“Yes sir,” he sings, but I ignore him. Using the door as my table, I scrawl my cell number on the back of the card, not giving up an inch of space for Josephine.
I hold the card out for her. “This is my personal number.” I search her face for any inkling of her thoughts. The fire in her eyes has dimmed, and her brows are pulled down in confusion. “Call, text, anything. I…” My words trail off. I don’t know what else to say. What am I asking her to do? Call to set up a date. To have a chat like two teenage girls talking about their crushes.
Josephine slowly takes the card from me like it’s a snake and not a piece of paper. She folds her hand against her chest, pressing the card to her heart while her eyes never leave my face. There’s confusion and a whole lot of unasked questions aimed my way. I take a step back, feeling uncertain. I don’t like it.
Josephine slowly opens the door. She slips out like she’s afraid I’m going to change my mind and haul her back in here. The temptation to do that is strong, but I take another step back, proving to myself that my will is sturdier than whatever spell she’s cast on me.
Morty lets out a low whistle as soon as the door closes. “That was entertaining.”
I ignore him, unable to let Josephine out of my sight until she disappears under the cover of night.
“What kind of spell was she getting ingredients for?” I turn back toward the sequined clad man who is cleaning rows of potions with a feather duster.
“For shame, Roman my love. I don’t spill other people’s dirty details.”
“Sure, you do. All the time.” I cross my arms, resting my back against the door, and wait.
Morty sighs, lowering his duster and crossing his own arms. His suit glitters in the golden glow of the store with each move he makes. How can I even take him seriously?
“She wasn’t buying ingredients for herself. I’ll tell you that much.” Morty’s gaze drifts to the window, in the direction Josephine just headed. “That girl deserves a lot better.”
I don’t know if he’s referring to me or something else in Josephine’s life. Maybe both.
I came in here to pick up ingredients for Bram’s numbing potion. It helps keep his darkness at bay, but he hates thinking, talking, or generally acknowledging anything to do with his curse. He foolishly considers it a weakness on his part. Here I am, trying to be a good brother, and I get slapped with life lessons instead.
Fucking great.
11
JOSEPHINE
My phone has been burning a hole in my pocket for the past week. I added Roman Blackthorn’s number the second I got home and threw away his card like it had teeth. Then I fished it out of the garbage and compared it to the number I’d input to make sure I hadn’t entered any digits wrong. After which, I threw the card away again. Only to retrieve it one more time. I ended the whole indecisive fiasco by hiding the slip of paper at the very back of my underwear drawer.
Did I text him? No.
Do I have any plans to text him? Ugh, I don’t know.
Why didn’t I give him my number? That way, the ball would be in his court. Now, I’m the one completely responsible for deciding whether we hook up. Because, let’s face it, that’s exactly what this is. I wouldn’t be sending him a message to get to know him or flirt. It would be a green flag that I’m down to fuck. Which my body is one hundred percent on board with. My brain is also very clinically telling me to get some. My heart, however, is a hesitant bitch.
I’m not sure I’m the kind of person who can casually have sex and not get attached. How could it be more than that? We’re literally from two different sides of the river. Our covens have taught us to stay away from each other. There’s no future for us.
“Why do you keep looking at your phone?” Ava’s lying on my couch in a pair of baggy shorts and an oversized I love New York T-shirt. She’s officially moved into Stellan’s apartment but is at my place or Piper’s half the time.
She’s restless. Any time Stellan isn’t home, Ava is knocking on one of our doors. Not that I mind. She’s always good company, but I’m worried about her. She’s putting on a good front, but there’s a distant look that sneaks into her eyes and worries me. Her curse is a different kind of torture.
To be forgotten.
Right now, it takes a long time for us to forget Ava, but if she goes weeks without seeing us, the memory of her starts to fade. Eventually, it will only take days, and then minutes. She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know it’s always in her thoughts.
I haven’t told her what happened with Roman last weekend. Piper won’t say anything. That woman is a vault. You tell her a secret, and she will take it to her grave. Ava will blab to Stellan the second she gets hold of any information. It’s been on the tip of my tongue to tell her a dozen times this week, but I don’t know how to drop it into conversation.
Ava sits up and shifts over to the corner, giving me a clear no-touch zone on the couch.
“Spill. You’ve been on the verge of telling me something all week. What is it?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Ava has empathic magic. She can read people’s moods and auras. If she digs deep enough, which she rarely does because it’s an invasion of privacy, she can determine their motivations.
The TV is playing an action show with a massive beast of a man beating up a bunch of people. The volume is almost all the way down, though, so I only catch an occasional grunting sound.
