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There are a few family photos of the four of them, and Indigo’s sister mirrors Indigo well, just with darker features. As we continue down the hall, the dynamics change. All of the pictures are of Iris. There’s a damn-near shrine to the girl. A screen is mounted to the wall, presenting a slideshow of online articles and social media posts about Iris and her accomplishments.Shit.Iris Watson, Indigo’s younger sister, invented the potion that stopped cancer cells from recurring. The pieces are all falling into place, and now I get why Indigo is so nervous. Those are impossible shoes to fill. I can’t believe I hadn’t put two and two together.
Crossing over a lip in the floor, we enter a living room. There’s a big sign in cursive that says “it’s a good day for a good day,” and I decide the only thing worse than that would’ve been “Live. Laugh. Love.” I mean, what the fuck does that even mean? Isn’t every day a good day to be… a good… I don’t have the mental energy for this ridiculousness. The only saving grace for this room is that there’s a corner of beautiful art from different cultures. Scotland, I think is one of them, and Elven culture, as well as a quilted piece of art in bright colors. It’s all so unique and lovely, and each part of it represents a fragment of who Indigo is. Who her family is too.
“Your girlfriend must be mesmerized by our house or something,” a man whispers from the corner.
I cough. I didn’t realize they were all sitting there waiting for my introduction. “Hello, I’m Vega.”
“Hi, Vega, nice to meet you,” Mr. Watson says, standing up to shake my hand. His grip is firm, but mine is firmer.
Mrs. Watson stands and smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. She’s wearing gray slacks and a white blouse. If it weren’t for her hair and eye color, which are the same as Indigo’s, I wouldn’t think the woman was of elven descent. She’s thin, as most elves are, but she isn’t tall, which is rare for an elfborn. She’s only a few inches above five feet, and her husband only an inch or two taller than that. I’m not complaining though; I love how much smaller in stature Indigo is to me.
“Why don’t we have dinner, now that we’re all here,” Mrs. Watson says, heading out through another corridor.
Something moves on the couch behind me, and Iris comes out of nowhere. Her body was sinking into the sofa, being absorbed by the many decorative pillows. She looks a lot like Indigo, though she exudes more confidence. Tattoos cover her arms and some of her legs, and her outfit is a lot bolder, a black romper with a low v that exposes her cleavage. She’s not what I expected. I try not to look, try not to notice her at all. I thought Indigo’s ‘perfect’ younger sister would look less… punk rock.
“Hey, Indie,” Iris says. I try to read Indigo’s expression, attempting to guess what she’ll say, but I haven’t a clue.
“Hey.” Her voice is a whisper. “I hope you’re doing well. Mom says you won another award.”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Iris replies, smiling wide.
We follow the Watsons until we come into a vast dining room. The table is a deep, red mahogany, with legs which spiral down in a decorative pattern. It’s classical. To my surprise, the table is empty.
“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Watson instructs us.
Mrs. Watson tucks her long, white strands behind her ears, and I can see they come to slight points, unlike her daughters’. “Vega, is it?”
“Yes ma’am,” I say.
“Would you be a dear and help set the table?” she asks, and I nod, standing up.
She shakes her head. “No need, just use your magic.”
I nod, understanding her meaning. Magic is complicated. Any mage can technically utilize any kind of magic, but it won’t come naturally to them. Instinctually, when completing day-to-day tasks, you’ll lean towards the magic type you’re inclined to. I am truly a charms type, but I don’t use my magic for frivolous things. Sex? Sure. An emergency? Absolutely. But setting the table? That feels like a waste of my and Freja’s energy. Still… This is a test, and I’m not one to fail.
I flick my wrist, and my magic seeps out. Using my senses, I scent the cupboards which house what we need to set the table. A long table cloth flies out, alongside fine dining wear. The objects dance through the air, and as I neatly set things down, Mrs. Watson uses her own magic to bring in the food from the kitchen. It looks like a scene out of an old classic Disney movie I remember seeing as a child, and Iris and Mr. Watson look in awe of our show. Indigo, on the other hand, is glowering at us, and I fear I’ve made a mistake in passing this test.
“Excellent. Indigo would always drop something when we attempted that,” Mrs. Watson says.
Fuck me. I didn't mean to one-up my girlfriend.My very temporary holiday girlfriend, I remind myself.
Mr. Watson pours himself a glass of wine and gulps it down in one sip. He must know something we don’t.
Mrs. Watson clears her throat. “It’s a wonder the most prestigious magical school in the nation hired her. She was never very good at charms—”
“Mom, that’s enough. You know damn well that Indigo was hired because of how good she is at teaching. She might not be the best charms mage, but she’s likely creating the best charms mages, some even better than you,” Iris interrupts.
My blood boils at the way Indigo is being discussed. I’m glad Iris stood up for her sister, because if she hadn’t, I was surely going to get myself in trouble. I knew there was going to be family drama, but I wrongly assumed it would take a few days into the trip. I don’t want to make this worse for Indie, but the best way to protect her right now is to get her the fuck out of here.
Indigo looks at me, tears welting in her eyes, and I pull her hand, eyebrows raised. She nods, and I help her rise from her seat. Her hands are shaking as one intertwines with mine. Looking at the table, I go to speak, but nothing comes out. I’ve never been stunned into silence before; this is a first.
As we make our way out of the snobbish, cold house, I open the silver door of the SUV and help Indigo inside. Kissing her forehead, I lift my hand and wipe away a single tear.
* * *
Indigo sits on the balcony of the condo we’re staying in, a plush white blanket wrapped around her body. My heart aches for hers. I thought she just wanted me to join her on this trip to get me out of her system, but she actually needed me here. She needed someone to be the rock while these harsh waves crashed around her. I’m realizing now that there’s a lot I don’t know about her. I know her body, the way she talks and moves, and the way she ticks. What I don’t know is all the history that made her this way, and I desperately seek all of it.
Stirring the two cups of hot chocolate that sit before me, I take both in hand and head onto the balcony, handing one to Indigo.
