“Who are you and why the hell are you in my bedroom?” I say, magic still sparking at my fingertips.
He clears his throat and stands. I fight the urge to take a step back as he towers over me, standing nearly a foot taller than my 5’5’’.
“I mean no harm,” he says. “I just want a word. Please.”
I get the feeling that my magic does not scare him in the least, that he is only appearing cautious to appease me.
“Answer me,” I say.
He keeps his dark eyes on me as he bows deeply at the waist. “Alexandre Antonio Alabaster,” he says. “And I am a Warlock, since I know you’re wondering.”
“That’s a mouthful,” I say, and shift on my feet, wishing I had some clothes on for this weird conversation.
He ignores my statement, clearly having heard it before. As if reading my mind, Alexandre flicks his fingers, and suddenly, I am dry and dressed in my sweatpants and t-shirt.
Anger flares at this not-so-subtle display of power, but he speaks again before I can address it.
Warlocks are rare creatures, as magic does not usually pass to the males of magical families. On the rare occasions that it does, however, the males are particularly powerful.
“You can call me Alex,” he replies. “And, you, Miracle Meadows, are a witch of the Philadelphia Coven who has been secretly helping deliver hybrid babies. Three in the past year, I believe, despite that being outlawed by the Sisters Superior.”
My jaw clenches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Warlock laughs. “Of course you do. That’s where you were last night, no? In North Philly helping deliver a little wolf-witch baby. Got you into a spot of trouble, too, didn’t it?”
I fold my arms over my chest. I do not like where this is going. “What do you want?”
He shrugs and reclaims the seat on my bed. I cringe but don’t protest. “To know what happened,” he says.
I stare at him. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. Hell, I can’t say anything. I signed that stupid contract.
Alex leans forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees and holding my gaze intently. I don’t have much experience with Warlocks, but they are known to be a wily bread, loners whose only loyalty is to themselves.
“They murdered that wolf right in front of you, didn’t they?” he asks. “They shot him dead for no good reason.”
I feel suddenly like I might throw up, and have to swallow past it. Whatever look is on my face must give me away, because Alex nods as though I’d answered.
Silence hangs between us for a moment.
I nod once.
That’s all I can manage. I am both angry and ashamed. I decide to run with the former.
“Get out of my house,” I say.
The Warlock is no longer smirking. I expect an argument, and am still summoning my magic as he opens a portal in my bedroom, another testament to his power with the wards protecting the place.
Just before he steps through the portal, he turns back to look at me.
He flicks me a card, the paper floating to me on magic. I pluck it reluctantly out of the air.
“You know what they say about the truth, Miss Meadows?” he says. “It will set you free… When you’re ready to talk, let me know.”
Then he is gone.
Leaving me with his card.
And my guilt.
I sleep like the dead, and wake feeling the same.
My mouth is dry as bone, and my head swims as I blink my eyes open. I manage a breath before the events of earlier this morning flood back to me.
I try to shove the memories away. They shove back.
My door opens. Echo bounds into the room, Winter following slowly on her heels. Echo places a plate of strawberries and buttered toast on my desk near the balcony doors, and Winter carefully brings me the steaming tea.
“Shouldn’t you little butts be in school?” I ask, stifling a yawn.
Echo laughs. “It’s Saturday, auntie,” she says.
Right. Shit. Saturday. I knew that.
“Mommy said to bring you this,” Echo says. “She said to make sure you eat it.”
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s almost noon,” answers Winter.
At just a year older than Echo, Winter is the opposite her little sister in every way. She moves gently and quietly through the world, whereas Echo would rather sprint through flipping and screaming.
I love them both just exactly the way they are. I could not imagine loving a human being any more than I do them. Hands down, they were the very best nieces on the planet.
“Mommy says we can go to the Market this morning if you get your lazy butt up, auntie,” Echo says, placing her hands on her hips.
I smile as I take in the little purse slung over her shoulder and the shiny clear lipgloss she’s applied to her lips.
Winter, on the other hand, wears an oversized hoodie and bright green glasses that tend to slip down her nose.
Goddess damn me, but I do not want to go to the dang-a-lang Market right now. I want to cover my head with my blanket and fall back into the sweet oblivion of sleep. But in reality, I would just lie in bed, depressed, unable to sleep for the recent happenings.
And damn if my sister Flora doesn’t know this.
And that I am powerless to say no to my nieces.
I grumble as I stand from the bed. “Fine,” I say. “Shoo-shoo, you little turds, so I can get dressed.”
Echo giggles as she races out of the room yelling, “Little turds!”
The exact type of exit I would expect her to make.
Winter pauses in my doorway, looking back at me with big eyes. “Aunt Mira?”
“Mm?”
“Are you okay?”
The three-worded question just about brings me to my knees. I feel tears trying to rise to my eyes, feel the air catch in my chest.
No, I want to say. I am not okay.
And
