Page 39
We sit in our usual seat on the couch across from Jewel—a too-small couch. Her thigh is inches from mine.
This room is always too hot. Especially when Aurora is here. Of course, I’m not rude enough to complain to Jewel, just like I don’t complain about my desk situation.
To my surprise, Aurora jumps right in. She usually seems so hesitant when we meet with Jewel, asking more questions than she should and phrasing everything with an upward lilt. Even when it was the two of us, she was so cautious about sharing her plans, but now, she seems like she’s in total control.
“Sterling and I were thinking,” Aurora says, “we’re going to use the void energy of the meteor shower to create a sort of releasing and renewal ceremony. Fire energy also comes into play, so it would be a typical bonfire release ritual, but with the twist of the energy from the asteroids.”
“It was Aurora’s idea, actually,” I say, nodding along. “She’ll be able to use her magic to time the event to the shower.”
“Mhm,” Aurora squeaks out.
I didn’t contribute, and I won’t take credit where it isn’t due. I’ll have other opportunities to let my talents shine, but it’s clear Aurora knows what she’s talking about when it comes to her craft. It’s admirable to me, considering that I can only do mundane spells, the kind most witches learn before they pick their specialty.
A witch’s specialty follows them throughout their life, but there are certain types of magic that can’t be picked. Like the magic of a seer, those who are blessed with the gift of viewing the future.
And like me.
My magic certainly wasn’t a choice.
“It’s a great idea,” Jewel says.
“Okay, so like, to go along with it… the midnight picnic.”
I freeze. Aurora didn’t mention this. I give her a confused look, and my smile drops, but she doesn’t even look my way.
“Everyone loves the midnight picnic,” she gushes. “But I’ve been talking to a few other people, and they maybe aren’t loving the auction so much. Now that we’re adding my ritual, the event is already a little pressed for time. Why don’t we ax the auction and have the midnight picnic during or after the ritual? It’s, like, such a vibe.”
It’s clear she’s passionate about the idea, which is great and all, but she didn’t run any of it by me.
And I was the one who came up with the auction, years ago. She must know that. Planning these events is my job, and I’ve been doing my best to welcome her help, but this…
I thought we were supposed to be partners?
Our communication has been sparse lately, but I assumed that was because we had already come up with an idea. There was no reason for us to keep talking. Her silence? Unconcerning. I never would have guessed that she was actually coming up with something completely on her own.
And she’s trying to ruin something I’ve spent years perfecting without telling me.
“How creative,” I mutter. “I would have liked to have heard about this before the meeting.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Did I forget?”
“Yes. You forgot.”
She shrugs and looks at Jewel. “But what do you think? About giving the charity auction a break?”
“My charity auction,” I say, “was my idea.”
Aurora’s lips part, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. She seems genuinely shocked, at least.
“Sure,” Aurora says slowly, as if regaining her bearings, “but it’s overplayed. I’ve been asking around, and some people are bored with bidding for the same people and things over and over. We can find another way to donate to the charity, of course—I mean, I just haven’t thought of that yet.”
I look at Jewel, desperately hoping she’ll give me an out, but her eyes are sparkling. “I think this is a wonderful idea. This way, everyone can partake in the midnight picnic. No one is left out, unlike with the auction.”
People felt left out? That was never my intention.
I nod. Once. Twice. Again, and again. “Of course. Yes. Fine.”
Apparently, my idea was good years ago, but it isn’t anymore. It stings. We’re always trying to change up the festival, to keep the energy alive, but that doesn’t help me from feeling like my so-called partner is lodging a knife in my chest.
