Page 37 of Witchlore
Part of me wants him to say that’s exactly what he’ll do, and then I don’t have to reckon with going back to those familiar beaches and that long, open sky. Another part of me likes that I have someone to do things with now, to study with, to go places with. Yes, the boggart was terrifying, but there are no boggarts that I know of in Lytham.
“Next Saturday is great,” he says. “I’d like to try and get to the final stage by Samhain, or we’ll have to wait until the winter solstice.”
Samhain is six weeks away. It seems impossible to me that Bastian will still want to hang out with me in six weeks, but the thought that maybe he will makes my cheeks flush.
“Sounds good,” I say.
On the Friday before we’re due to go to Lytham, the last day of September, I actually find myself getting excited about our trip.
“I’ll drive us tomorrow,” Bastian says.
“I didn’t know you drive.”
“Yep, passed last summer.” Bastian pulls on his satchel as we prepare to leave the library after a day’s studying.
“And you’re good at it?” I follow him down the wide marble stairs, past the snowy white sculpture of the Reading Girl. “Like, you didn’t reverse into a bollard or kill any hedgehogs during your lessons?”
“No and no. I did, however, run over my driving instructor’s foot on my first lesson.”
“That does not fill me with confidence.”
Bastian grins and I realize I like this, the ease with which we can joke with one another, the way it’s almost becoming normal now. We’ve reached the bottom of the stairs, the blue light from the stained-glass windows reflecting weakly on the floor, when Kira Tavi steps into my path. Today she’s dressed in a dark green long-sleeved jumpsuit that, to my mind, makes her look like a classy astronaut.
“Hiya,” she says, shooting Bastian a curious look before turning back to me. “Can I speak to you? Alone?”
“I’ll wait out front,” Bastian says. I nod and follow Kira under the arches into the library café, bustling with old people having a coffee, babies sucking on orange juice cartons, and students having a snack and watching TV on their phones before heading upstairs. She’s set up on one of the white plastic booth tables with her laptop out and a coffee and sandwich beside it. I wonder, suddenly, if she’s been waiting for me. After all, she usually studies with her little crew of high achievers in the college library.
“Join me,” she says, gesturing to the blue bench opposite her in a way that makes me feel like this is a job interview and I’ve walked into her office. I sit down warily on the edge of the cushioned plastic. I don’t slide all the way in opposite her and don’t take off my bag. I already get the sense I might want to make a quick escape.
“I’ve got a tram to catch,” I say. Kira nods and folds her hands. She’s changed her manicure. Now it’s all autumnal browns and yellows, very seasonal.
“Just a quick catch-up, that’s all.” She smiles. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “How’s it going in your new form?”
“It’s fine.” I look at her blankly. “Is this a peer mentoring thing?”
I was under the impression those meetings would be taking place in college. I didn’t realize I’d signed up to be randomly accosted anywhere in Manchester and asked about my deepest secrets.
“No, I just…” Kira tilts her head to the side in a way I find instantly patronizing. “How’s it going with Bastian?”
I frown. This is definitely not a peer mentoring question. This almost feels like a friend question. Which would make a lot more sense if Kira and I were, in any way, friends.
“Why are you asking that?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,” she babbles, in a way that makes me aware that it is definitelysomething.“It’s just… maybe be careful around him.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s just, he’s new and you’re… you.” I flinch at that, all the old catcalls rising in my memory:Abnormal. Shifter. Freak.“And you never know what people’s motives are.”
I feel a red-hot flare of anger rising up inside of me and a flush filling my cheeks. The unmitigated gall of her astounds me. It’s the kind of rage that makes my hands shake and my throat tighten and irritating tears prickle at the corners of my eyes.
“You’re wondering what possible reason someone like him could have for hanging around with a weirdoshifterlike me,” I start, my voice trembling as I try to keep it under control in a public place. “It couldn’t be that he justlikesme, could it?”
“I’m not saying that at all!” Kira’s eyes widen. “I’m worried about you, we don’t know anything about him—”
“And knowing something about a person makes them better, does it? Makes them safer?” I lean forward as all my resentment against everyone in college who has ever made my life hell pours out on Kira Tavi. “I’ve known nearly everyone in college for two years and my girlfriend died andstillno one even cares that it happened to me! Instead, they just act like it’s all my fault! So you can fuckingshoveyour fake concern up your ruddyarse!”
I stand up, struggling to pull the other strap of my rucksack on, my emotions so high they are making my hands move awkwardly, as if my rage has given them some kind of jitters. There are two middle-aged women having tea and scones at the next table, subtly gawking at us as they spread jam. I have a feeling that I have not been as quiet as I could have been. I need to get out of here, now, because the last thing I want to do is cry in front of an audience.
