Page 2 of These Charms Won't Fade
“If you’re that worried about walking in on something, youcouldknock!” I call back, causing Morgan to laugh so hard she snorts. “We’re in the kitchen, Gem. Dinner is almost ready.”
I’m sliding the loaf of garlic bread into the oven when Gemma comes in, followed by Cal.
“No Jamie tonight?” Morgan asks while I turn my attention to chopping red onion and peppers for the salads.
“He’s away on Council business,” Cal says, the air carrying a mixture of pride and loneliness along with his words. Cal Morrissey, like his boyfriend, is a long-time member of the Council that oversees the three Witch Clans. The men, who are both Caster Witches, first met on a case last year and officially started dating four months ago.
Cal opens the fridge and slides in his signature lemon meringue pie. He brings it over a few times a year, and the balance of tart and sweet is always perfect. So perfect, in fact, I’m convinced there’s some Caster magic involved in the process, despite his claims otherwise.
“Jamie just got promoted to MAPC,” Cal says as he closes the fridge. “There’s a Caster Witch in a tiny town in upstate New York selling artisanal soaps and shampoos that dance the line of being a bittoomagical for non-witches.”
“Mapsy?” Gem pulls the bottle opener from a drawer and gets to work on the wine she brought as her contribution to dinner. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a new department.Magic Acceptable for Public Consumptionor MAPC.” Cal reaches into the cupboard to collect four wine glasses. “It’s part of the new effort to ease up on magical restrictions without outing the Clans.”
“You witches and your acronyms.” Gem’s tone is warm, but I can practically hear the eyeroll beneath that.
“That’s more the Council than the rest of us.” I finish chopping and turn to fully face my friends. “Fuck, Gem. You look amazing.”
She’s dyed fresh streaks of vibrant pink into her blond hair, which she’s curled and pulled half-up so it’s out of her face. Her makeup looks camera-ready with glittering eyeshadow and thick liner that makes her blue irises pop. “Going somewhere fancy after this?”
Gem shakes her head. “I had a sponsored live stream earlier today. It felt like a waste to wash all this off right after.” She flutters thick false lashes at me.
“The tarot reading gig is really taking off, huh?” Morgan stacks silverware onto a set of plates and heads for the dining room.
Though she’s the only one of us who isn’t part of the three Witch Clans, Gemma is the most public about the witchy parts of her life. At least, the Reg-version of what counts aswitchy.
By day, Gemma works as a therapist in a community-based practice in Boston. After a Witch Hunter ran us off the road the summer before our senior year in high school, Gemma broke her leg and lost hope in ever having a professional dance career. Now, she specializes in helping teen athletes rebuild their sense of self after a major injury.
On nights and weekends, though, Gemma is one of the most popular tarot readers on Instagram.
“With this latest booking, I’m on track to make more from tarot this month than from my day job.” Gem sips her wine and leans against the counter, trailing a finger up and down the stem of the glass. “I know my job is important, but all the bureaucracy and insurance admin is killing my soul. I’d love to do the tarot full-time, but I worry about paying for health insurance on my own, you know?”
“One thousand percent understand.” I reach for my wine. “That’s the same reason I’m hesitant to go all-in on freelance art.”
Gem cocks an eyebrow at Cal. “Why doesn’t the Council provide insurance for all witches? That seems like the kind of resource they should offer.”
Cal raises his hands. “Don’t look at me. That’s not my department.”
Morgan comes back from setting the table. “I thought Graham was joining us tonight?”
The air carries a hint of embarrassment and guilt across my skin, so when Gem shrugs, I know her nonchalance isn’t the full story. “We broke up.”
“Do we hate him? Should we ceremonially burn all his things?”
Gem waves away my concern. “He didn’t do anythingwrongexactly. He just wasn’tright.” Gem shifts out of the way when Morgan grabs bowls for salad. “He kept dropping all these hints about living together, but I’d always deflect. It felt too soon, and I like my space. But then for our six-month anniversary last week, he took me out to my favorite restaurant and presented me with this fancy ring-sized box.”
I cringe. “Oh god. He didn’t propose, did he?”
“Talk about not reading the room,” Cal cuts in while Morgan murmurs a hearty “yikes.”
“He wasn’t that clueless, no. The box had a set of keys to his place, but Grahamknewmy lease wasn’t up for another four months! He knew I kept saying no, but it was like he was obsessed with following some pre-determined timeline that he couldn’t listen to what I wanted.” She takes a long sip from her wine. “Anyway, all my tarot readings since the breakup point to something better coming. Something with fewer secrets. I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will. You don’t need a man—or woman or nonbinary partner—to be complete.” Still, the air continues to brush a twinge of pain and embarrassment across my skin, so I crush my best friend in a hug.
Gemma came out as pansexual her senior year of college, and though she’s dated plenty since then, it’s rare for a partner to make it past three months. This time, the guilt I feel is my own. Thesecretsshe has to keep from partners aren’t even technically her own.
“When you find your right person, we’ll make sure the Council fast-tracks the approval process, so you can tell them all about our world. You’ve more than proven yourself.”
