Page 74 of Rituals & Rivalry

My couch isn’t big enough. It was never meant for someone to sleep on, and certainly not someone who’s cursed with my long legs. There’s a reason I have such a small, leather couch—no guests.

No one comes to my home. I like it that way. That’s why I built my cabin all the way out here. A small kitchenette leads into the living space—just the couch and my books. Tiny bathroom. One bedroom.

I also find that I like knowing Aurora is sleeping peacefully in my bed, in my shirt. She was a mess last night, and even though we ended on a sour—or maybe just strange—note, I still want to make sure she’s safe and healthy.

I don’t get the same peaceful sleep. She was never supposed to be this close. I was never supposed to put her in danger.

When she ambles out of the room in the late morning, I stir easily, sitting upright and locking eyes with her. All I can see is the blur of her figure until I feel around for my glasses.

On the floor. Of course.

I lean, half off the couch, and slip them onto my face. The sight of her freezes me in my spot, the blood rushing from my head to my, uh… other head.

She looks like a mess. A beautiful mess. My shirt hangs off one of her shoulders, and her hair is in disarray. Her lips are swollen. Parted. Kissable.

To my relief, her lifeline is still bright. She’s still alive.

“You slept out here?” she mumbles.

“Well… yes.” I sit upright, pushing the throw blanket from my lap. “I don’t have a guest room. Because I don’t usually… have guests.”

Her eyes flicker until they’re practically closed, and she nods, dropping into the armchair next to the fire. It went out in the night. She must be freezing, but when I hold out the throw blanket for her, she doesn’t even acknowledge me.

“You’re hungover,” I say, venturing a guess.

“Little bit.”

“Bathroom is there if you need to freshen up.” I point vaguely. “I’ll…. See if I can make a hangover potion. And coffee. I need coffee. Do you?”

She nods and shuffles into the only bathroom in my cabin.

I don’t keep any hangover remedies, but I have enough supplies around to make an elixir, despite potion-making not being my specialty. I start the fire first, stacking the logs and using my magic to light it, and set the cauldron on top.

“You make magic look so easy.” It’s not until she speaks that I realize she’s back, watching me from beneath her heavy lids. “Like, every day magic.”

She still doesn’t know my specialty. I’m not sure I’m ready for her to know, even though she’s opened up to me—and perhaps that’s why we’re just friends, as she said.

It feels so immature to pretend that’s the case when we both know there’s something more here. There has been since the night we met, and we’ve spent every moment since running away from each other. How much longer can we keep doing that when this town has us in such proximity?

I don’t want to hurt her, and somewhere along the lines, I lost track of that. Maybe it’s for the best that we remain stuck in limbo.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” I say.

I pour moon water into the cauldron and add lemon peel, fairy dust vanilla, and a hefty pinch of salt. A family recipe, one my fathers taught me after my twenty-first birthday. It’s not as good as the potions at the tavern, but it should do the trick.

“Is that what you think I need to get my magic back?” she whispers hoarsely. “Just… practice?”

“I think only you know the answer to that.” I leave the cauldron bubbling and move into the kitchen. I gather my eggs from the fridge—farmer’s market fresh—and cut two pieces of sourdough. “Have you tried practicing your magic? Regularly.”

I’m not the right person to lecture her on the topic. I may be good at small spells, but I don’t practice my real magic. On purpose.

“Not really,” she says. “It reminds me too much of my dad.”

“Ah…” I sigh softly. “Then that would be the root of your block, I imagine.”

And as intimately as I know death, I’m not sure how to help her. I’m no better than her.

When I look over, she’s moved to the couch—somewhere she can see me. Watching. She rests her chin on the back of the couch. “What are you doing?”