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Leaning back in the booth I look around the coffee shop and take in all the people, alone or in small groups. Almost all of them are looking at their phones or on their laptops. Every one of them is obsessing over the screens in front of them and it makes me sad. Surrounded by so many others, yet so distant because they never look.
Then I see a girl talking to a boy. He says something and she smiles and flushes, laughing. At another table three girls are talking softly, and they also are laughing. Their laughter is joy that creates a magical rainbow of color sparkling in the air surrounding them. Outside, people walk by with dogs on leashes. Someone holds the door for the couple leaving. The barista calls out a greeting and it’s full of genuine warmth.
“Isn’t it?” Moira murmurs, and her simple question guides my attention to the wonder around me. The sunlight streaming in through the glass of the front windows. The dust motes dancing in the rays of light that could be tiny fairies. The way the classic rock playing over the hidden speakers accents the buzz of conversation without inhibiting it.
There is magic here. It’s harder to see the magic of it because I’m blinded to it by the stress. No, life isn’t as simple as it was with the MacGregors, but we aren’t accusing people of being witches. This society may not be perfect, but it is better, isn’t it? The world looks different.
“Maybe…”
“Look how far things have come in the last fifty or sixty years,” Moira says. “It’s not perfect, but it is better.”
They call me Destroyer. Dugald and the Fae Queen would have me destroy this world in favor of theirs. One of magic and wonder. Is that one better, though? What right do I have to choose between them?
Thinking of Alesoun and remembering the way she was treated by the rest of the Clan makes my cheeks warm. Kept at a distance, and that only because she had a skill they needed, but no one would associate too closely with her lest her witchy ways rub off on them.
How can I decide to destroy this? What would be left if I did? What happens to this world? To all these people? It’s not fair to them.
All I want is a chance to get to know Duncan. To explore these feelings. Romance stories should have challenges, sure, but not impossible choices. Why does that have to come hand-in-hand with a decision to destroy an entire world?
“Yeah,” I say.
In the back corner of the café dark shadows seem to coalesce, tugging at my attention. When I stare into them, I see a dark shape and only when I squint my eyes does it come clear. Dugald. He’s here, staring at me with his dark, burning eyes. He doesn’t have to speak; I know what he wants as clearly as if he’s shouting it across the room.
Decide. Train. Prepare.
I didn’t ask to face any darkness, and besides look at this place. This isn’t dark. The sun is shining. People are laughing. They’re living their lives. Bothering no one. Who am I to make any kind of decision?
“Is that guy looking at you?” Moira asks.
Jerking my attention back to her, I blink, then frown.
“Which guy?” She nods her head towards the shadows where Dugald is hiding. “You see him?”
“Of course I do,” she laughs. “He’s staring like he wants to devour you. I can’t decide if its sexy or creepy.”
“Let’s go with creepy,” I say, rising from my seat. “I’m going to go; thanks for this. I needed it.”
“Anytime,” she says. “I’m always here for you.”
I give her my warmest smile, even if it feels like I’m contriving it to fit into social norms. As I turn toward the door, my eyes land on Dugald. I give him the slightest shake of my head before turning to the door and walking out.
Not today, Dugald. Maybe not ever.
ChapterEight
Morning comes too soonand then I make the mistake of looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.
Ugh. I need a better concealer.
There’s no way to hide the dark circles under my eyes without doing some massive makeup overhaul. I don’t think I slept more than twenty minutes at a time last night. Every time I’d enter a REM sleep cycle the nightmares were waiting, and an instant later I’d be awake.
I brush my teeth, then wash my face while pointedly ignoring the mirror. Once that is done, I return to my room, carrying a cup of water to fill the Keurig. I get it brewing and then dress.
The Keurig gurgles out the last drips of coffee and I pour the steaming content into a travel mug and rush out the door. I can’t miss classes today. Not again. I’ve already missed too many. If I lose my scholarships, I won’t be able to continue.
Emerging from my dorm building, the wind blows hard and the sky is overcast with thick gray clouds. The air smells of ozone and there’s a distinctive green tint to the world. I jerk out my phone but there’s no storm warnings. I open the Weather Channel app to be sure because I’m Midwest born and raised; I know this is one-thousand-percent tornado weather.
The app opens and nothing. It’s not even supposed to rain today. My dad would always say that if you don’t like Missouri weather, wait a minute, it will change. I don’t have any more time to worry about possible storms because class is about to start. Thunder rumbles in the distance and I cast a worried glance upwards as I rush across campus. I didn’t bring an umbrella or poncho. If it rains, I’m going to be soaked.
