Page 50 of Her Dreadful Will
“Later.”
Soleil tossed the phone aside, buried her face in the pillow, and groaned. She had really screwed up.
A cold nose smushed against her elbow. She turned her head aside and through a tangle of brown hair saw Carebear’s elegant muzzle. The tan spots above his dark eyes twitched with concern.
“You kinda like me now, don’t you?” She reached out to pet him. “I messed up today, Carebear. I met my first Highwitch or Witchlord face to face, and I—I called him a guy with a bunch of sparkly bugs. Ugh!” She buried her face again, inhaling the scent of roses and lavender. Her mother used to tuck sweet-smelling sachets between the neatly folded sheets in the linen closet at home, and Soleil now did the same with her own closet. The familiar fragrance sifted through her nose into her throat where it solidified into a lump of homesickness so big that tears spilled from her eyes, dampening the pillowcase. Carebear nosed in further, licking the tears away with his rough tongue.
“I have to fix this,” Soleil whispered. “A bad report from a Convocation representative could ruin my hopes of being a Highwitch.”
She rolled over and stared up at the swirls on the ceiling. “I have to make him give me another chance.”
19
Wonderland had changed. Soleil could feel it as she walked to work on Monday.
The smiles of her neighbors didn’t feel organic anymore; they were stiff, plastered onto artificially bright faces.
Maybe she was imagining things. She wasn’t in the best of moods, after all; her texts to Achan had both gone unanswered. Clearly he was done with her. He had probably already reported her insolence and stubbornness to the Convocation.
If he was really a Witchlord, he was allowed to have a coven, provided he registered it and adhered to Convocation regulations. Butifhe was linked to the Convocation,ifhe was there to spy on her for them, why was he using moonlight circles as an energy source? Why did he talk so disdainfully of the Institute’s teachers? If everything he said and did was actually a test, he’d been very convincing. A little too convincing. He really seemed to hate the established institutions of witchcraft. Surely that wasn’t all an act.
Voices broke Soleil’s train of thought. She was passing Landon’s house, and his mother stood on the doorstep, telling him sharply, “You’d better take some time to relax tonight, son.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Landon automatically. Soleil knew he was only being polite because she had tweaked his will that way, so he’d show his parents more respect.
“You say that,” his mother threw after him desperately. “But you didn’t listen to me this weekend, did you?”
Landon gave Soleil an eerily bright smile and jogged past her, on his way to work.
Soleil paused at the end of the walk, a strip of gray concrete bridging the space between her and Landon’s mother.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. She didn’t have a hyacle on this woman, but she’d entered her volisphere before, gained her trust, and elicited information about Landon’s issues. Most of those whom Soleil mind-flexed seemed to feel a rapport with her afterwards—a trusting fondness that made them more prone to share their thoughts and feelings, more likely to speak well of her to others. Soleil liked that afterglow; she basked in it, and she muted the inner voice whispering that it wasn’t real friendship or true connection—that it was magically induced, a hollow liaison.
Soleil’s question acted like a lure to Landon’s mother, and the woman drew closer, fiddling nervously with the collar of her blouse. “He’s just so focused on work now,” the woman said. “That’s all he wants to do. I was happy at first because he seemed so driven—but he won’t take time to relax or be with his friends—to be a kid. Summer’s nearly over, and he hasn’t made those memories—” A tear trickled along her nose. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m so upset about this. It isn’t your problem to fix.”
Soleil’s heart sank. “It’s okay. I’m always happy to talk. I do have to open the store now, but you and I should get together soon for coffee. We can chat then.”
Landon’s mother nodded. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll text you,” Soleil promised. As she walked away, she murmured under her breath, “And I’ll fix it.”
When she turned onto Main Street, she saw Mya striding toward her, pushing the double stroller. Her two children sat in the seats, cups of cereal in their hands, looking fresh, clean, and bright-eyed. The stroller itself practically sparkled—all traces of dried-on baby food and accumulated dirt had been scrubbed away. Mya’s hair formed a beautiful black cloud around her head, and she was dressed in a vivid summer dress and sandals. Her lips and eyelids shone with color, and long earrings brushed her jaw with every step.
“Mya!” Soleil waved, smiling. “You’re out early again. I’ve seen you every morning lately.”
“Got to get a jump on the day,” said Mya. “Lots to do.”
“Sure, but it doesn’t hurt to take a day off.”
“My family’s future depends on me,” replied Mya. “I need to provide the best home and the best experience that I can. That means sticking to a schedule.”
“But...fun is important too.”
The implacable purpose in Mya’s eyes disturbed Soleil. She’d meant to inspire this woman, to help her through a difficult phase of life; but maybe Soleil had gone too deep with the mind-flex, or had done it in too much of a hurry. Something of Mya had been lost along the way. The soft shine of her soul, once dimmed under layers of weariness and worry, wasn’t any brighter. In fact, it was all but suffocated under the drive to accomplish a list of tasks. Mya might be more efficient, but she didn’t seem happier.
Soleil should have checked on her more often, but with the foggy quality of Mya’s hyacle, it was difficult to be sure how things were going.
“We should have coffee soon,” Soleil said abruptly. “You, me, maybe one or two others.”
