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“I slept like a drunk person, so no.”

  "Tell me about it. Mind if I join you?"

  I nodded, and Damien stepped into the bathtub. He wrapped his arms around me as the water washed the previous night off his skin, but we didn't get up to any funny business. We were too late for that. Besides, my little mid-shower nap had made sure the water wasn't running quite as hot anymore and I was still shaking like a fig leaf from the daydream I had just had.

  I couldn’t free myself from the dream, either. I was less a stranger to daydreams than I was to not dreaming at all, but I had never quite had one like this before. My daydreams were never terrifying—I would dream of mountains and fields, fantasize about going back to Europe, or imagine what it would be like if I learned how to fly—but I didn't go a day without one, and they were always vivid.

  This daydream was no exception to the vivid rule, and I so wished it would leave my thoughts.

  "Listen," I said, "I think I'm going to skip class today."

  Damien gave me a concerned stare. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

  It wasn't. The last few months hadn't been good to me and I was feeling the sting of sleeplessness harder every day. But what could I have done? No one knew the reason for my inability to find sleep. And I didn't think 'bad dreams' were a reasonable excuse to be late on assignments and skip class, but sleeping in class would have been worse than skipping it. Professor Simmons had his pride and he didn’t take well to students sleeping during his lectures.

  I didn't have an excuse, but I didn't have energy either. Coming up with either would have been good, but today wouldn't be the day.

  "I feel terrible," I said, "And I've got to cover Eliza's shift in the bookstore later. I'm already behind on my assignments; one more day isn't gonna do me any harm."

  "Alright, but only if you're sure," Damien said. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him.

  "Yeah, I'm sure. I just don't know if I can face class today. I figure if I can get some sleep, and the bookstore is quiet tonight, I can get the assignments all done and hand them in on the weekend."

  Damien nodded. "I'll pick up any extra work you missed."

  I pursed my lips together and stared into his eyes. "I don't like saying this, but it's probably better if you stayed at your place tonight… so that I can get to bed early."

  "That's gonna suck, but if it means you'll be able to get a good rest..." I could see the disappointment on his face. It felt like I was rejecting him, but he understood.

  "I will,” I said, “I promise. Just, call me in the morning to make sure I'm up okay?"

  I stood on my tiptoes and pecked Damien on the lips before stepping out of the shower and wrapping myself up in a towel. Having permission to skip class, even if it only came from Damien, was like being dipped in a lake of warm relief. I watched him from my bed as he put his clothes on for class and left. I would have checked my emails and messages, but I knew I didn't have any worth reading.

  Finding sleep, though, after Damien left, proved to be a little harder than I thought. So I had the idea of slipping out of bed and pulling shutters closed to block out the light, but when I spotted someone in the back yard I found I couldn’t move. A man, I thought, in my back yard. Inside the back yard! Or maybe I was hallucinating again?

  That’s it. I was hallucinating. There was no one really there. Only when I closed my eyes and blinked, hard, the man remained, partially hidden by the tree jutting out from the snow covered grass. I was about to call out to it—him—when the shape darted out of sight and disappeared around the side of the house.

  As I analyzed the situation in my mind, in the split second following the stranger’s disappearance, I decided that this didn't feel like a hallucination. I could feel the cold on my skin, the bite of the December chill, and could see my warm breath before my lips. But more importantly, I wasn’t waking up.

  When I finally snapped out of it I shut the window and sat at the edge of my bed, but something didn't feel right. Dammit. Damien wasn’t around so I took it upon myself to go around my house and double check the doors and windows. If there was someone in my backyard I wanted to at least know who it was but there was no one around, and when I stepped into the cold wearing my robe I found no footprints in the snow and no trace of any theft or tampering.

  Satisfied that my house was, at least now, secure, I headed back to bed and allowed myself the two hours of rest I would be able to get before needing to get up for work. But the idea someone may have been in my backyard stuck with me like a bad cold. What if I had imagined it—him—just like I had imagined the black shape lunging at me in the bathroom? That in itself was something to investigate, maybe even make an appointment with the doctor about.

  But… what if I hadn't imagined it?

  Any of it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  By the time 2pm rolled along I was dressed and ready to get to work. I had picked out a black dress, long at the sleeves and the hem, and a pair of black boots. I wore a lot of black, but I liked black. Against my fair, freckled skin and copper hair black looked a kind of awesome in a way few other colors did. Except for, maybe, green and purple—also colors I loved. But I didn't own a lot of green and my purple clothes weren’t warm enough for this time of year. So I slipped into my clothes, slapped on Damien's leather jacket—which I had commandeered after he insisted it looked better on me than it did on him—and headed toward the bookstore.

  A brisk walk in the crisp December air helped reel me into the day. I hadn't noticed until now how white everything was; we must have had a whole foot of snow fall on us since late the night before. Stopped cars and buildings were covered in blankets of white, powdery snow, huge plow trucks worked to clear the streets, while pedestrians walked along the sidewalks, hugging their many layers of warm clothing. I was lucky that the walk from my house to the bookstore was a short one; the cold didn’t really bother me.

  When I woke up I detested the idea of having to go to class and then go to work, but in truth Tuesdays were quiet at the store. This meant that, if the trend held, I would be able to get some of my work done in the still hours of the evening, and today I had no intention of slacking off. I had done enough of that already.

  Armed with my cup of coffee, a Philly cheese steak, and a box of baked goods—tribute for the little pixie living in the bookstore and the even tinier pixie living inside of her—fresh out of the oven, I would get myself back on track. At least, that was the plan. My energy levels had started to fade as I arrived at the store, and I couldn't stop the tiredness from being plainly visible on my face as I stepped inside.

  "You're late," Eliza said.

  "Late?" I asked, dropping my stuff at the reading area. I kept the jacket on, though. "I'm, like, fifteen minutes late."

  "Yeah, that's late."

  "Oh, screw you. You've been late a ton of times! Anyway I got your favorite: Raspberry jelly.” I presented the box of baked goods and waited, hoping she would approve. I had intended the sweet treats as a kind gesture to a pregnant woman, but given her mood, it appeared that the role of these treats had been reassigned from kind gesture to peace offering.

  She examined the box with narrow eyes, but then cracked a smirk. "Alright, I accept your apology. And what's that I smell in your bag?"

  Eliza's appetite knew no bounds, now. In all our years I had never known her to be anything other than slight, but I had started to notice the weight gain which accompanied her pregnancy. It was part bump, part indulgence, but I enjoyed her new size and appetite. Her cheeks were rounder, fuller, and warmer. She had a nose like a bloodhound, though.

  "Philly cheese steak," I said, producing the wrapped sandwich from its bag. “Hungry much?”

  "Famished. Have you ever thought of putting jelly on that sandwich?"

  "No, but then I'm not a weirdo."

  It was ironic that those words should have come from my mouth.

  "It's these hormones," Eliza said, grabbing a warm doughnut and taking a
deep bite. Sweet, red jelly dribbled down the side of her mouth. With her pale skin, jet hair, opalescent cobalt eyes and the faux 'blood' dripping down her face she could've posed for a Vampire magazine or something.

  Pregnant Vampire Models Magazine.

  Was that a thing?

  "I'll tell you what," I said, "How about we split this? I should have got you one."

  "What?" Eliza's tone did protest, but her mouth was salivating at the thought of consuming the half I was breaking apart for her.

  "Seriously, take it," I said, pushing her half of the wrapper across the counter, "I'm hungry, but I'll be fine with this."

  And I was. I wasn't the kind of person to pig out on vast amounts of food, and the cheese steak I had was huge. Joe's portions always were. I liked to eat, but I knew when to stop. It didn't come from some conscious calorie counting habit or something, but simply because I didn't like the feel of being bloated.

  I didn't envy Eliza for having to carry a child around.

  "That... was awesome," I said, leaning back into the chair when I was done with my sandwich. "Really hit the spot."

  "Totally. Cheese steaks are the best," Eliza said. "So, what did you do last night that's got you hungover?"

  "Who said I was hungover?"

  "Oh come on. You're totally hungover."

  "I guess I'm busted. I didn't do much last night, though. Damien, Frank and I went up into my attic to chill and talk. Do a little Magick. That kind of thing. Started innocent enough."

  "Frank." Eliza's tone dropped into a chasm of discontentment. I knew she didn't approve of him.

  "Yeah, but you know how it goes. Somehow the bottle of Sambuca wormed its way into our circle and soon enough... hangover city."

  "That wasn't really very responsible, was it?"

  "Responsible? No, I guess not." Eliza's motherly instincts were kicking in, but I couldn't help at note the hypocrisy. Eliza would often come into work hungover before she got knocked up, and I never gave her any grief for staying up late. Difference was we were both doing it together back then so neither of us cared, or even noticed.

  Now it was only me doing the drinking and partying, and Eliza was noticing.

  "Well, I'm glad you had a good time last night,” she said, “I was up rubbing coco butter on my stomach and nursing the heartburn that doesn't seem to want to go away."

  “That sounds like it sucks. Can’t you take anything?”

  “I don’t want to take anything, but I want it to go away.”

  I took her hand. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  “It’s not your fault. This is just my life now, being pregnant and all. I want to be able to drink and party and do Magick.”

  I wondered whether Eliza’s Cobalt eyes were starting to look more like Jades. She knew I was a True Witch, and as much as I may have tried to draw a line between my life as a Witch and my life as Eliza's sister, I may not have been doing as good a job as I may have thought. She was ordinary and I got the feeling that, sometimes, she felt a little cheated. But how could it be helped?

  "Are we still going to the tree lot tomorrow?" I asked, "We have to get a Yule log—oh, and the ingredients for the mulled cider!"

  Eliza couldn't drink alcohol this year, but she had always enjoyed preparing the cider and had promised to help make it this year too.

  "If you want," Eliza said, but her lazy shrug said more than her words did.

  Still, I pressed on. "And, actually, I wanted to ask you something."

  "What's up?"

  I braced myself. "It's about Yuletide. We've got this whole night lined up including the ritual we're gonna do, and I was just wondering... if we could include Frank in this."

  "Frank?"

  "Yeah... what do you think?"

  "Do you really want to know?"

  "Of course I do."

  Eliza paused and looked away from me. "I think you're spending too much time with Frank and Damien."

  "Too much time?" I asked.

  "Getting drunk in the attic, missing class, missing work. It isn't like you at all, Amber."

  "So I'm spending time with them and having a little fun. You remember what I went through just a few months ago, right Elizabeth?"

  "I do," Eliza said, her harsh expression softening up, "But you're not acting like yourself, and I think Frank's a bad influence on you."

  "A bad influence? I'm hardly sixteen. And besides, they're Witches. I've learned so much about myself in the past month. I wouldn't be anywhere as good as I am at using my Magick if I hadn't spent as much time with them as I have."

  "I don't get it, okay? I just don't get it."

  I sighed. "What don't you get?"

  "I'm not a Witch like you! I'll never get what you have with Damien or with Frank. I'll never be invited to your rituals so why should I invite him to mine?"

  A hard lump lodged in my throat. "I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to make you feel like that. You’re totally invited to my rituals. Okay? I promise. All of them. You can come."

  "Invite Frank if you want, okay?” she said, standing, “I don't care. I have other things to worry about."

  I circled around the counter and took Eliza into a hug, then kissed her on the cheek. "You're my best friend, okay? You're my sister and I love you. I don't mean to piss you off."

  "I know you don't."

  "C'mon, let's get you all packed up and on your way out. You can't be stressed out right now."

  Eliza nodded and collected her things. Backpack, laptop, phone, keys. I watched her pack her bag and we made our goodbyes, but they weren't sweet goodbyes. Eliza was being eaten up on the inside and I wasn't doing anything to help. I hadn't realized until then how big a wedge this Witch thing—and perhaps the pregnancy—had shoved between us, but it made me sick to my stomach. Eliza and I used to be inseparable.

  I had to make it up to her.

  When she left and I settled behind the counter, pulled my laptop and text books out of my bag, and prepared myself to type. I got as far as “This is…” before a customer entered the store. A middle-aged housewife in need of a recipe book she couldn't find online for a roast she wanted to cook for her three kids and husband. Then a man walked in looking for a very specific book on Military Aviation History I was sure we didn't have, but he insisted I check for.

  Last minute purchases. Always urgent.

  When the store was quiet, it was quiet. At times I would find myself surprised the store even made enough money to warrant one employee, let alone two. Did all the customers come in the morning? I guessed as much, though I wasn't at the store in the mornings so I didn't know. Eliza never complained of it being busy, though. Not like it was tonight.

  James sometimes sent parcels from random places all over the world. The last one he sent was from Prague, and I had explicit instructions not to open it and file it away in the safe we kept in the back. I was always curious, of course, and so was Eliza. But neither of us dared go against James's wishes—he paid our wages and was fine with leaving two twenty-something's to manage his store by ourselves, after all. And if the bookstore went a day or two without opening, he didn't much care.

  This was a pretty sweet gig. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it was a front for something, but it was a sweet gig nonetheless.

  When the bookstore was busy, though, it was chaos. People who wanted non-fiction were patient enough to wait for me to find the book they wanted. But this patience—or stubbornness—often led to a back-log of customers who needed attention, and they in turn created an even longer back-log. Hadn't they ever heard of Amazon? I shouldn't think like that, of course. The bookstore was my livelihood. But I sometimes wished I could wave patrons off and ask them to look online.

  Today, of course, had to be one of the busy days.

  My assignments, then, would go unfinished for another day.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The hour crept up behind me like a wolf creeps up on a rabbit. Closing time h
ad come and I had no idea where the afternoon had gone. I hadn't managed to get a single keystroke down and my tired body was starting to fight the thought of working on my assignments at home. What I needed was a cup of herbal tea and an undisturbed good night's sleep.

  Only then would I have the energy to get these assignments off my workload.

  Lucky for me, what I did have plenty of time to do between, and during, customers was think. Eliza couldn't have been right, could she? I didn't think Frank was a bad influence on me. He was fun and, dammit, I was allowed to have fun, wasn't I? Maybe I could be a little impressionable at times, but that didn't make sense because I fancied myself a logical thinker who put plenty of good reason behind most of her actions. I knew I had to stop partying so hard with him, sure, but he just brightened up my day! Why would I want to give up one of the only fun things about my life?

  Eliza was exaggerating, I decided.

  That's what it was. I was late and hungover once! It wasn't like I staggered into the store stinking of sweat and booze. She made me feel bad for having a good night and that wasn't cool, pregnant or not. I didn't need to make anything up to her. She needed to make it up to me. Right? Okay, maybe I didn’t really want to ask Eliza to make it up to me, but angry people say and think stupid things in the heat of the moment.

  Darkness fell and I started to pack up my things and shut the till. If I hurried home I may have been able to -at least get a start on one assignment. But fate wasn't going to let me off the hook so easily. The doorbell twinkled and my heart skipped. Another customer? Now? I put the closed sign up, didn’t I?

  I was about to throw a "we're closed" at the intruder but it was Damien, and Gods what a welcomed sight he was. Only... no! He was meant to stay away tonight!

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  Maybe the question came off a little harsher than I would have liked, but dammit, I had every right to be harsh. I told him to stay away, now all I wanted to do was pull him into the back and have my way with him. I would never forgive myself for allowing him to have such an effect on me. Swooning was an unwomanly habit which I simply had to cut out of me.