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Miri
Achill soaks into my bones as I unlock the front door and head inside. It could be from the dinner party from hell, the cold bike ride or maybe it’s just whiplash from Davis’s inability to figure out what he wants. Whatever it is, I shiver as I cross the threshold of my house, rubbing my hands over my arms like that’s going to create any actual heat.
As soon as I reach the center of the circular foyer, feet landing on the metal compass inlaid in the floor, I know. Someone’s been inside. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight and a tingle shivers down my spine. My eyes dart around the room as I hug my arms around myself, the sense of violation as bad as a physical slap. This is my new house. I should be safe here. Who the hell would break in here? And why the fuck can I tell?
If I was a superhero, I’d say my Spidey sense was tingling. I might not be the friendly neighborhood Spider-man, but I do have magic, and it’s telling me someone has messed with the energy of the house. How in the hell is this possible? It’s never happened before. The majority of the magic I know how to do is wrapped up in potions. Creating concoctions for one thing or another. I can’t close my eyes, wave a hand, and summon magic to me, but I can cook some shit up.
Without another thought, I head straight to the kitchen, shucking my coat and tossing it over the back of a chair while I turn on all the lights in the room. Whoever was here doesn’t appear to still be at my house, but I’m way too creeped out to stand around in a dimly lit room. Quickly gathering the ingredients, I pull together a generic tracking spell, throwing in eucalyptus oil, bitter orange, lemongrass, and dried yarrow, and stirring it together with some dirt from my conservatory, while concentrating on my intentions.
It doesn’t even take five minutes before I’ve got the spell ready. Lighting a long sliver of wood on the stove flame, I touch it to the mixture within my stone bowl. It incinerates with a bright flash, leaving only smoke and ash behind. With a wave of my hand, I murmur “show me.” and wait for the smoke to drift.
I don’t know if you’re supposed to spout specific phrases when you do magic, but I wasn’t taught that way. The only way I know how to do it is to say what I mean and infuse my mixtures with the thought while I’m putting all the ingredients together. It works for me, although it can be finicky.
Not tonight, apparently. The smoke slithers from the bowl, almost animalistic in its movement, and I have no other option but to follow behind. I’ve created a spell to show me if someone was in my house and if so, where did they go.
The smoke carries to the front door, moving with a swift efficiency. Briefly the outline of a person appears within the smoke, and I gasp, nearly tripping over my feet as I hurry to trail the vapor. Nothing like this has ever come close to happening before. It’s like my magic has been supercharged. The retained shape of a human walks through the entryway, cutting across the tile as if they know exactly where they’re going.
My heartbeat ratchets up a notch as I follow it into the kitchen and see the phantom memory of someone going through my things. Drawers are opened, the lids are lifted off pots that keep my herbs. What the hell were they looking for? The gray plume floats from the kitchen and into my conservatory, and I chase after it. If they did something to my plants… I can’t even finish the thought.
I flip on the lights in the windowed room, eyes skating across every plant, each growing tendril I’ve been nursing back to health since I first stepped foot in this room. I blink as the smoke dissipates from the center of the room. As if the person had stopped there and then… disappeared? Backtracked? I don’t know what happened. Nothing looks out of place. Everything is okay, I think. At least with the plants.
Me. I am not okay.
My hands shake as I reach out to touch the leaf on a potted orange tree and it curls around me as if sensing I need to be comforted. I sigh when it doesn’t feel stressed or damaged in any way. It doesn’t explain the presence in my house, but at least my plants are safe.
Still, I’m not an idiot. My house was locked when I left earlier. Someone doesn’t believe in the sanctity of minding their own fucking business. I worry my lip between my teeth, anxiety making my skin feel tight like a bad sunburn. I don’t want to be alone here tonight.
I love this house and all the space it has, but right now that just equals a lot of places where people could be hiding. Pulling out my phone as I move back into the kitchen, I stare down at it and contemplate my choices. I could go upstairs, lock the bedroom door, throw a chair underneath the doorknob, and then toss and turn all night long. Or I could make a call that I’m sure won’t be appreciated.
I know what I’m going to do even as I pretend to weigh my options. Davis might have left my house tonight in a dickish flourish, but I still want to be around him. Maybe this is an excuse to call him, but it’s also legit. Fuck it.
Before I can change my mind, I find his name in my contacts and click call. Birdie insisted I have his number before I left her house the other night after dinner. In case I ran into any trouble or just needed someone to show me around the island. Davis had already left at that point, otherwise I knew he would have been glaring at his grandmother.
It rings five times and I’m somewhat surprised he doesn’t send me straight to voicemail. Although he doesn’t have my number, so he has no idea who’s calling. If it was me, I’d assume it was a telemarketer and hang up on them.
My heart hammers wildly in my chest when the call clicks as he picks up.
“Yeah.”
“Ah, Davis, hey. Birdie gave me your number.”
“Miri?” My stomach flips when he says my name. Is that the first time he’s actually used my name?
Not important.
I will not acknowledge the acrobatics that my organs are doing inside my body.
“Yeah, sorry. I wouldn’t have called, but I really don’t know anyone else here well enough to call, although I’m sure Archer wouldn’t mind. Or even Lena or Ruby. Hell, even Birdie.”
“Why are you calling?” Davis’s rough tone cuts me off and I know I’m babbling. It’s a sign of how off-kilter I’m feeling.
“Someone was in my house. When we were at dinner. The place was locked up. They must be using magic to get in because it was still locked up when we got back here.”
There’s rustling from the other end of the phone and a low curse. “Are you sure?”
“I did a tracing spell, and I can see that they were walking through the house. I don’t know what they wanted or why they were here.” There’s a slight tremble in my voice by the time I spit all of those words out, and the reality that someone invaded my space, my private home, is finally catching up with me. “I don’t think I can be alone.”
“I’ll be right there. Are you sure they’re gone?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, hating how wimpy I feel. Where the hell has my backbone gone? “Yes. I can’t detect any more of the energy of with my magic, but the house still seems unsettled.”
“Lock yourself in a room. I’ll be there in five.”
“Okay. And… thank you,” I whisper, getting more freaked out by the minute. It’s like my adrenaline coasted me through mixing up the spell but now I’m crashing, and my hands are starting to shake.
A grunt is the only response before the call ends.
I scurry out of the kitchen, phone clutched to my chest like a lifeline. It would have made more sense to grab a rolling pin or something that could be used as a weapon from the kitchen, but I don’t think of that until I’m in the room tucked under the stairs that I’ve dubbed the dark den because of the dark gray walls, black bookshelves and equally dark furniture. It’s probably a den or an office, but I haven’t spent much time digging around in here.
I’ve only just locked the door when there are several loud bangs on the front door. I jump at the noise, pressing the hand that’s still clenched around my phone to my heart. Is that Davis? Because that was really fast. Who else would it be? It’s not like my uninvited guest would show up again while I’m home and announce himself by banging through the front door. Right?
