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“Your father and I were close friends with a couple back then—Judy and Leo. Judy was my best friend and a fellow witch. She found out that Leo was cheating on her…she told me how angry and betrayed she felt. I should’ve known that a scorned witch is a dangerous one. I should’ve been a better friend to her. Then maybe she wouldn’t have…” She pauses to swallow down the building emotion. “It doesn’t matter now. Judy cursed Leo. That curse made the brakes fail on the his car while your father was riding with him to a basketball game.”
“Oh god,” I gasp in horror.
“Magic killed your father. Cruel, thoughtless, wasteful magic. After that, I couldn’t bear to be around it. Couldn’t bring myself to dream with it or put my children—you—into a world where its danger would touch you. I needed to keep you and Omar safe, because I couldn’t lose anyone else. Please don’t hate me. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”
There’s so much anguish in her voice that I can feel her pain as if it were my own. Would I have done any differently in her shoes? Husband dead, pregnant, and betrayed by my best friend’s magic. Misled by my own magic. I can’t be mad about her decision. I only wish I’d known sooner so she didn’t have to carry the burden of her misplaced guilt alone.
“You did everything for us. How could I ever hate you?” I get out of my chair and pull her up into a hug. Her chin rests on my shoulder as she sobs, spilling out years worth of guilt, shame, and sadness while I hold her tight. “Thank you for telling me,” I whisper, letting my own tears join hers.
38
Ithought I’d hit rock bottom when Jessica and Devon ruined our friendship, but that was nothing compared to losing Mona. I’ve spent the past two weeks cycling through regret, longing, anger, and—worst of all—hope. That last one is why I’m cocooned in my covers, leaving yet another voicemail for her. Confessing how much I miss her, trying to explain why I wasn’t honest about my nature, and begging her to talk to me.
I inhale the ever-fading scent of her on the robe she wore the weekend she stayed here, using it as a balm for the pain in my chest. My phone buzzes and Samantha’s name pops up on the screen, eliciting a weak smile from me as I open it to see what insult-veiled affection she’s sending me now.
My sisters are the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down. They must’ve made a rotation to check in on me because I can’t go more than a few hours without hearing from one of them. Maggie reassures me that Mona and I are meant for each other and that things will work out. Claire soothes me with her magic and tells me how worthy of love I am. Samantha reminds me to stop being a dumbass and to not take the blame for what happened with Devon and Jessica. They all keep me tethered to the hope of making things right with Mona.
Part of me wishes they weren’t so good at making me think things will work out. It’s been weeks and hope has gotten me nowhere. She hasn’t texted me back and hasn’t returned my calls. I know I should give up and leave her alone. I wish I could accept that she wants nothing to do with me and let her go. That would hurt a lot less. Instead, my brain keeps replaying the night she left and how I could’ve convinced her to listen and understand how much I care for her. I’ve driven halfway to her place more times than I can count over the past two weeks, forcing myself to turn around each time.
Some nights I’m almost able to convince myself that it’s possible to forget her, but as I drift off to sleep, my mind betrays me with the desperate wish that I’ll get to be with her in my dreams.
* * *
I takeon two more PI gigs, thinking that if I’m busy with work, then I won’t have as much time to think about Mona. Late nights following the paranormal council candidate yield unexpected results—they’re sleeping with the daughter of the biggest shifter gang leader in the state. Not something I’d normally judge, but I doubt entanglements with a crime syndicate are something the council wants in their members.
I feel like a creep taking the photos of them embracing in a small bar parking lot a few miles down the highway from Moonvale. There’s a sting of jealousy that they have someone to hold, and guilt for revealing their relationship to the head councilwoman. It’s all part of the job, but it isn’t as easy to separate myself from my work sometimes.
However, my diligent work ends with a surprising benefit. The head councilwoman—a fae named Glinda who leans into the whole sparkly pink good witch aesthetic of her namesake with her adorable cupcake bakery and puffy dresses—offers me a favor instead of our agreed upon compensation. Favors in the paranormal community far out-value any sum of human money, and one from a creature as powerful as her is a staggeringly generous payment. She shrugs when I point this out and tells me she likes the work I do and that I saved her a huge headache with the candidate. So now I have a favor from an ancient fairy in my back pocket. And a dozen rainbow cupcakes she insisted I take.
My sisters would be so jealous. Hell, Mom and Dad would be, too. But the excitement over the favor doesn’t last long. Thoughts of Mona still haunt me. I do my best to shove them back, refusing to let myself reach for my phone to message her again. I pretend my phone doesn’t even exist and leave it in my messenger bag in my car when I get home from my meeting with Glinda.
Gorging myself on cupcakes, no matter how delicious, only keeps my obsessive phone checking at bay for so long. I wander back out to the car, feeling the drizzle of rain frizz my hair and dot my crumb-speckled shirt with moisture as I dig around in the satchel to retrieve my phone. I come up empty-handed. No wonder it was so easy to ignore it as I drove home—I must have left it at the bakery. They’re closed by now, and there’s no landline in my rental, so I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to see if I left it there. Just my luck.
I cram myself full with two more cupcakes until my stomach grows too angry about the sugary abuse to take any more. Queasy and frustrated, I crawl into my lonely bed and futilely pray once again that I’ll dream of Mona.
I takeanother day off of work to stay with my mom. We don’t talk much more about magic because I don’t want to push her after reopening deep wounds from her past.
She promises to tell Omar everything when he visits in a couple of months, and I promise I’ll be there to support her when she does. She insists, after a long, tearful conversation, that it won’t upset her if I want to learn more about my magic. Which is good, because I do. I need to at least understand my magic so my dreams won’t run wild anymore.
I head home with a dusty cardboard box labeled “kitchen” that my mom kept her spellbooks in for years, unable to part with them though they brought her pain. I asked why “kitchen” and she said she knew Omar was nosy and he’d poke through anything unmarked or with a more interesting label.
I pour over her books, many of which are written in her neat script or the scrawling cursive that I recognize from birthday cards sent by Grandma. I barely sleep, unable to tear myself away from the memories and spells contained within. When I succumb to exhaustion, my dreams swim with visions of relatives from the distant past, both beautiful and disturbing. Venerated oracles and women burned at the stake for knowing too much. My mind thrums with the power and history I’m tapping into when I wake.
While visions of the past are fascinating, it’s the present that plagues me. I have to talk to Max and tell him I was wrong. Apologize for not listening to him and for bringing him into my dreams—because apparently that’s something my magic combined with a succubus’ can do. A very explicit journal entry my great-great-grandmother wrote about her sexual dream exploits confirmed it. But every time I go to text him back, I see the long stream of unanswered messages, and the guilt of ignoring him makes it too difficult to know where to start.
Friday rolls around, and I don’t have a burlesque class to go to anymore. Alone at home with only my thoughts and crappy reality TV to keep me company, I pick up my phone. According to Blair, Grace, Rachel, and even my therapist—who I’m seeing weekly now—I need to address what happened with Max. With nervous trembling, I type out a text and hit send before I can rethink my message.
Mona: I’m sorry it took me so long to message you back. It was shitty of me to not reply. And even shittier to leave you like I did that night. My own issues kept me from listening to you and kept me from making amends. That’s not an excuse, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to apologize.
Mona: I also thought you should know I found out why those dreams were happening. They were my fault. Apparently, I’m a witch. My mom confessed after I confronted her about a dream I had. I did some research into our family’s magic—dream magic. So I need to apologize for that, too. For dragging you into my dreams and making you a part of my desires against your will. The irony of what I accused you of doing ending up being my fault isn’t lost on me.
Mona: I’m so sorry, Max. I’m trying to learn how to control my abilities and work on my self-esteem issues that got in the way of accepting your love. Maybe some day I’ll be the woman you saw in me.
With a shuddering sigh, I shove my phone under a couch cushion and turn up the volume on the TV to drown out any incoming message notifications. I’ve apologized and told him what I needed to, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to face his reply.
39
Ihead back to the bakery in the morning, only to find that they don’t open until the afternoon on Saturdays. What kind of bakery opens so damn late? A magical one run by an immortal fae, I suppose.
