rot. She closes her eyes, trying to sear it into her memory. Slowly, she runs a hand up his arm, along his collarbone and around his neck until her fingers dig into his hair.
She thinks about the kiss they almost—but never—shared and she wonders if his lips could have been a part of her, if they could have left this world before his infected brother Returned—if their love had been pure, maybe they’d have been able to stop time.
“I will love you always,” she says, pulling his lips to hers.
Through her kiss she tries to explain everything that words cannot. About love and duty and God and need and choices and memory and history. She wants him to taste her and understand her. In that kiss is everything she was and could be, all that she’s giving up in her life.
She needs to take this part of him with her because it’s the only way she can go back to the life she needs to live. To her duty to village and God.
When she pulls away she’s crying and Patrick reaches up to her cheek and catches a tear on his finger. He doesn’t realize she’s saying good-bye to him. “I will love you always,” he says, and she smiles, sad and aching.
She gestures for him to go up the stairs first, and he pushes open the door. Before he disappears above ground she presses her lips to her fingers and her fingers against his spine, and then he’s gone and she closes and locks the door behind him.
She huddles on the top step and listens to him bang and call for her and then to the sound of the moans. She tears at her clothes and her body, raking her nails against her flesh hoping to let the agony pulsing inside her escape, but nothing can dull the torment.
Her hand shakes as she dips the pen into ink and holds it above the page. The printed words are impossible to decipher, tears trembling from her eyes and her body racked with sobs. And then she writes:
In her life, Tabitha has felt consuming desire only once—on those too short days with Patrick in the Forest. She watches him along the fences with the others now, at the way he grabs at the metal links and pleads and begs. She touches the old note from him, tucked against her breast under the cross she wears around her neck.
A part of her likes to believe that he’s different from the others, that he doesn’t moan for anyone but her. That he spends his days and nights trying to return to her.
He is always there for her, always waiting. The most constant companion anyone could pray for. One of these days she will return to him. She will feel that desire again, that need beyond human comprehension, and they will be together forever.
Familiar
BY MICHELLE ROWEN
“That one.”
The witch followed the direction of my pointing finger, which singled out a tiny, tawny-colored striped kitten sitting in the far corner of the pen. She frowned with disapproval.
“Wouldn’t you rather have one of the others, Brenda? They’re more playful. That little runt looks half-dead. I’m not even sure why my apprentice put it in the mix today.”
I shrugged. “I guess half-dead runts appeal to me. My mother said I could pick whichever one I wanted.”
“Your mother also said she’s wanted you to do this for almost a year now.”
“What can I say? I’ve been busy.”
I tried to ignore the icy glare my flippant comment inspired. When it came to witch manners, I figured I was lacking. Not that I really cared. It’s not like my powers were any big deal. Not compared to my mother’s.
We’d had this discussion every Monday for nearly a whole year, ever since I turned sixteen. But when you don’t really want to do something, it’s hard to feign interest. Basically, I just wanted to be normal. I didn’t want to go into the “family business,” as it were.
Maybe I should have gone to live with my dad after the divorce. Normal high school, normal friends, normal life. I just wished I knew for sure what the right answer was. A little bit of perfect clarity would really come in handy every now and then.
Like this—picking out my “familiar.” A familiar is a witch’s pet, an animal that becomes her constant companion and is supposed to help her do magic and bring protection and good luck. Frankly, I could use all the luck I could get. My mom was a high-level, respected witch in our neighborhood coven, but me? I could barely do a decent card trick. Mom said it’s because I don’t practice very much, but I had other things to do. More important things. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
But to get her off my back for a while, I agreed to go to Hocus Pocus, a magic shop that supplies all sorts of witchy paraphernalia—including potential familiars. There were cats, ferrets, snakes, rats, even a couple of bats. No puppies, though. I really would have preferred a puppy.
I wasn’t much of a cat person. But, in my opinion, it was way better than a snake.
The kitten hissed as Mrs. Timmons picked it up by the scruff of its neck.
“Interesting,” she said. “It’s wearing a little rhinestone collar. Denise must have put it on earlier. I’ll include it with the price since it suits him.”
“Great,” I said, not really listening to her. Instead I swept my gaze over the interior of the shop. I’d been there loads of times before with my mom as she picked up her supplies. The place always creeped me out with its musty, dusty interior and cluttered shelves holding everything from carved wooden boxes to crystal balls of all shapes and sizes to herbs and spices for potion-making to what looked like a dried-up severed monkey’s paw on a shelf directly to my right.
I grimaced.
“Here you go,” Mrs. Timmons said, and her face cracked into a thousand wrinkles as she forced a smile that was not even slightly genuine. She didn’t like me very much. I once heard her call me a troublemaker. She handed me an open shoebox that weighed next to nothing even with the tiny kitten sitting inside. “I know your mother already has a feline familiar, so I won’t worry about food and litter.”
“No. Don’t worry.”
“You’ll have to give it a name. Just concentrate and it’ll come to you. Remember, there’s power in names, so be sure it’s the right one.”
“Power in names. Got it.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Do I need to pay anything right now?”
“No. I’ll bill your mother’s account.”
“Okay, then, bye. Thanks.” I turned to leave.
“Wait!” Mrs. Timmons grabbed my arm. “One last thing.”
“What?”
“The bond.”
“The—”
“It’s important it be done right away. As long as you’re certain this kitten is your chosen familiar...”
“Couldn’t be more positive if I tried.” I glanced at the clock on the wall that read seven o’clock. How long was this going to take?
Mrs. Timmons grabbed my wrist tightly and reached into the box to touch the kitten. “I bond you together as Brenda Collins, apprentice witch, and her loyal and obedient familiar.”
“And what does—
