracted with the kissing to fully take advantage of Kerboros’s generous offer. I fed a bit but not enough. Never enough. I’m so afraid of hurting someone.

It would be much easier if I knew anything. Like how much energy I can draw without inflicting permanent harm. When you grow up surrounded by people who are different than you, who don’t share your needs or traits, it’s difficult to articulate how confusing and isolating it can be. No matter what I do, I may never find my place here. I may always exist on the fringes, tolerated but not welcomed, except by a select few.

I trail behind the group. Since it’s early, the market’s crowd is thin, just a few fae here and there. Tara rushes around with Rosa, consulting the pixie about her list, while Zeph is unusually withdrawn, on par with Kerboros. Zeph’s behavior troubles me; they’re not being candid about their motives, and I wish I knew if they’re dangerous.

We probably can’t trust them, but I don’t have any concrete reasons for my worries. Maybe I’m just hungry. Because I’m distracted, staring at their back, I stumble into someone who already seems wobbly on their feet. In reflex, I grab their arm to steady them, but the moment my flesh makes contact, their energy breaks over me in a sensual wave, exuberant and sparkling; I’ve never known anything like it. The high crackles through me, electricity in my veins as euphoric bliss illuminates my nerve endings.

More.

More.

More.

Hunger consumes me, blocking every rational thought. A creature of mindless need, I take and take and take—until my victim collapses. My lips peel away from my teeth, and I lunge, unhinged with vicious voracity.

Only the screaming breaks my focus.

26

Flight

This piece is difficult to find, as the artist concealed it on purpose. The room has no windows, but it does have shelves. And the artist has carved this into the wood behind some innocuous tomes, a silent rebellion that might attract scrutiny, should some powerful or malicious person happen to identify it.