Page 21 of Witches and Wine
More rustling sounded from the other line, followed by a door clicking shut and the tumbler of a lock. “Dion? Are you talking to him?”
“Elani, did you just barricade yourself in a room away from your child because you think I have sexy stories to tell you?” As fun as it was to read about a childhood version of myself crushing on the likes of Devon Sawa and Hayden Christensen, these held no clues about my other side.
Elani scoffed. “She’s not alone. Eros is out there. And judging by your tone, youdon’thave any scandalous tales?”
“No. But yes, Iamtalking to Dion again. We hung out yesterday, and he informed me that the only beings this place willallowinto it—have magic in their veins.” There was awooden box with a willow tree carved into the top resting in the crate that I didn’t remember having.
Elani went silent for a beat before letting out a light gasp. “Chels, does that mean—wait, then what are you?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I responded, my words trailing off as I picked up the wooden box, rested it on my thighs, and ran my fingers over the design, ridding it of dust that collected in my closet. “Dion thinks it has to do with Mom.”
“That’s what you meant by different. But if shewassomething other than human, wouldn’t she have toldyouat least? Or why hasn’t Da mentioned anything?”
Gulping, nerves prickling the back of my neck, I opened the box. “Maybe she kept it a secret.”
Riley jumped to his feet and scurried to the now-opened box, his nose twitching through its contents.
“Well, crap, you haven’t had signs or anything? No unexplained sparks or inky tendrils floating from your hands?”
Elani’s words may have sounded absurd to me weeks ago, but I was also too preoccupied watching Riley sort through the various items in the box. He raised on his haunches with a black velvet pouch held in his teeth.
“Do you have anything of Mom’s, Lani?” I asked, holding out my hand to receive the bag from my ferret.
“Only what Da gave me. Her porcelain dish set, a few pieces of jewelry. Why?”
With shaking hands, I cradled the phone on my shoulder and pulled the drawstring. I’d completely forgotten about the day my mother gave it to me, forgotten I still had it until this very moment. I shook the pendant into my open hand, tears welling in my eyes—a silver chain with four crystals nearing the circular piece, a pentagram overlaying it, at its center a light blue stone, and hanging from the circle were five tear-drop crystals.
“I think I know what mom was, sis. I think I know—whatIam.”
“All of a sudden? Did you find something?”
My sister’s words faded into the background as I pulled from a deeply rooted part of my soul, that pivotal memory from my childhood. She’d worn it all the time I knew her, but I never associated it with anything other than being a pretty necklace. That day, she’d removed it from her neck, slipped it into this very bag, and curled my little hand over it. I couldn’t recall everything she’d said to me, but one phrase in particular, one she’d spoken in Latin, resonated clear as a bell—mea parva maga.
My little witch.
A surge punched at my chest, alerting Riley into a frantic bout of squeaks and circling. Falling back on my elbows, I dropped the phone, faint whispers of snowy white sparkling tendrils fading from my fingertips.
I ran my finger over the pentagram, taking deep, concentrated breaths to keep them from spiraling into chaos.
“Chelsea,” Elani’s voice shouted from my phone.
Fumbling for it, I pressed it to my ear and smiled. “I’m a witch, Elani.”
“A—what?”
Clasping the necklace in my hand, I bit my lower lip, already feeling the magic tickling at the underside of my skin, testing whether I’d let it escape—if I’duseit. “I’ll talk to you more about it later; I’m sorry, there’s just—I need to go somewhere. I love you.”
“Wait, Chelsea, seriously? Wh—I love you too.”
After ending the call, I clasped the chain around my neck and kissed the top of a very excited Riley’s head. Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed a pair of flip-flops, threw on a coat, and clad in a pair of pajamas and determination, Isprintedto Dion’s place.
With zero regard for Dion’s neighbors, I pounded, knocked, and slapped his door with the frantic rhythm of a ravenous rabbit.
“Alright, alright, hold your godsdamned horses,” Dion yelled from inside.
My core clenched at the sound of his voice, and I gripped each side of the doorway, impatiently waiting for him to open it.
“You have a lot of nerve—” Dion started but stood still when he saw me. His amber eyes flared to life as he roamed my attire beneath the jacket, which was unabashedly hanging open. “Well, fuck. Hi, Chelsea.”
