“That’s…” Ian laughed awkwardly. “I’m not sure what to say.”
Disappointment washed over Cleo. Of course he wasn’t cool with this. Her own sister thought she was crazy. She knew how she sounded. She turned to walk away.
“Hey,” Ian caught her wrist. “No. You took me by surprise. You’re not the first… Um, what name do you use for yourself?”
“Witch,” Cleo said flatly.
“Just checking. You’re not the first witch I’ve met.”
“Goth college girlfriend, Ian? Your tastes must run wider than I thought.” She’d meant to be arch, but somewhere a suggestive lilt made its way into her tone.
He winked at her.
Huh. That was unexpected.
“Some friends of my family. Helped to raise me and my siblings, so they’re kind of like aunties, I suppose. Have a coven, give people healing and… remedies. The whole thing. It’s… a whole thing.” He ended hesitantly, his wide shoulders bracing throughout his explanation as if Cleo was going to laugh at him or his family.
“That’s amazing,” Cleo told him honestly. “I wish I had that growing up.”
Ian looked relieved. “I wasn’t sure… so yeah, curse-breaking isn’t new to me, exactly. I get that it’s… a thing.” He winced, and Cleo was fairly sure it was directed at himself.
She found herself wanting to touch him, to reassure him that he was doing okay. That he made sense and that his family wouldn’t be some joke to her. She felt something soften in her chest.
“Would you mind introducing me to them?”
Ian looked surprised at that. “Why? Why… would you want to?” He sounded slightly confused, and his eyes were wary.
Cleo shrugged. “I’m limited on how much I can learn. I have some books that my Nan left me, but that’s it.” She paused and the silence stretched on. Ian’s face was impassive, but the hesitation fairly radiated off him. Maybe he didn’t want his weirdo neighbor worming her way into his family. Maybe he wasn’t awkward as he was unwilling.
Cleo sighed. “You know what? It’s fine. I’m good. Forget it.”
“It’s just that my family is kind of private.”
It stung to be right. “I get it. Let’s just drop it.”
“No really,” Ian insisted. Jesus, would he let up on this? Cleo felt incredibly stupid for asking.
“But I may have something for you,” Ian said, his words rushed. “Something you could take a look at.” He paused, considering his words. “It’s never brought me good luck, you know? I never thought that it could be something… more.”
Cleo knew when a bone was being thrown to her. “Sure, yeah. Whenever. You know where I live.” This time, when she turned to leave, she put some hustle behind it. She felt foolish.
“I feel like I screwed this up,” Ian said abruptly behind her. His voice was lower than before, deep in an unexpected way.
Cleo faced him, taken aback. None of was how she expected this conversation to go. She felt off-kilter and unsteady. She wished he’d choose one track. She could follow dismissive and irritated. She was annoying! She got it! But he was vulnerable and defensive and kind, and Cleo wasn’t sure how to work with that.
“Uh,” she said intelligently.
Ian’s face was still impassive, but his cheeks were flushed red. “I’m sorry if I was rude. I… would really like for you to take a look at… something.”
“Okay,” Cleo said slowly. “Come over whenever.”
At that, Ian’s face split into a smile, and Cleo couldn’t suppress her own. “I’ll see you soon then,” he said and winked again.
Cleo… had too many feelings. She grabbed the wood box from under the table and shoved the innocuous-looking mirror in it. Time to go.
Chapter Three
Orlaith’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Cleo pulled up to her mother’s house. Cleo had the strong suspicion that dodging a bullet felt like this, too.
Siobhan was in her studio, as always, even though the attic was terrible. Dusty, hot in the summer, freezing in the winter. But light streamed full-force through the large round window, Siobhan was a sucker for light. She was at the cusp of moving out, but Cleo knew it wouldn’t be easy. Orlaith had her hooks in Siobhan. They would inevitably explode apart, courtesy of the family curse, but hadn’t yet. In the meantime, Orlaith could do all sorts of damage.
“Nope,” Siobhan said as Cleo made her way up the trap stairs. Siobhan’s back was to Cleo, a large book spread over her lap. Siobhan turned a page, her attention to the book. As Cleo entered the attic, the line of Siobhan’s back stiffened.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!” Cleo protested.
“Usually it’s something along the lines of, ‘Mom is so mean,’ or, ‘Can I get that forbidden book?’ or, ‘Oooh, do you know we’re under a curse and not suffering from intergenerational trauma?”
Cleo paused. She wasn’t sure what ‘intergenerational trauma’ even meant, but she guessed it translated to something like, ‘awful family being awful.’
“Usually I combine the topics, though,” Cleo managed.
Siobhan turned around on the floor pillow to face Cleo. Where Cleo was dark, Siobhan was light. Her nearly-platinum hair fell neatly to her chin. Her clothes were tidy, her frame willowy. She was the picture of control and privilege.
She was also a mess.
Siobhan had gotten picked up by the mall police a few times for shoplifting when she was younger. Cleo had no doubt it was that same pale hair and skin that kept Siobhan from worse consequences. Cleo also suspected that Siobhan had not stopped, but had just gotten better at it, given the ever-growing amount of books Siobhan kept in her room. After high school, Siobhan found a job waiting tables, then worked as a barista in the cafe post-Cleo, then as a dog walker and house sitter. She was a nanny somewhere in there, too. The gardening gig only lasted one day, nobody counted it. Cleo still wasn’t sure how Siobhan managed to kill all those
