Page 46 of Rituals & Rivalry

Aurora kneels with me beside the woodstove as I dry and load it back up, using a little magic to ensure the flame captures. Every day magic for me is easier than my specialized magic. Most witches can do simple spells: charm a cup of tea, start a fire, give someone a blessing for good luck.

But each witch has a specialty, and that’s where I struggle. Not because I’m not good at what I do—I am—but because I don’t want to do it.

Not again.

There’s only one way I use my magic now—her lifeline. Even though her mood is dampened, her line is bright, and it puts me at ease.

Still safe, even though she’s been around me way too much.

I shake the thoughts away and turn to Aurora. “Come here.” My hands are still warm from the fire spell, and I tentatively hold them out—a peace offering.

She scoots closer, placing her soft hands in mine. Her fingers are like icicles, but she has the hands of a creator. These are the hands of someone I’ve known intimately but still don’t know at all. Even though I want to look away, I can’t. She’s a black hole, sucking me in.

“You’ve told me a lot today,” she whispers. “Can I tell you a secret? Something no one else knows?”

My mouth goes dry.

Why would Aurora want to tell me a secret? She doesn’t trust me. Doesn’t like me. I’m not sure I want to be her secret-keeper. I’m certainly not fit for it. Despite what she may think, I haven’t really told her anything.

And I won’t, no matter how many secrets she shares.

“Of course,” I croak, rubbing my fingers against hers to warm them up.

“I couldn’t use my fire to light the magic even if I wanted to.” She closes her eyes, cursing under her breath.

The fire crackles, casting light onto her, illuminating the water droplets in her hair and clinging to her eyelashes. I can’t register her words. There are some witches who excel in their specialties but struggle with everyday activities, the opposite of me. Why would that be a secret?

“Mundane spells are hard for you,” I say slowly, peering at her through my water-stained lenses. “That happens, especially when a witch’s magic otherwise is quite strong⁠—”

“No. I can’t do any magic.” Her eyes fling open, and stars sparkle in them—tears.

She’s as afraid as I am, isn’t she? It’s been so hard to realize through her big personality, but Aurora isn’t okay, and I have a feeling that’s been the case from the day I met her.

“It’s been years,” she says. “The stars stopped talking to me, and magic… doesn’t call to me at all anymore. Not since my dad died. It’s like he took my magic with him to the Underworld. And I don’t care. I don’t want my magic without him.”

Her voice shakes, and I hold her hand tighter, nodding. Encouraging. Something tells me she’s lying, that she cares about losing her magic, but I don’t call her on it.

“You’re probably going to use this against me,” she says. “You’ll tell Jewel I don’t deserve her mentorship, and you’re right. But I don’t care about that either. From the start, I only took it to… to annoy you.”

To my surprise, she laughs.

But I don’t.

It doesn’t matter that she succeeded in her task—of annoying me, that is. She’s a witch in my coven, and a witch in need.

Jewel taught me better. I’ll help Aurora, even if doing so shoots me in the foot.

“Hey.” I narrow my eyes. “I’m many things, but I’m not one to play dirty. When I win—when I lead the coven—it will be because I earned it. And I will keep your secret.”

She blinks, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You will?”

It would be too easy to let her fizzle out of whatever competition Jewel is trying to create between us, but I can’t. Not like this. The fire in my hands grows warmer, and her cheeks flush the sweetest shade of pink.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want a real competition. So, I’m going to help you find your magic. It’s misplaced, not gone.”

“You can’t⁠—”

“I know it’s in there.” I lean in, a new fire blazing in my chest. “Trust me. I saw it the day we met in the bar, and I still see it now, even if you don’t.”