Page 25 of Witchlore
“That… was incredibly insensitive,” he says, stopping. My face reddens. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me so awkward I spew inappropriate nonsense, but it’s definitely becoming a pattern.
“Oh, come on, it was just a joke,” I say weakly, so distracted by my own thoughtlessness that I trip over a tree root and step in dog poo, an entirely deserved karmic turn.
“Do you feel better when people say that afterward?” Bastian demands.
“No, sorry,” I mutter. I feel like I’m being told off by a teacher and I’m suddenly sweaty with humiliation.Twat.I repeat inside my head,I am a total twat.
“Are you?” Bastian turns and starts to walk away and I have to jog to catch up. I’ve never been good in social situations (thank you, homeschooling) but I’ve got worse since May. I wonder if there’s any point in apologizing. How would I even phrase it?Sorry, my parents kept me locked up and I’ve only ever had one real friend. I’m pretty much socially illiterate.Then I think that he’s the one who can cast the spells and he’s the one helping me with this step toward getting Elizabeth back. Also, he’s been kind to me, in a superior sort of way, and it’s none of my business why his mumleft his dad. At least he talks to me and he wasn’t a total arse about the panic attacks.
“Yeah, I am,” I say. “Really.”
Bastian sighs heavily and I wonder if he’s the kind of person who holds a grudge or needs to give a lecture before he accepts an apology. I steel myself for whatever is coming next.
“It wasn’t the cheese,” he says softly. “It was because of my brother.”
My stomach lurches painfully because I know that regretful, wistful tone. I know that whatever he’s sharing with me now is a secret, a painful one, and I know how hard this can be to do.
“I didn’t know you have a brother.”
I don’t want to ask what happened, but I want him to know it’s okay to tell me and I have absolutely no idea how to communicate that.
“I don’t.” I look at his face. It’s shadowed but his lips are pulled into a tight line. “I mean, I don’t have one anymore. Or I do, he’s just…” Bastian sighs and tilts his head back. “He died.”
It’s absolutely not what I expected. I don’t want to say any of the things people said to me when Elizabeth died. Instead, I say the first thing that pops out of my mouth.
“Oh, crap. Really?” I wince at my continued lack of tact, but Bastian doesn’t seem to mind this time, or he doesn’t notice.
“Yeah,” Bastian says, his voice suddenly distant. “Two years ago.”
“And your mum…?” I ask hesitantly.
“She and Dad were less and less happy anyway, before he died. My brother tried to shield me from it, I think, but he was only a year older so he couldn’t hide the way she was holding it together for us.” Bastian sighs. “But then… when he was gone… it wastoo much. They both raised us to love exploring witchcraft, but after everything happened, Dad actively hated it. It’s like Mum was leaning into witchcraft to cope with the tragedy and Dad leaned the other way. They fought about it all the time.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Tried to ignore them,” Bastian says with a bitter smile. “Mum did her best but Dad became someone I didn’t want to know. He doesn’t even wear hisringanymore.” Bastian’s voice is full of disgust. I feel a flutter of disquiet.
“So you really don’t like people who don’t do witchcraft?” I ask, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel.
“No, it’s not like that, I don’t hate you because you can’t do witchcraft, it’s different,” he says fervently. “You don’t know what my family was like before it happened, witchlore and witchcraft was who wewere.Then after, Dad said… if magic can’t save someone, what’s the point of it?”
Bastian’s voice breaks and I understand these are the words that have embedded their thorny edges into his heart. I know how it feels to live with words like that.
“And your mum just left you?” I’m definitely not the authority on family, but even I can see that’s an unkind thing to do to your grieving son. “Seems… harsh.”
“I’m an adult. She has to work, especially with the divorce. She did what she had to do.”
He’s still walking with purpose but there’s something raw in his voice that reminds me of the times Elizabeth would talk about how worried she was that her mum, who dreamed of her little girl getting married in a Barbie-and-Ken-style event, would find out she was queer and in a relationship with a shapeshifter.
“Did you want to go with her?” I ask. Bastian’s face twitches.
“I need to finish college,” he says quietly. I take that as a yes, and that he had absolutely no say in the matter.
“And you chose to move to Manchester?”
“I wanted a change. At least now Dad’s never around,” Bastian says bitterly. “He’s in London all the time. He only comes to Manchester for meetings and to make sure I’m not dead.”
Now there’s a parental dynamic that’s more up my street. I can hear the loneliness in his voice and I understand it, being alone in a city without a family, feeling like you don’t have an anchor, a place to return to.
