Witchtober – Glitter

October 6, 2022April 7, 2023 / Aelina / Leave a comment

Today’s witch is brought to you by the prompt Glitter. Spoilers for Phantom and Rook.

I’ve officially decided glitter is an asshole.

Witch House is empty, a rare thing these days. I managed to convince Dad–Arlo, that I’m not feeling well, not that I would need much of an excuse to stay home from school. He knows I like going, so if I want to stay home, there’s a good reason.

But I’m not sick.

Oh, my nerves are shot and my glued together fingers shake. That’s only because I didn’t sleep last night and pounded a half a pot of coffee the moment everyone left for work or school. An hour later and the caffeine hasn’t relented, but whatever.

This has to be perfect.

I stand on wobbling legs, the sensation in my toes long gone from sitting cross legged too long. I hold the banner up, inspecting my work. Excess purple and silver glitter cascades down my front and I frown at the drooping letters. A few of the pasted on, gigantic letters flop to the floor with simultaneous wet slaps, leaving behind a partial message.

‘HA PY B RTHD Y A LO’

“Fuck.” I mutter, blowing out a heavy breath.

“Don’t let Arlo hear you talking like that,” A distorted voice says softly, scaring the fucking shit out of me.

The banner goes flying overhead and I squeak. Magick flares and rattles the paintings on the walls. I inhale sharply and contain my energy before causing a disaster. Again.

Silas tucks his chin into his left shoulder, but instead of the usual loud hum that follows the movement, he laughs. In the few months we’ve been living together at Witch House, I’ve never heard the sound. It’s … probably frightening to anyone that doesn’t know him, but I like it, screechy rasping and all.

“You’re supposed to be at school,” I mumble, hurrying for the banner now cast across the craft table behind me. Before I can crumple it into a ball, Silas’ hand falls on mine.

“Don’t do that,” He says, and I frown.

“It’s not good enough.”

Silas shakes his head. Thick white bangs sweep back and forth across the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes from me. Another thing Silas doesn’t let the world see. His hair is longer now than when we first met. The near translucent tresses cast well beyond his shoulders as he takes the banner from me. I reluctantly let him have it with a huff.

Silas studies the mess of a banner that I intended to hang in the kitchen downstairs before Arlo and the others got home, but at this rate it’ll never happen. He gently lays the banner down on the craft table, allowing rivers of glue, glitter and panel to flow onto the paint covered surface that hides what was once dark wood. The metal covering his pitch black, wrist to ankle ensemble jingles as he moves. All bracelets and chains, harnesses and necklaces.

He asks, “It’s Arlo’s birthday?”

“Yeah.” I nod, rocking back and forth on my sock covered heels.

Silas’ fingers twitch. “He didn’t say anything.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s D— Arlo, for you. He didn’t …” I gesture vaguely, searching for words that won’t betray him. “He didn’t get to celebrate last year, for his centennial. It’s … kind of a big deal I guess, turning a hundred.”

To my surprise, Silas snorts. “So old.”

I blink rapidly. “Did you just … make a joke?”

Silas lifts his head and gives me a look, or at least I think he is. His lips push together like they usually do when he’s not impressed, and he crosses his arms. “I can be funny.”

“Right.” I say, unsure what to do now.

“Can I help?” Silas asks, gesturing to the banner. “We can make a new one. You were using too much glue. And glitter. Less is more with these things.”

“Oh,” I say dumbly, not expecting that. It’s not that we don’t get along, we just kind of … exist next to each other. I’m always being weird and breaking shit, he’s always on the outside looking in, aloof but not in an unkind way.

Silas turns away with something reminiscent of a soft chuckle, but to others it could be considered an evil villain laugh. “If we take this downstairs, I can bake and give you directions on how to properly make a birthday banner. Two birds with one stone, as they say.”

Without warning, heat swarms my cheeks and neck upon remembering the cake Silas made for me in the fall. It was really good.

I nod. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure you want to help, I’d like that.”

It starts with a slow, upward tugging of the corner of his pale lips, but a wide smile lights up Silas’ features. “I want to help.”

Twenty minutes and five trips up and down the stairs later, we’ve set up shop in the kitchen. I was afraid of making a mess in here, and frankly after last week’s debacle with the stove, I try to stay out of the kitchen as much as possible. Silas assures me that it’ll be fine, so I leave it to him to clean up any wreckage I leave in my wake, which he agrees to with another smile.

Weird.

While the oven preheats, Silas helps me roll out another length of six inch wide paper on the floor, this sheet a bright pink. We make it long enough to fit the open archway separating the kitchen from the dining room, then Silas suggests we write the message in glue and spread glitter over it, instead of cutting out and individually pasting each letter to the banner.

Why didn’t I think of that?

“Will it have enough time to dry?” I ask, and Silas nods.

“It should. I’ll start on the cake, if you’ve got this.”

I wave him off. “Yeah. Good idea, by the way.”

Silas opens his mouth, closes it, then starts again when he gestures to the banner. “Shouldn’t it say Dad or something like that?”

Heat flushes my cheeks and I shift uncomfortably. “Oh, I don’t … It’s, you know …” I chance a look at Silas, who hasn’t moved a muscle, waiting patiently. “It’s early, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I wait?”

As the words tumble out in a rush, a weight falls from my shoulders. I’ve been wrestling the word Dad farther down my throat ever since Arlo adopted my, not wanting to seem too—

“Says who?” Silas counters, and I scoff.

“I dunno,” I snap, crossing my arms. “Aren’t people supposed to be–”

Silas puts up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Anything involving the words ‘supposed to’ is generally a bad idea. Do you see him as your Dad?”

I nod, grumbling. “But won’t he feel uncomfortable? What if he doesn’t see me as … As his son?” I admit, near quiet and breakable.

“Felix, you are his son.” Silas says, incredibly soft and strained. He extends his hand to me, then retreats. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” I shrug, unfolding my arms.

Silas dips his head but says nothing, retreating to the inner kitchen where counters and appliances reign. I sigh, then settle on the floor, facing the banner. I carefully write the message in a large, flowing script that I’ve been told multiple times is exceptional, but I think it looks messy.

I take my time like Silas said, laying down one letter at a time in glue, gently spreading glitter over it before going on to the next. I have to blow my hair out of my eyes a few times. I’ve decided to try growing it out and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. While mine doesn’t grow as fast as Silas’ does, it’s long enough to be in the way.

We work in companionable silence and I glance at him a few times, only able to see the top of his head from my place on the floor and the counter island separating us. He appears to be in his own little world. Hair bouncing softly as he enjoys the music that must be blaring in his earbuds now. I do want to know more about him, and maybe become friends, but I have no idea what to say to him. On the bad days when I can’t separate other people’s thoughts from my own, I’ve stolen glimpses of Silas’ mind.

It’s loud.

That’s why I don’t feel so bad for not pursuing conversation and allowing him to take the lead. Or so I tell myself, which sounds better than being the clueless kid everyone sees me as. While I’m not an adult, I’m not a kid anymore either. It’s easier to talk now than it used to be, but not always. I had thought I would’ve grown out of it, but … here we are.

I decide to be a little brave. If Silas didn’t feel like interacting, he wouldn’t have offered to help, right?

“When’s, uh, when’s your birthday?” I ask, head ducked as I work on Arlo’s name.

He doesn’t say anything.

I peek up, finding him standing with his back to me, in front of the oven. I don’t ask again and he doesn’t move, so I go back to work. A few minutes pass in silence, then the gentle thud of Silas’ boots cross the room towards me.

I swallow heavily, pretending that I don’t notice.

But then he sits cross legged across from me, hands gripping his knees. I warily look up through my hair, shaking it out of the way so I can see him better. His back is ramrod straight, head tilted as he watches me. One side of his lips twitches into an almost smile.

“What?”

“You should let me pin your hair back, you’ve got glitter and glue all in it.”

I balk, reaching up to inspect the hair in my eyes, realizing a moment too late that’s a bad idea. I groan, setting down the glue with my other hand. I glare at Silas and he chews on his bottom lip to keep from smiling again. I itch to throw him off, just a little.

“Fine, only if I get to do yours.” I say without a second thought, then am immediately horrified. I’m good at braiding hair, Kleo made me do hers all the time, but Silas doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys being touched.

Silas hums in a short, loud burst, the sound of it reminds me of an aborted laugh. I imagine if I could see his eyes, they’d be widening. He lifts his left shoulder and rubs his cheek on the peak of it, then regards me once more. I never flinch from his movements or noises, and the others don’t either. At least not on purpose.

Silas’ outbursts can be sudden and there’s been a few times when he’s been especially startled. His magick lashes out like my own, breaking things, but it’s always an accident and it embarrases him. So I don’t flinch.

I shrug, picking the glue back up. “I’m just joking. You can … You can fix it, if you want. It’s kind of in the way, I don’t know how you do it. You don’t have to, though.”

Silas scoots back, allowing space between him and the banner. He crooks a finger in a ‘come hither’ gesture. I oblige, leaving the glue behind. My cheeks flush and I sit in front of him, unsure what to do.

“I don’t have any pins,” I say.

Silas reaches into his pants pocket, revealing a handful of bobby pins.

I nod once, giving him a sideways smile. “That’s handy.”

“Do you mind if I listen to music while I do this?” Silas asks, drawing his hand back.

I shake my head, drawing my knees to my chest. “No, you don’t gotta ask. Thanks for letting me know.”

Silas nods, tapping the side of the earbud buried in his hair. His mouth twitches and he doesn’t move, so I close my eyes.

A moment passes.

Then, ever so gently, cold fingers brush against my forehead. I fight the shiver threatening my spine as he twirls a patch of hair, then pins the twist back against my crown. He repeats the process, my hair not quite long enough to be fashioned in any neat sort of way. I’ve never had my hair done before.

I breathe.

And he breathes.

I tilt my head, the subtle sounds of Silas’ music reach my ears. I strain to hear it better. It must be wicked loud if I can hear the interwoven harmonies of a violin and an electronic beat. Silas doesn’t resume his work and I clear my throat, opening my eyes.

He grins. “I can see you.”

“You’re one to talk.” I roll my eyes, huffing out a laugh. I gesture to his own hair. “Ready?”

Silas tenses, then nods. I don’t ask again, because I have to believe that he’ll tell me if he’s uncomfortable. He reaches into another pocket, then offers me a hair tie. I’ve never seen him use either accessory, I wonder why he carries them around. Before I can ask, he turns around and puts his back to me. I drop my knees, spreading my legs out on either side of his curled body.

“Okay.” He says, looking anything but.

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. Chocolate fills the kitchen and I fill my lungs with the warm scent, then exhale a question. “Would you mind if we … listened together?”

Silas sharply glances back at me over his shoulder, throwing white hair from his eyes. For the briefest of seconds, I catch a glimpse of icy blue.

“You won’t like it.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugs, turning his attention ahead once again. I take that as answer enough and gently touch his shoulder before moving to his hair.

“Tilt your head up,” I ask softly.

Silas doesn’t move, atleast, not in that way. He reaches into one of the side cargo pockets, taking out a phone. After a few seconds of messing around on it, music begins to spill out from the phone’s speakers instead of the earbuds. Sure enough, an energetic violin is accompanied by a modern, electric beat, forming a refreshing melody. He sets it down on the ground outside of my legs framing him, then tilts his face to the ceiling.

“Thanks,” I say, then gather three incredibly soft fingerfuls of white at the base of his temple. Silas shudders and I pause my movements. “You alright?”

“Yes.” Silas says immediately, then hums long and low before answering again. “I’ve never had my hair done before.”

I laugh quietly. “Me either, until now. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Kleo loves her hair being done.”

I wait another moment, then start braiding Silas’ hair.

—

It takes longer than it should have, and not because of how long and thick his hair is, but because we both can’t stop moving to Silas’ music.

It started with Silas. He would bob his head or his fingers would dance on his thigh, then stop, as if catching himself. After the third time he cut himself off, I softly began tapping my toes on the floor and swaying back and forth, gentle as to not pull his hair. I added humming for good measure, but otherwise kept the silence between us.

With each noise and small movement that I made, Silas’ shoulders lessened and lessened until he was happily moving in place and humming along with me. Then, he started to tell me about each song that came on, all by the same violinist.

And I listened.

Now, I secure the tail of the main braid. A masterpiece, if I do say so myself. Numerous plaits begin at the front of Silas’ pale head. A main one in the center and three on either side which interweave with each other, snaking back and forth until meeting again at the base of his neck. The end of the singular, thick braid running down his spine comes to an end between his shoulder blades. I gently lay the white locks against his black shirt.

“Finished,” I say softly, not moving any further. I haven’t paid any attention to Silas’ face, not even when I uncovered it bit by bit, braiding his bangs back into the center section. I wanted to wait until all his hair was restrained, but now a swell of nervousness rushes over me.

I take a deep breath upon realizing the feeling is not mine.

“How does it look?” Silas asks quietly, staring straight ahead.

“Well, not to brag, but I think it’s pretty epic.”

Silas snorts. “I better go check the cake.”

“Oh, right.” I say, watching him stand and walk away from me. I sit there, feeling empty and a little disappointed, but unsure why. I decide not to dwell on it and be thankful that he trusted me to be in his space, to share his music. I spin in place on the floor, checking out the banner that was once behind me.

I smile at how beautiful it turned out, poking the glue to ensure it’s dried.

I stand with the banner in my hands and turn, coming face to face with Silas.

Oh.

“What’re you guys doing?”

I startle out of my skin and throw my hands up. Before the banner can go flying Silas is there to steady me, hands blanketing mine. Both of us look at the man standing in the open doorway separating the kitchen from the backyard.

An incredibly long silence follows.

I scrape my brain for something, anything to say, but of course, Silas saves me.

He gently releases my hands, then waves to Arlo with eyes so bright my heart does a weird little flip that hurts. Silas says, “Happy Birthday, Arlo. You’re supposed to be at work.”

Arlo raises a brow, the smirk upon his face widening. “Thank you, and you’re supposed to be at school.” Arlo’s emerald eyes slide from Silas to me and I awkwardly wave.

“Hey, Dad.” I say, lofting the formerly unspoken name into the air like a bomb. I inhale sharply and my heart pounds in my ears. It’s soon overwhelmed by the sparkle in Arlo’s eyes and the soft laugh that bubbles from his chest. I smile then, and add, “Happy Birthday.”

Witchtober – Thorns

October 3, 2022April 7, 2023 / Aelina / Leave a comment

Today’s witch is brought to you by the prompt Thorns. Spoilers for Phantom and Rook.

Mud croaks beneath my toes and the yellow sprouts along my arms grow a few inches, fully content. I jump onto a fallen log slick with marsh and time, putting my arms out to balance myself. When I get to the end of the natural bridge carrying me over a particularly wet spot, I leap off into swamp grass.

I land on both feet, disturbing milkweeds and the monarchs who dominate their pink blossoms. The layers of necklaces adorning my bare chest bounce and tangle together. Bones, coins and other trinkets rattle against each other, music to my ears. My highwaters bunch up just above my ankles, collecting thistles and muck. I slip my fingers into my front pockets, whistling Hook’s favorite tune as I continue my rounds.

While I can’t see the beast, I can feel them skulking in the murky depths encroaching on the small floating islands. The precarious chunks of peat, mud and hidden underwater plants provide the only protection and semblance of solid land in this marsh.

But like everything in the swamp, nothing is as it seems.

I collect a few thitwhistle blossoms at peak maturity, tucking their violet heads into a small pocket inside my gathering bag. Buttoning the pocket closed, I continue my search for treasure. I find my namesake, a plant that will be in high demand this winter, and luckily there is plenty of it to harvest. I kneel before it, caressing the broad green leaves that match my hair, then the soft yellow petals that are a perfect match to the flowers growing in the mossy spots on my arms.

This plant is too old, so I look for another with younger leaves and subsequently, younger roots. I find a patch that is close to the water’s edge and debate for a moment, then approach cautiously. First, I trim the leaves and put them in a magicked preserving bag, then dig the plant up and take its roots, careful of the thorns clinging to them. I place the roots in a different bag, one that is magicked not to tear. I do this with a few more plants, not wanting to overharvest but also needing to get as much as I can.

Today is Trading Day, one of the two days I actually interact with other people in the span of a year.

A ripple spreads through the water inches from my fingers and I swallow.

But it’s too late.

A flash of fang is followed by a tremendous splash, then I’m pulled into the freezing water. A massive jaw frames my arm, firmly tugging but doing so in a careful manner, like a dog would do to a pup. Once I’m completely submerged, the pressure releases and I surface, sputtering. I fling hair away from my face, glaring at a set of bright yellow eyes. Vertical pupils watch me intensely and hundreds of cone shaped teeth compose the beast’s smile.

Hundreds, no, thousands of scales compose the crocodile. Each individual piece comes together to form a glorious pattern reminiscent of an oil slick. The exact colors are always changing depending on how the light hits their scales, but the beast is usually a dark purple intermingled with electric blue.

Their maw opens wide and a growl thunders out. I roll my eyes, playfully shoving at their snout. “Fuck off, Hook. You got me all wet, and the plants.”

“Don’t be a dumbass. Next time you won’t be so lucky.” Hook chides, my familiar’s deep timbre voice audible to only my ears. Not like anyone else is around, but if they were, they’d hear some nasty rumbling and grumbling that is completely crocodilian in nature.

My familiar gives me a gentle nudge towards the shore, snout to my back, and I climb back onto the floating island, sopping wet and mildly cold. I haul my gathering bag up into the grass, away from the shoreline, and spread my hands over it.

“Nesiga mayhim.” I murmur, sighing when soft orange magick leaves my body and goes to work. Water molecules and the dirt brought with them wring out from my bag and its contents. The extricated water swirls in a glowing sunset of an orb over my hands, spinning lazily until I lob it over my shoulder. I grin when Hook roars, confirming that I hit my target.

Water magick isn’t my specialty, but water likes me. I feel at peace with the aquatic roots that weave beneath the islands, and what are roots without the water that supplies them?

I stand and sling the bag across my chest once more, ensuring to give Hook a particularly dangerous glower. His eyes blink just above the water’s surface, then disappear entirely. I blow out a raspberry, then continue on with my work.

Today is Trading Day.

—

I’m absolutely sure my home is not what most people would call grand, but I love it all the same.

Hook follows me there, sticking to the cloudy waters that lead to the largest floating island in Egret Marsh. Cypress and willow trees completely surround a small structure lofted into the air on stilts, still invisible from this distance. The sheer amount of fallen trees and vegetation swallowed by the swamp between here and there is enormous, and I’ve often wondered if there used to be a forest through here. I dodge and weave through a secret tunnel in the underbrush, covering my trail as I go. Threads of roots churn the earth, erasing my tracks.

“Have fun,” Hook says, wandering off once he’s sure I’m home, the bond between us quieting.

I snort. “Oh yes. People. Fun.”

I pass through a familiar look-away ward, sighing in relief when I step into a small clearing, where the stilted house awaits. Strong, thick roots with rough bark form the pillars of my home’s foundation, then taper off to a smaller size which forms the ladder and upper porch railing. Moss hangs from the surrounding ancient trees in great curtains, further obscuring my home from view. Not that anyone visits the marsh, but if they did, they would have to look real hard to find my place. Just because my island is the biggest in the marsh, doesn’t mean it’s the easiest to access.

I cross the small distance, relishing in how the soft grass tickles my toes. Everything is softer in my patch of the swamp, less threatening. Even the snakes are milder. I shift my bag so it’s pressed against my back, then begin my ascent. Dirty hands and feet meet root wrought rungs and I climb for a couple minutes, taking my time. I’m not too proud to admit I’ve fallen a time. Or two.

I pull myself up onto the wrap around porch with a groan, jingling the bells, bones and coins hanging from the open windows trimmed in white. There are multiple windows on every side of the house, each one remarkably different. Most were bartered for or salvaged from the junkyard, a few I made and they didn’t turn out so bad, just a little crooked. I made sure to paint them all white, though. The walls themselves are patched together at best, mostly sheets of painted plywood entangled with roots and thick bark. The roof is more of the same, perhaps more natural than man-made, aside from the solar panels.

The dark green walls, white windows and nature infusing my place in the world sets my heart at ease. I duck my head under the open door frame, telling myself again to just build a taller frame already. It was salvaged too, definitely not made for overtly tall fae. I shrug off my bag onto the round table just inside the front room. A hall bisects the house, the front room rests on the left side and the right is divided between my closed off bedroom and washroom.

The front room is a combination of my reading area and the kitchen, fairly tidy if I say so myself. The only clutter to fill the place are the strange, now potted plants that I’ve found in the swamp and have yet to identify, along with my books. Bookshelves line the wall of the reading room opposite my cozy chair covered in blankets, but they were long ago filled. I make do, crafting leather straps that hang from the walls and hold books, not to mention macrame nets for plants to rest in and hang from the ceiling.

And don’t forget the bones. Or the coins.

Marrow and metal hide in the nooks and crannies of my home, scavenged from the swamp and intentionally placed. To anyone else I suppose my place would seem in disarray, but everything is where it is for a reason. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have my things disturbed. It would be annoying, but that would mean someone was here.

I shake off the thoughts and find a drink, then check the already prepared crates of dried skunk’s cabbage leaves and roots, which is the majority of my inventory considering winter is coming. I have an entire crate dedicated to bags of aetherberries as well, they are always in high demand. As far as I know, the bog lining the northern edges of Egret Marsh is the only place the delicious, bright yellow berries are found.

It’s one of the many secrets the land and I share.

There’s jars of thitwhistles, mushrooms and radical healing moss, along with some knuckle bones. I’ve never met another witch, but I know there’s a population in Levena. I haven’t been there since … Well, since the video store, and I have no plans on going back. While I have my garden and am pretty self-sustaining, there are still things that I need, or want I suppose, to live. Things like the supplies for my house, pots and pans, trinkets and books. I’ve collected quite a few things in my nineteen years, despite the fact I only leave the swamp twice a year.

I make each trip worth it.

Hook doesn’t complain either when I bring home special treats like chicken feet or something equally weird, but whatever makes him happy. My companion insists he isn’t lonely, but I feel like most familiars have much more exciting lives than he does. Nevertheless, I ensure to bring home stories, too.

The communal town of Vieta is much more docile than the metropolis of Levena, if not incredibly distant from the marsh. In the early years, the trip would take at least a week on foot and what I could carry was limited, but then I was given a traveling stone by Gareth a couple years ago. He didn’t want anything for it, but I’ve still been trying to come up with the perfect thing to pay him back.

Between the traveling stone and my strong magick, the trips are more fruitful, and I can spend more time with my friends. For all my griping, the people of Vieta are rather nice. It’s strangers I don’t like.

After taking one last inventory, I clean up today’s harvest and hang it up to dry on the hemp line criss-crossing the open window over my sink. I duck into the washroom and clean up in the lukewarm shower, careful not to use too much water. The tank is getting low and I honestly don’t feel like filling it right now.

I dress in another pair of high wasted pants, but the pant legs tuck into socks and knee high leather boots. I rearrange the necklaces on my pale chest, complexion freckled with spots of moss and sprouting blades of grass and yellow flowers. Upon seeing the flowers in the mirror, I frown. I stare at them, debating on pulling the bright petals.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been made fun of for them, and out here there’s no one to tell me how awful I smell. I caress the soft, tender silk of a flower growing from my neck. If I pull the petals, it won’t be as bad. Gareth, Nienna and Eilae have never remarked on my … scent, but others might. Who knows what has changed since spring, who has moved there. My stomach twists uncomfortably.

I sigh, dropping my hand.

I shake my head, then go about combing my bleach blond hair. Blinding locks interspersed with tendrils of spiraling green and budding broad leaves hang around my shoulders, the longest I’ve had it in a while. For a long time I thought it’d be better to cut it short, but I like it long. I don’t wish that my hair was ‘normal’ anymore, either.

I smile at that, feeling a little better. Fuck people.

The edges of my burnt orange eyes crinkle upwards and I grin wider. The patches of soft green along my cheeks, forearms and stomach bristle with life, as if caressed by a soft wind. I leave the safety of my bathroom, shrugging on a flannel vest over my shoulders, leaving the buttons undone so my chest and necklaces are exposed. I don’t get cold, not until there’s a solid foot of snow on the ground. Even then, I just put on a sweater.

When I come face to face with the stacked crates, I call upon my magick. I put a hand out and whisper, “Kul sheresh.” A net of thick vines conjures to life beneath the neatly arranged pile, rising and neatly wrapping around the stack. They tie off at the top, forming a pretty bow. I smirk, unable to help myself.

Once the goods are secured, I take the small, metal chest sitting atop my kitchen counter. I open it, revealing three things. Three things that matter the most to me.

A traveling stone, polished amethyst in the shape of an oval.

A coin, worn and faceless.

A piece of paper, folded in on itself six times.

I hover over the parchment with shaky fingers and lungs, then draw back. I take the stone, then snap the lid shut. After putting the bomb back where it belongs, I stand with my season’s worth of work, a hand firmly gripping the netting. My heart thrums against its cage and I take a deep breath, steeling myself.

It’ll be fine.

—

I’m immediately accosted.

I land in a flurry of wind, soft orange light and a solid thud. I blink several times, acclimating to the incredible colors and light greeting me. Music, such heartfelt music, and laughter washes over my ears. My heart pounds at an odd rhythm.

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

By the time I comprehend my surroundings, I’m overcome with dirty fingers and cold bare feet, gangly limbs and high pitched voices. My back hits the ground and I laugh despite the assault. Chants of “Lysander! Lys! Lysander! It’s Lys!” ring through the air, bringing the music to a halt. Curious hands tug at my hair and I wince, but thankfully the group of hellion’s parents rescue me.

Gareth says, “Kids! Let ‘em breathe.”

Eilae says, “Oy, Lysander! Long time no see.”

Nienna says, “Hello Lys, you’re just in time for second lunch.”

I chuckle, pushing myself to my feet. One of the oldest helps me up, Martin I think? Honestly they have so many kids it’s hard to keep them straight. I lay a hand over my heart and bow my head to the elves, noting two new faces by their side. My heart thrums oddly again.

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

“Hello, friends. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.” I say, straightening. Not to my full height, considering I’m already twice as tall as everyone else when I’m hunched over.

Eilae scoffs, then breaks away from her partners and hugs me tight. “We’ve been waiting for you kid, it’s Trading Day.”

“Oh.” I can’t help but flush.

“Come, there’s someone we want you to meet.” Eilae demands, not unkindly, and I follow her, leaving still neatly packed goods behind. Eilae is a force of nature, so much unlike her comparatively docile partners, Gareth and Nienna. She’s short for an elf, with blue hair shaved close to her head, big eyes just as vibrant. She’s playful and blunt, but that’s what I like about her. Eilae steers me over to where Gareth, Nienna and company are waiting in their little section of the backyard, surrounded by flower bushes and play structures.

Kleo stands with them, wildflowers tucked into her mismatched socks. It was one of the first things I noticed about her, and years later she dresses the same. Patchwork overalls, sneakers and color. So much color. A knitted sweater lays beneath her overalls, all stripes and glitter. Her hair is longer than last time, shaved on one side with the remaining brunette locs cast over her brown shoulder.

“Hey Lysander,” Kleo calls, grinning wide at me, hazel eyes sparkling. She doesn’t run and embrace me like she usually does, and I’m assuming it’s due to the … witch, (oh my gods, that’s a witch) at her side. “Long time no see. This is Felix, my friend that I told you about?”

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

My heart simultaneously explodes and fills with warmth. Yes, I’ve heard a lot about Felix. Every time I visit, Kleo talks and talks and talks, and it’s usually about her friends ‘back at Witch House.’ The person I had built up in my head is nothing like I imagined, but infinitely more.

The man with golden eyes and infinitely long, tied back curls of bronze extends his hand to me. His small palm fits perfectly against my much larger one, and I sigh like a swooning idiot. To be fair, his tanned skin flushes a soft red and his magick rushes against my fingertips for the briefest of moments, but it’s enough.

He smiles, flashing white and slightly crooked teeth. “Hey, I’m Felix. It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

And because I’m me, I say, “I’m not a skunk.”

“What?” Felix raises a thick brow, a tenuous smile pulling at his lips.

“Umm.” I choke, grip tightening around Felix’s hand. He doesn’t let go, and that smile widens.

Gareth says, “This is painful, right?”

Nienna says, “Shush, dear, this is a moment.”

Eilae says, “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”

And because Kleo is the only one who is my actual friend, she says, “What he means is, the proper term for his fae lineage is Lysichitum, also known as skunk’s cabbage, but we don’t use that terminology here.”

I remember myself and drop Felix’s hand, immediately shoving my hands into my pockets and dipping my head. Upon doing so, I remember that my flannel vest is unbuttoned. I fight the urge to button it, but then Felix says the most unexpected thing.

He says, “I thought so! Your flowers are so pretty,” Felix chokes on his words and my head jerks up. He continues at a sputter, playing with the end of his ponytail. “We call them swamp lanterns, back at Witch House. Do you light up at night too? Can I touch your leaves? Oh my gods, forget I said that, why am I still talking Kleo?”

I can’t help but laugh, and he does too.

It’s wonderful.

For a moment.

Then, Felix says, “Man, I wish Silas was here. I think you guys would get along.”

“Who’s Silas?” I ask, noticing the exchanged looks between the family standing behind Felix.

Felix blushes furiously, the deep red extends down his throat and under the collar of his sweater. “Oh, he’s my partner, another witch, like us.”

Well, fuck.

—

Somehow, we manage to function like adults after that. Gareth, Kleo and Felix accompany me to the main hall, a longhouse centered in the commune where Trading Day occurs. It’s already full, considering I procrastinated coming here in the first place and my … whatever the hell that was that happened back there.

My net of crates drops with an unceremonious thud in the last empty stall, the sound lost to the noise of the crowded and upbeat atmosphere. Music flows from the head of the longhouse, courtesy of some folk instruments. Kleo and Felix find a table while I call upon my magick, whispering words that untie the bow and retract the roots until they’re nothing.

“I’ll find us all some food.” Gareth claps me on the shoulder, smiling softly.

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” I say, unable to refute him because I am hungry. I’m used to Gareth accompanying me, but not Kleo, and certainly not a man that I’m pretty sure is my everything and someone else’s at the same time.

Quit being dramatic, Lys.

I sigh, flowers and leaves curling in on my body. Kleo and Felix fill Gareth’s absence almost immediately, bringing over a long folding table. They set it up and I thank them, then get to work unpacking crates one at a time.

“Can I help?” Kleo asks, and I shrug. She and I set up one jar of each item on the table, leaving the extras in the crate. Felix studies each ingredient from the other side of the table, becoming increasingly excited as he evaluates my selection.

“Ooh, is that hahlama moss? Oh, and are those swamp lantern roots? Is that—” Felix interrupts himself, smiling nervously. “Sorry, I like plants.”

Kleo scoffs. “That’s an understatement.”

I clear my throat, attempting to make small talk. “Yeah, you um, you run the apothecary in Witch House, right?”

“Yes!” Felix nods quickly. “Yeah, Calen and I do. They’re better at the growing thing than I am honestly, but everything that comes after? That’s my jam.” He winces.

“Your jam?” Kleo teases, and he groans.

I chuckle, giving my table one last onceover to make sure everything is out. Kleo watches us with a smug grin, standing at the end of the table between Felix and I. “That sounds nice. So, Calen’s a witch too? I guess probably everyone that lives there is, right?”

Felix shrugs. “Not everyone, Calen’s not, but that’s okay. They needed a home, and Silas wanted them to come live with us, so Dad said okay.”

My brain breaks. “Oh, that’s, good.”

Kleo takes off, muttering something about finding chairs and her sanity.

Felix comes around the table, tapping its surface as he does. “So, what about you? Do you live alone?”

I nod absently, burying questions. Questions such as; Silas invited Calen to stay as … friends? Something more? If it is, then does that mean Felix has two boyfriends? Or is it just Silas that has two? Have I gone insane and am reading into the smallest of things because of a, a … a crush?

“You alright?” Felix asks, standing closer than he was before. When did that happen?

“Yeah, totally.” I fidget with the necklaces hanging around my throat, rubbing a coin between my fingers. Totally?

He chuckles. “Okay. So, you live alone in a swamp, and only visit what … twice a year?”

That snaps me out of my stupor, but when I open my mouth, a customer arrives. I sell them a jar of … swamp lantern (because yes I like that term) roots, explaining to the faun how to boil them properly for a heat inducing tea and to be careful of the thorns. That is what most people use them for, the root tea will warm their bones for hours upon hours, no matter the weather. When the leaves are prepared into a syrup, the plant provides expectorant and anti-inflammatory qualities, perfect for respiratory issues.

After that, Felix and I don’t talk much. Kleo comes back and word of aetherberries spreads, drawing people to my table like flies to a fallen fruit. They leave with so much more than they came for, and when Gareth returns, I’m almost sold out. A wave of calm washes over the longhouse as others partake in early dinner, the crowd ebbing. They eat six times a day here in Vieta, small meals that are filling regardless of their size.

Gareth and Kleo talk about the latest addition to her small farm that rests beside her parent’s. Screaming goats.

“That sounds unpleasant,” I mutter, and they all laugh. Even Felix, who has been quietly studying me for hours.

“And that is exactly why I’m offering sanctuary. Even the most … obnoxious things deserve love.” Kleo declares, and I can’t argue with her. I tell her as much, and she grins. “How’s Hook doing by the way? I have his chicken feet ready.”

I groan. “He pulled me into the water this morning, so his usual cheeky self.”

“Who eats chicken feet?” Felix tilts his head, leaning forward in his chair across from me. Kleo and Gareth flank our sides, a tight circle.

Gareth chuckles. “That feisty croc. Still waiting to meet him.”

I open my mouth to say ‘can’t very well bring a crocodile to a commune,’ but Felix’s eyes widen, magick coloring them a soft pink for just a moment. He whispers, “A crocodile?”

When I nod, his whisper transforms into a shout. “You were almost eaten by a crocodile with chicken toes in its teeth? Oh gods, what if it said, ‘mmm, you taste like chicken?’”

Kleo laughs, face buried in her hands. Gareth joins in, clapping Felix on the shoulder.

I laugh too, the moss and grass spots along my body grow a few millimeters. “Hook is my familiar, he wouldn’t eat me. But you’re not wrong about the chicken toes, it gets to be quite a nuisance for him.”

“Your familiar is a crocodile?” Felix balks, leaning back in his chair. He mouths, “That’s so cool.”

My cheeks warm and I shrug. “What’s yours?”

Felix’s excitement simmers down and he toys with the end of this ponytail again, which is loose now and half undone. “Haven’t got one yet. Dad says that’s alright, it’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen. He didn’t get his until he was older, too.”

“Oh,” I say, unsure how to proceed.

Felix grins at me, releasing his hair. “It’s alright. Tell me more about Hook.”

And I do.

—

Later, after I’ve sold out and made some purchases of my own, after dinner when Felix tells stories about a man who was a mystery, and even a little while after that, Felix and I find ourselves alone.

I’m not sure how it happened. One moment Gareth, Nienna and Eilae, along with all their children and Felix and I, were sitting around a campfire and eating s’mores, debating how much to cook the marshmallows. Kleo and I were the only ones in agreement that they should be burnt to an absolute crisp, and Felix appalled me by only warming them up.

The galaxies are exceptionally bright overhead and the double moons shine with a full, luminous intensity. The golden and silver celestial beings are centered overhead, physically at their closest to our planet. I love this time of year. It’s colder here than back home at the marsh, but Gareth had loaned me a sweater awhile ago which I now wear underneath my vest. My necklaces rest atop the soft yarn, coins glinting in the firelight and bones absorbing moonlight.

Felix turns to me with a shy smile, we’re sitting side by side on a log bench. Kleo had been right next to me, but she’s gone, and so is Eilae, who was sitting on the other side of Felix. They’re all gone. He gestures to my necklaces.

“You remind me of a crow.” Felix says. I can’t help but laugh, and he blushes. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing! It’s just, they collect things, you know? There’s a flock back home and they’re always leaving the weirdest things around, not always shiny, but just … random. One time, Marvin left me an acorn top with a piece of red thread pulled through it.”

“How does that even happen?”

“Right? Can’t very well ask them, considering Marvin’s a crow, and yes, I named them.”

I chuckle. “You’re weird. I like that.”

Felix laughs, finally taking the tie out of his hair, considering it wasn’t doing much. “Thanks. I like you too, Lysander. I’m glad we finally got to meet, I’ve been wanting to come up sooner, but, witch stuff, you know?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess so. Better late than never, right?”

He nods, fidgeting with the hems of his sleeves. “Can I … Can I ask you a question?”

I stiffen a little, but I say, “Okay.”

Felix stares me in the eyes, his flash pink again. “Could you show me some magick?”

“Oh,” I whisper, then nod quickly. “Yeah, okay.”

I clear my throat and stand, then sit back down, because I don’t want to stand over him. He’s already so much shorter than me, I feel like a giant just sitting next to him. He tentatively presses a hand to my upper arm and I startle. He pulls back, not taking his eyes off me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

“Oh, I’m not. Nervous, that is.”

Felix chuckles. “Okay. Well, you don’t have to make yourself smaller, for me. Or anyone.”

“Oh,” I say, then stand and straighten to my full height before him. Even the leaves and petals in my hair and along with skin stand to attention, and I blush at the image of preening like a fucking peacock.

“Wow,” Felix says, staring up at me with wide eyes. “You’re really tall.”

I almost lean down, but he takes my hand. This time, he doesn’t let go. “No, don’t.” Felix stands beside me, my hand in his. I stare down at our entangled fingers, then back to his face. His neck is craned and it looks painful, but the determination in his eyes is almost frightening.

I squeeze his hand, then let go. I put my hands up, smiling wide. “Okay, have it your way, tchotchke.”

Oh, how he smiles at that. He pretends to be affronted, but that smile. It’s perpetual, blinding. “I am not a small thing.”

I shrug, turning away from him. I bring my hands to chest level and smile upon coming up with an idea. I close my eyes and murmur, “Abracadabra.”

For a split second, there’s just the sound of leaves crunching beneath Felix’s boots as he joins my side. An owl calling. A soft, chilled breeze rustling the small trees and flower bushes around us. Then, Felix’s sharp intake of air when something groans thunderously beneath the trembling earth. His arm brushes against mine and my magick, it …

It spasms, which is the only way I can describe it. The molecules riding my blood temporarily implode with power, with right, with yes. Then they expand with the feeling, fueling my heart with more energy than its ever pumped before. A soft pink hue colors the edges of my vision and I sigh, fingers shaking.

Four pillars composed of eight thick columns of roots erupt from the ground softly, like a plant would sprout and gently break from the earth. They rise to a height of about ten feet, then change direction and grow towards each other, weaving together to form a platform. As they do, smaller roots branch off the original eight. The foundations of the earth continue to diverge, split and grow together until a tree house of sorts stands before us, a neighbor to the fire pit.

A series of protection runes burn into the smooth, deep brown of the roots, temporarily glowing a bright orange until fading into the realm of invisibility. Although there are half walls surrounding the porch of the tree house, the spell will keep anyone from falling. Last but not least, a ladder unfurls from the upper level, its end hovering just above the ground.

Felix squeaks.

“Oh. My. Gods. That was …” He side-eyes me, mouth working open and closed. “Can we … We should test it out, don’t you think?”

I grin. “Definitely.”

And that’s how the two of us ended up scurrying up a treehouse, squealing like a couple of kids. How the noise didn’t wake anyone up, I’m not sure, but I don’t care.

We flop inside the giant room of the tree house, the root walls to our backs. I catch my breath through giggles and Felix does the same. He grins at me, his golden eyes lighting up the small space between us.

“Show me yours,” I murmur, and he tenses.

“Oh, that’s probably not a good idea.” Felix says, rubbing the back of his neck.

I wave around wildly, as if to say, “Hello, tree house?”

He groans. “Ugh, I hate the word for it.”

I shrug. “So make a new one.”

Felix blinks. “I totally should.”

I elbow him and he gives me another shy smile. “Fine, fine. I’m a Super Teleth.” He waves his fingers dramatically and I raise a brow.

“Yeah, I’ve got no idea what that means.”

“What?” He asks, voice high pitched. I give him a look and Felix clears his throat, trying again. “Oh, that’s … Kind of nice actually. Um, I can read minds?” His voice lilts and upon seeing my horrified face, more words spill out. “Not all the time! I have wards up, you know? Otherwise that would be a lot. I can move stuff too though, and talk with people in my mind, even if they’re not a Teleth. I can tell how people are feeling too, just by their auras. The super part of it means I have more than one specialty. Or something like that, I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“Wow.” I breathe. “You’re like a superhero.”

Felix blanches. “Oh, please don’t. I’m really not, and it can be annoying. I’d much rather have your awesome plant powers.”

I shake my head. “No way. I can only control roots, not necessarily plants. That’s boring compared to … mind stuff! Have you … read my mind?”

“No, no. I don’t ever do that without permission.”

“Oh.”

“Did … you want me to?”

I shift, our knees knock together and my heart does that thing again.

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

“Yeah, okay.”

Felix laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “Nah, I probably shouldn’t.”

“No, really! I want you to. Only if you want to, that is.” I say, cursing myself. I never talk, and I can’t seem to stop talking around him.

“Okay. Just, put away anything you don’t want me to see.” Felix says, and it’s quiet.

“Okay.” I say, closing my eyes. I try to clear my mind, which is an impossible thing to do.

“Are you ready?” He asks, and I nod.

I focus on Hook, and home. I picture the gardens around the house, the books on my shelves, the marrow and metal detailing my place. I inwardly chuckle at the thought of bringing Felix there, he’d really call me a crow then. A warm feeling settles in my heart and I sigh, thoughts turning to the places around the marsh I’d show him next. Silas too, if he wanted to bring him. And Calen, if that’s … if whatever they are to Felix warrants such a thing.

I tumble through thoughts, waiting for Felix to start, but all I feel is peace and questions and his pant leg crinkling against mine. I open my eyes and mouth, turning my head towards Felix, but promptly shut my lips. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression upon his face. A slight smile plays at his lips and I swallow something heavy.

Felix opens his eyes, golden irises focusing directly on me. He murmurs, “I would very much like to visit your home. And if Silas and Calen are welcome, I’m sure they’d love it there too. It seems peaceful, beautiful. Thank you for showing me.”

He must’ve been so gentle, I didn’t even feel him in my head. Unless that was the warm feeling.

“Felix, do you …” I start, then clear my throat. “Nevermind, it’s not my business.”

Felix smiles. “Yes, we’re all together, meira, but Calen is only Silas’ … romantic partner, not mine.”

“Oh,” I say, unable to come up with anything else after hearing his endearment for me.

Light.

“I like you, too, you know. Your feelings were pretty strong.” Felix taps his temple and I die a little inside, burying my face in my hands. “But we can’t … I have to talk to Silas, and maybe we could try being friends first? I’d like to be your friend, regardless of anything else. I feel like we …”

I look up at him then. “What?”

Felix twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “I don’t know. I feel like I already know you. Is that weird to say?”

“No,” I shake my head immediately, heart racing. “My heart does this weird thing around you.”

Felix blushes furiously. “Oh.”

“I want to be your friend too, Felix.”

Felix smiles then, my words effectively erasing his nervousness. “Okay, let’s be friends.”

A few more hours pass in the tree house and dawn is a very real threat. I’m not sure as if I’ve ever stayed awake this long, but I don’t care. I soak up everything that is Felix, and he wants to know everything that there is about me, too. I tell him about being left behind at the video store, and he tells me he doesn’t remember being left behind, but he remembers the bruises.

We lay on the floor of the tree house, heads together. He’s delighted by the fact that yes, the parts of me that are plant do glow softly underneath the moonlight streaming in through the open windows.

He asks, “Why did you tell me you weren’t a skunk?”

“I went to school for a little while, after they left me. Everyone, even the teachers, would comment on how I … smell. It was a distraction to the class and I … I spent a long time hiding because of it. I, I used to pull my petals out, because it makes it not so bad. But I don’t do that anymore.”

“I’m glad that you don’t.” Felix whispers immediately. “For the record, I like your flowers, and I like the way you smell. You smell real, like earth and spring and Dad’s pot.”

I bark out a laugh. “That’s amazing.”

“I know,” He murmurs.

I ask, “What’s your Dad like?”

And he talks and talks and talks.

—

Much later, after saying a reluctant goodbye to Felix and promising that I’ll send him a letter, I lay atop the roof of my home and watch the sun come up. Warm rays of purple, pink and gold wash over the marsh, thawing the frost my swamp suffered last night. I flip a large coin between my knuckles, a new addition to my collection. It’s golden hue matches that of the man’s eyes who gave it to me.

Felix had said, “If you ever need Witch House, say the words and someone will answer. Dad gives these to witches in case of emergency, but you can use it for communication, too. You’re part of the family now, whether you like it or not, swamp witch.”

And I smiled.

Witchtober – Ghost

October 2, 2022October 2, 2022 / Aelina / Leave a comment

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.

I spent three years calling them my imaginary friends.

Then, I witnessed my first death and learned otherwise, diving into a world of secrets, of shame. No matter what, no one could know. My life depended on it.

But, like all secrets, it was found out. He found out. I lost friends, so many friends, and I wore a tragic blanket of pain that I didn’t shed for centuries. I never lost the memories of my first friend, either. They are the first memories I ever had, for that fact.

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.

I stumble through the depths of a ravine. Distant, jagged cliff tops overhead hide me from the sun strangled by storm clouds. There is no canopy to protect me from the heavy rain and snowflakes pelting my frozen, bare skin. Only a few sparse trees occupy the violent gouge in the earth, all vegetation dead and offering no shelter. Water rushes down the center of the chasm, the powerful swells erode the pebbled ground beneath my numb toes.

For reasons unknown, I follow the downhill flow and stay off to the side of the rushing, unnatural river, but the water level grows and grows and grows. A rumbling shakes the earth and my teeth chatter harshly in response. My feet don’t hurt as much as they did before, but they’re cold, so cold. I have to run, the water is coming, it’s coming.

It bites at my ankles and I stumble, reaching out for a branch. My feet go out from beneath me and I catch the limb, sharp bark scrapes against my palms.

It snaps.

The river captures me, dragging me beneath the white capped tide kicking and screaming, inviting water into my lungs and fatigue into my already exhausted bones. I’ve been walking for so long. Why was I walking, where was I going?

Why am I alone?

I manage to get my head above water, but the spinning world of furious storm clouds, dead things and ancient stone blurs together and the edges of my vision pulse darkly. My heart throbs in my ears, deafening everything else.

Everything except for a voice.

“Take my hand!”

And I do.

A small hand takes a firm hold of mine.

They pull, and the river pulls back. What’s left of my clothes threatens to drown me and I cry, the burning tears are the only heat to grace my body. Shards of rock and decimated branches tear at my body until the river finally releases me. I collapse atop a cold, stiff body and horror freezes my cracking veins until the person moves.

Not just a person, a kid. Like me.

They scramble to their feet, pulling me up with them. “Are you okay?!” They shout over the wind and I try to nod, shivering uncontrollably, but my neck is stiff and my body won’t listen. I reach up, absently pulling at my hat. It’s still on and I almost sob with relief. “Come on, this way!”

I take a step, crumpling. Cold hands take a firm hold of my arms, preventing me from falling backwards into the water. Before I can say anything, the kid hauls me up over their shoulder like I weigh nothing. They trudge across a flat, inclining stone, slipping every so often but not falling, carrying me to safety. We finally settle beneath a small overcropping that barely protects us against the rain and snow, but there’s distance between us and the river.

Carefully, they set me down on the pebbled ground. The chasm’s atmosphere is dark and black hair is plastered to the kid’s face, making it hard to see them properly. “Better to find high ground then try to outrun it. Are you alright?” They ask, straightening to a height that is twice mine but gangly and unmistakably child-like, if not on the cusp between teenager and adult.

I nod, teeth chattering.

“Can’t you talk?” They ask, and I nod.

“I, I’m okay, th-thank you. Wh-what’s your n-name?” I manage to say through the thick cold. The kid kneels beside me, blanketing my body and taking the brunt of the wind. I open my mouth to protest but they wave me off, then tuck locks of jet black behind their ears. A pale face with a ceramic like quality and endless, gray eyes are revealed, not unlike the thunderous storm overhead. I’ve never seen a kid like them before, like an ancient person in a child’s body.

They chuckle, and their own teeth start to chatter as they fend off the outside world. “You can call me Los. What’s yours?”

I frown, trying to remember but with no luck. “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Los says, smile fading. They shudder against a particularly violent gale and I offer to trade but they laugh. “You’re half my size, short stuff. It’s alright, it’ll be over soon, nothing I’m not used to.”

“D-Do you live out h-here?” I ask, hands buried in my armpits.

Los shrugs. “Something like that.”

“A-alone?”

They nod once, turning their face away from me. “Yeah.”

We don’t speak again for a while after that. Everything hurts, and the cold is everywhere. My clothes are shredded and my bones are bruised. My head throbs and the only relief I can find is when I shut my eyes, but Los won’t let me fall asleep.

Los says, “Hey, hey, don’t fall asleep. Tell me where you’re from.”

And I say, “I don’t know.”

Los says, “Why you walking out here by yourself anyway?”

And I say, “I don’t know.”

Los says, “I’ll help you, okay? All you have to do is stay awake, okay?”

And I say nothing.

The morning sun overtakes the rain and the river fractures the ravine, albeit at a slower pace and with much less force. Los helps me out of our crack in the cliff, ensuring I don’t step on splintered debris with my bare, dusky purple toes. Despite the warmth cutting through the thick, lingering storm clouds, I’m cold. Los’ hand is even icier than mine, and my breath escapes in warm puffs.

At the time, I hadn’t noticed that Los’ breath did not.

“Well, which way do you want to go?” Los asks, tying their black hair back into a knot at the base of their neck. Bruises encase their throat and I stare at them unabashedly, like a six year old does. Ovals of nasty green, deep purple and violent blue dot either side of their throat and when Los catches me, he swallows and looks away.

“Are you okay?” I ask, tugging my hat down.

Los nods, giving me a small, sideways smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it. What about you? Where’s home?”

I tug at my ear, wrinkling my nose at the dirt scraping annoyingly beneath my fingernails. “I have to go that way.” I say eventually, pointing in the direction I had been going last night, downstream.

“Okay,” Los says, brows narrowing. “Do you know why?”

“Nope.”

They sigh. “‘Course you don’t. Alright, well, there’s a town that way, but it’s a long walk. I can carry you on my back for a little while, your legs are still pretty sore, right?”

“Why?”

Los tilts their head, frowning. “Why … what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Oh,” Los says, then shrugs. “You’re a kid and you need my help, and I have nothing better to do.”

I study the person before me. I don’t know much, but I do know that I would’ve died last night without Los. I don’t know what trust means, but a thread of it connects us in that moment, a tenuous thing. Stranger or not, Los is all I have.

I’m also six, and not walking on my own two feet after nearly dying sounds too good to pass up.

I say, “Okay.”

Los hauls me onto their back, hooking their arms underneath my knees. I wrap my arms around their neck, holding on tight. Los begins to traverse through the remnants of the storm, slow and steady. Upheaved tree roots stretch into the sky and the rocks they disturbed have been violently scattered across the ravine floor, interspersed with snapped limbs. There are no birds, no sound other than Los’ grunting as they walk and my slow breathing, the lull of the river. The sun hides behind a new shroud of clouds, allowing time to become a foreign construct.

“I can walk, you know.” I grumble after a while.

Los barks out a laugh, the sound of it echoing off the stone walls flanking us. “He speaks! Nah, I’m alright for now. We’re almost there.”

“You said that earlier.” I remind them, and Los grins at me over their shoulder.

“We’re closer than we were before.”

I roll my eyes, secretly grateful Los is carrying me. I’m so tired, but they won’t let me sleep. “Not yet,” They say, and I do my best to hold onto consciousness.

Los takes to telling stories the next time my arms slacken around their neck. The first one is about a fabled god called Leviathan, roaming the seas in a massive, snake-like body. They terrorized ships and cities until brought down by a mighty, unnamed warrior. The next tale is about an Oak Treant who guarded a bridge, allowing only the most clever to cross.

“What is clever?” I ask, and Los shrugs, blowing hair away from their mouth.

“I dunno, like smart I guess.”

“Like you, then.”

Los huffs out a laugh, but the accompanying smile doesn’t reach their eyes. “Sometimes.”

In the distance ahead of us, something impossible appears. A horizon, an end to this chasm full of dead things and rushing water, perpetual stone. My heart skips a beat and I bury my cold nose into Los’ spine, avoiding the inevitable unknown. Their clothes are simple, dirty and torn in places but in better shape than mine.

I’ve managed to stay awake until now, but the clouds have finally parted and the sun is out in full force, stroking my face with such warm softness that it’s impossible not to fall underneath the beckoning tide of sleep. After Los hikes me up higher on their back for the fiftieth time, I drift into dreams thick with fire.

A soft, cool blade of grass tickles my nose.

And another.

Earth overwhelms my nostrils and a thick dew dampens my curled up body, heightening the scent of life and dirt all around me. I wearily blink my eyes open and groan, unfurling stiff limbs. “Los?” I ask, their name hoarse and stretched through my raw throat.

“Right here, kid.” Los says, seated beside me with their long legs stretched out in tall grass. They toss an apple up into the air several times, then hand it to me when I manage to sit up fully. “How’re you feeling?”

I take the apple and bite into it without a second thought. “Better. Thank you, Los, for saving me.”

Los smiles at me, brighter than the sun cast behind them. It teases the other side of the lake, a warm sunset that hasn’t quite darkened the sky yet.

A lake.

“Where are we?” I ask, watching a flock of bright blue wyverns passing overhead.

The shoreline is grassy and peaceful, trees full of bright green leaves and needles dot our area. Interrupting the shining, seemingly endless waters are islands. One isn’t far at all, full of trees and connected to the shore by a land bridge of sorts. A broken and jagged galleon rests precariously on a smaller island, a torn flag catches the easy breeze.

Behind us a little ways, where the grass slopes upward, is a road. The road goes on further than I can tell from here, rolling to the east and west. I give my attention back to Los when they don’t answer me. They braid their hair, overlooking the lake wistfully. I reach out tentatively and rest my hand on their knee, startling them.

“Oh! Um, I’m not really sure. I just call it the End.” Los says, giving me a sideways, half-way there smile.

“The End?” I tilt my head at them, then look around. Wherever we are is infinitely more open than where we had just come from. The ravine isn’t even visible from here. The way I think we came from is behind us, but the road blocks my view. “It doesn’t seem like the End.”

Los shrugs, working on another braid. There’s four now, thin ropes that trail from their right temple down their shoulder. They sigh, glancing at me with something akin to exhaustion. “This is as far as I go, kid. I didn’t want to leave until you woke up, but this is the End, for me, anyway. Come on, I’ll show you which way to go.”

I start to tremble and Los smiles, but it’s sad.

Los says, “Hey, it’s okay. You won’t be alone for long.”

I say, “Why can’t you come with me?”

Los hugs me then, and they’re so cold, but I hold onto them with all I have. I wrap my arms around their neck and my legs around their waist, burying my face in their scrawny, bruised neck. Los stands with me in their arms, holding on tight.

“I wish that I could, but I can’t. I have to go back now, but I’ll show you the way.”

“I don’t want to be alone, please.” I sob onto Los’ tunic, fingers digging into their hair.

We crest the small hill, leaving the lake behind in favor of the dirt road. Los rubs a hand up and down my back, then gently sets me down on wobbling legs. My knees knock together and I clutch the front of Los’ shirt.

“You won’t be alone, okay? Look, see that castle up there?” Los points and I follow his attention, finding the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

A city with pretty lights, towering windmills and equally impressive buildings, a curving river street and a small grove at the base of a massive, ancient castle. It’ll take forever to walk up there, but the sight of it warms my heart. “I see it.” I say, still clinging to Los.

Los kneels, taking my hands in theirs. “Good, okay. All you have to do is follow this road and it’ll take you there. Go to the castle, they will keep you safe. You’ll have to be on your own for a little while, but you braved a storm all by yourself, you can do this, right?”

I stare into Los’ eyes, my mouth opening and closing a few times. Eventually, I nod, but there is one thing I have to disagree with. “I wasn’t alone Los, I had you.”

Los smiles, a full and real one. “Sure, kid. Stay safe, okay?”

“Okay.” I stand taller, squeezing their hands tighter, then launch into their arms. Los belly laughs, hugging me tight. They sigh, shoulders dropping like a burden was smashed away.

“Have a good life, kid.”

Eleven Years Later

Spring cracks through the earth, relentlessly shoving new life through fractured stone. There are other rare spots that birth vegetation in the otherwise barren ravine, but I’m looking for one place in particular.

My boots crunch over dead sticks and I trace my hand along the rocky edge of the ravine, eyes trailing the cliff tops above me. I’m older, but the gouge in the earth has the same effect it did on me when I was young, making me feel small and insignificant. In the grand scheme of things, the universe, life and death, I suppose I am.

The ice has melted and a storm tore through here two days ago, providing a thick stream of water that gushes downhill. I stay clear of it, like my friend told me to do long ago. If it weren’t for the sun, it would be downright freezing. As it is, my fur lined leather jacket is spelled for extra warmth and my nose is still cold. I readjust my knitted beanie, an echo of the one I wore decades ago. I can hear Cas in the back of my mind, giving me shit for forgetting my gloves.

I stop walking, breath stolen.

The nook in the wall of stone is smaller than I remember. I kneel, pressing a hand to the cool wall. The overhang barely protects me against the sun and I smile, heartstrings torn. Dead pine needles roll beneath my knees and I press my forehead to the stone, closing my eyes. I breathe in the scent of decay, icy dirt warmed by the sun and something off. A smoky scent.

I sit on my ass, back to the wall, and wait.

I smoke a few bowls, happy to let the world go by. I’m sure Kitt is wondering what the hell I’m doing, but this is something I have to do on my own. Leon thinks I’m with Chauncey and isn’t coming round tonight. Cas is at school, living his own life, and Kitt is covering for me at the castle. Kitt’s a good friend like that, she doesn’t ask questions when I don’t immediately divulge information. This is a story I want to keep to myself. I haven’t been ready, but I think I can help now.

A stick cracks and I look up from the burnt herbs in my hand.

“Hey, kid.” The ghost says, looking exactly the same as the day I met them. Black hair greasy and braided, skin pale and eternally bruised. I wonder what it means that I recognize the stains on their tunic are the same, the torn holes neither smaller or larger.

Los smiles shyly at me, and I smile back.

“Hey, Los.”

I rise with purpose and embrace Los just as solidly as I did years ago. It takes them off guard, almost like they expected me to go through them now that I’m an adult, but then Los hugs me with a firmness that I haven’t felt in years. Funny how the dead can make you feel so alive.

“Oh, kid. This is … Wow, look at you.” Los says, hands tight to my biceps when they pull back and study every facet of me. I’m taller than them now, retaining some of my boyish gangliness but not all. I’m almost a man, like Los. “I can’t believe you came back.” They admit, choking on a wet laugh.

“I’m not a kid anymore.” I chuckle, gripping the back of Los’ neck. I bring their forehead to mine and Los sighs, eyes closing. “You saved my life, Los, and I’m here to give you yours.”

Los rears back, but they don’t pull away completely, fingers drifting down to my hands. “What?”

I nod, squeezing gently. “I’m a witch, a Hedge Witch. I can take you out of here, Los. I can take you to what’s next.”

“What?” Los blinks rapidly, tears welling in their stormy eyes. “How?”

I fight the urge to tug on my hat, not wanting to release their hand. “Well … I haven’t actually done it before, you’ll be my first.” I flush profusely, then hurriedly add, “My first passing. But I know what I’m doing, I promise. We’ll just take a walk together and … talk.”

Los raises a disbelieving brow. “Sounds promising.”

I roll my eyes, tugging on their hands. “Do you trust me?”

They watch me with soft eyes, debating in silence for a moment. “Yeah, kid. I do.”

I smile, unable to help myself. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Los says.

We stand there, holding hands, and Los clears their throat after a full minute.

“Like, right now you mean?” Los says through a smirk, and I startle to reality.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, it’s just, you’re here. I … It took me a long time to realize what you are, and I honestly thought you would’ve … went on.” I admit, meeting Los’ eyes warily.

Their smile fades. “And what was that?”

Heat swarms my cheeks and I release Los’ hand, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s dumb.”

Their smile returns full force. “Oh yeah? Let’s hear it then, but on the way. I want to show you something.”

“Okay, yeah.” I say, falling into step with Los as they lead us further into the ravine. Los gives me a ‘well, get on with it’ look, and I clear my throat. “Fine, fine. Nobody believed me that there was a boy in the ravine, they came and looked for you, you know.”

Los nods, hands in their pockets. “I remember, I was there, but they couldn’t see me. You were the only one who ever has.”

That threatens to trip me, but I keep my composure. “So … I’m the only one you’ve ever talked to since …”

“Since I died? Yeah.” Los says, clipped and bitter.

“Was it a long time ago?” I ask quietly, stepping over a fracture in the boulder beneath my feet.

Los shrugs. “Feels like it. What year is it?”

I tell them, and they shudder. Los goes quiet for a while after that, focusing on the non-existent path. Eventually they say, “I’ve been stuck here for fifty years, then.”

“Oh, Los.” I say, taking their hand in mine. Los stops walking, staring at our connected bodies. Their eyes drag up to mine, and they smile sadly. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Los laughs, but it’s broken. “For now.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know much about the … the Other Side, I call it, but it’s … It’s not lonely over there, not for people like you. I know that much.”

Los tilts their head at me. “Like me?”

I nod. “Good people.”

Los doesn’t say anything, only drags me forward to an area thick with brush and trees, much more so than the parts of the chasm we’ve come through so far. They look at me, tucking a lock of hair behind their ear. “We gotta crawl through here.” Los points to a tunnel in the brush and I nod, doing as they say.

Dead branches and thorns scratch at my jacket, hands and face, but I don’t complain. Los follows behind me and before I can ask where we’re going, the question answers itself. The tunnel empties into a clearing surrounded by walls of brush and sparsely filled with dead trees. Shreds of grass attempt to grow in the rocky ground, a feeble attempt. Centered between two trees bent at the waist are the splintered remains of a carriage.

I swallow something heavy, the energy emanating from the debris is overwhelming and completely evil. Los glares at the split spokes, shattered windows and long washed away paint, hands tightened into fists at their sides. I know I need to get closer, but the energy is thick, like a suffocating wall that surrounds the carriage.

Los takes my hand, squeezing tight.

I return the pressure.

“We were moving to Levena. Ma, Roger and I. It was a hard trip, and we were so close, but it was a long ride. We came all the way from the southern regions, and Roger became … manic, towards the end. I never liked him, but spending time in the desolate lands did something to him, took the twisted parts of him and sharpened them to deadly points.”

Los exhales shakily, leaning into my side as they continue with a voice that is entirely small and childish. “We got lost, ran out of food, water. Roger was … he was so scary. Ma and I made a plan. We were going to leave when he fell asleep, take off on foot. He heard us though, and …”

Los shakes their head and I fold their body to my chest. When I was younger Los seemed so tall, but now I have a few inches on them. “It’s okay,” I say, rubbing their back like they did to me once. “You’re okay, Los, I’m right here.”

Los nods, clutching the leather across my shoulders. “He trapped all of us inside the carriage and just … took us all over the edge. Ma … she died instantly, broke her neck on the way down, but Roger and I weren’t that lucky. I fought him but … it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

Los cries then, sobbing into my chest with all they have. I hold onto the ghost with all my might, humming softly to a song that I’ve come to love in the past few weeks. I don’t want to, but eventually I open my mouth and ask, “Roger?”

Los huffs out a shaky laugh. “He slipped on a rock and cracked his skull, not far from here. He’s not here, though. Ma either.” Los pulls away from my chest, staring up at me. “Why is that? Why am I alone?”

The same question I asked myself eleven years ago.

I tuck Los’ hair behind both their ears, swallowing. I don’t have the answers, only educated guesses. I give Los my best. “It sounds like Roger’s soul was destined for … somewhere else. Your Ma … Maybe she’s waiting for you, kind of like saving your seat.”

Los smiles through wet grief. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

It doesn’t take me long to find Los’ body, and their mother’s. Los waited well outside the carriage which did not collapse on me like I thought it would. Surprisingly, and creepily, the structure hasn’t decayed at all and was quite sturdy underneath my considerable weight. The animals never bothered the bodies either, and why is not a question I can answer. Not sure if I want to, really.

I take off my jacket and spread it out on the once wood paneled floor, carefully piling their bones onto it. It takes some time, but I’m not in a rush. I want to do this right. Warmth, memories and electrifying energy travels beneath my skin. Flashes of their life breathe underneath my fingertips and I catch small glimpses. A laughing child with black hair thrown into the air by a mother with paint smudging her nose mix. Banana bread for birthdays. Funny faces and love, so much love.

By the time I return to Los pacing a good distance away from the carriage, early evening has fallen in our section of the world. Los stops in their tracks, eyes widening upon seeing the neatly bundled up jacket in my arms, and if possible, their face pales farther than before.

“Oh.”

“You’re both here,” I say, kneeling on the ground and gently setting the bundle down. I stare up to Los. “Are you ready to find your mom?”

Los fidgets, staring at the dirt beside their wrapped up bones. “Will she want to find me?”

I stand, crossing the small distance to take Los’ hand. They squeeze my fingers, but don’t look up. “Why would you say that?”

Los sniffles, finally meeting my gaze. “Because I couldn’t save her. Save us. I couldn’t save us, kid.”

“Oh, Los.”

Once again, I embrace a ghost, allowing their untold troubles to flow into the wind as they unburden themselves for the journey ahead. My own tears escape this time, ones born of grief for the life Los so desperately deserved and was wrongfully deprived of and the time they spent alone. The tears aren’t just sad, though. They’re happy, for being able to bring Los home, to give back to the person who saved my life.

Without releasing Los, I close my eyes and draw upon my magick. It crawls along the surface of my skin, humming and crackling as the energy turns up and up and up. Behind Los’ back I bring my fingers together, moving them in a fluid series of conjurations that I’ve spent months practicing. Magick sparks, arcing from my fingers to the pile of leather and bones beside us, alighting the bundle instantly. Los gasps into my chest, fingers digging in my back.

“Kid, I’m warm.” Los whispers, words cracking on a laugh. “I’m finally warm!”

“Yeah?” I chuckle through hot tears. “That’s good, Los, real good. Okay, once the fire goes out, I’m going to open the veil. Are you ready?”

“Oh, wow, okay, yes, I’m ready.” Los nods furiously, pulling back from my chest. They don’t release me fully though, holding on tight to my hand.

We stare at the growing fire together, the flames a violent shade of green that would blind anyone else, but it’s mine, my magick, my power. Slowly, minute by minute, the fire recedes to a smoldering bed of coals. When the last emerald flame snuffs out, the air around us crackles with a new intensity. Ozone lines my nostrils and I inhale deeply, washing my throat in the energy tainted air. I return Los’ pressure on my palm and reach up into nothing with my free hand, fingers coming to a stop about eye level.

To others, there may be nothing, but I can see the wrinkled edge of this world, scrape at it with my fingernails. The first time I did this was an accident and I was almost lost to the Other Side, but I know better now. I pinch the crinkled fabric of the universe between my fingers, gently coaxing apart the folds of the veil that separates the worlds of Life and Death. Vivid, eye gouging color awaits on the other side, revealing a breathtaking, nature filled ravine that is much different than the one we stand in. The moment air whooshes out in a soft vacuum that makes my ears pop, Los bursts into laughter and tears.

“Ma!” Los cries, fingers loosening from mine.

“Not yet,” I say, and they renew their hold, looking up at me with a frown. I give Los a small smile. “You have to say goodbye, first.”

Los smiles back, a watery and beautiful thing. “It’s not goodbye, kid. See you later?”

I laugh a little, blinking away tears. “It’s Arlo, actually, and yeah. I’ll see you later.”

Los’ mouth drops, then they grin. Los reaches up and leaves a tender kiss on my cheek, lips turning up against my flushed skin and hint of patchy stubble.

Then my first friend releases my hand and steps through the tear in the world, leaving me behind. I smile, despite the bittersweet cracking of my heart.

“Have a good life, kid.”

Witchtober – Lunar

October 1, 2022October 6, 2022 / Aelina / Leave a comment

In honor of October, my favorite month, I’ve decided to participate in Witchtober. A friend of mine actually suggested it for their art, and I thought ‘how cool would it be to make a short story for each prompt?’

So that’s what I did.

I’ve been struggling what to name the ‘Phantom and Rook series’, because yes there will be more books, and these short stories gave me an idea. Adventures in Levena. These stories will be canonically set in my Phantom and Rook world, the Nether Isles, but you won’t need to have read Phantom and Rook to know what’s going on. The stories are mostly centered around new characters in situations that have nothing to do with the book, or are main characters just living in their world.

Without further ado, meet Arche, the witch inspired by the first prompt, Lunar.

Lunar

“I said two degrees to the right! Come now, I haven’t all night. We have one shot at this.” I smash my cigarette into an ashtray and peer into an eyepiece, shouting from my vantage point down to the soul below.

“Sorry Mr. Arche sir, right away sir!” Raphael works from behind his desk, sending codes to the rotating platform supporting the telescope and myself. Inch by inch the platform turns and once it settles, I check our position once more. The wards separating Raphael’s roarous thoughts from my mind tremble and I lift fingers to my mouth, but there’s no filter clutched between them.

“Excellent, and no more of that sir and mister nonsense.” I add firmly, standing and rolling out my neck, then dutifully light up another cigarette. “I’ve told you that a hundred times,” I mutter, staring up at the open ceiling of the astronomy dome. To the naked eye, the silver moon is but a distant behemoth greedily hiding away my lifelong aspiration.

Until now.

“Fire up the inverter and begin the countdown!” I call, hurriedly making my way down the stairs with the lit cigarette hanging out of my mouth.

I adjust my fingerless leather gloves, then my black vest. I rake my hair back, fingers scraping against the shaved undersides. My spine tingles with anticipation, the amount of kinetic magick buzzing through the atmosphere as the engines power on is enough to intensify my migraine. When I join Raphael’s side, I find the intern staring at an unassuming button. His eyes drag to my face, crinkling in distaste at the cigarette between my lips. He doesn’t complain about them aloud, but it’s clear he dislikes them.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? We have no idea what’s up there, or how magick works in space. I understand your work in theory and I truly admire it, but are we really about to do this?” Raphael asks, and I’ll give him credit for staring me right in the eyes.

Most people don’t, as if making eye contact will reveal all their secrets to me in an instant. It can, but I don’t make a habit of leaving myself open to endless useless thoughts and dramatics. Besides, I don’t need to read minds to know he’s being genuine. Of course he’s not the most perfect assistant, but he’s marginally more effective than the past few I’ve had, he challenges my mind and cares about the work, or so I thought.

I chuckle, sliding my hands into my pockets to hide their tremor. “And you’ve waited until now to come clean because?”

Raphael chews on his bottom lip, looking away when I don’t dispute his concerns. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

Honestly, that hurts. “Ah, because I’m insane, right?”

Raphael winces. “I didn’t–”

I wave him off, bored of this. “You didn’t have to, I have ears. I know what they all think of me. Crazy, carnal, weird. I also know what we’re about to accomplish will set us apart from those who never dare to try. Don’t you want to be known as the man who turned the immovable silver moon? Revealed its secrets for the world to share? If you’d like to leave, then by all means, there’s the door. But you know it just as well as I do, this is a moment, and you’ve contributed so much, Raphael.”

Raphael’s eyes widen at his name, something I now realize I haven’t said enough. His hands tighten into fists in his lap and he glares at the small red button. As I watch him consider, the ache in my heart lessens. He believes in me, he does, and it doesn’t matter that I’m a vampire, a witch, a person who doesn’t know how to hold what some call meaningful conversation.

But like all the rest, he hurries out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I butt my forgotten and ash ridden cigarette into a tray resting on the control panel, then gently press the red button. “Tch,” I whisper, not at all surprised or bothered that he left.

Not at all.

The inverter powers on, overwhelming the astronomy tower with a hum that rattles my bones. The magick in my blood sings in unison with the decades worth of stored Teleth power coming to life. Enormous gears work alongside the telescope I’ve spent the latter half of my life constructing. A blood red glow surrounds the brass works, the color amplified by steam hissing from vents in the construction. I study the vast projection of the full double moons cast on the main stretch of white wall, a replica of the telescope’s view. Precise movements require the eyepieces, but for grand shows I can see what I need to from here. A fiendish grin overtakes my face as the countdown initiates.

“5.” I wonder if Da is watching from wherever he is. I look over my shoulder, briefly wondering if the other astrophysics professors are watching. Of course, there’s no one.

“4.” A high pitched whining emits and a ray of red light penetrates through the sky, faint at first. I’ll make you proud, Da. I’ll find the man left behind on the silver moon.

“3.” The crimson beam strengthens in intensity and an alarm blares, rattling my eardrums. My attention flashes down to the controls and a gauge spinning wildly out of control. Fuck, it’s overheating. No, no, no, not again, not this time.

“2.” I flick a switch, redirecting the backup reserves of water magick I’ve spent a year collecting through donations to the cooling system.

“1.” Vents squeal and metal shrieks, a cloud of steam escapes and violently fills the astronomy tower.

Everything dies. The lights, the power, the screens.

“Fuck!”

I start out the next morning with a harassment report, transfer request and a disaster of an astronomy tower. Dante, the only person in this damn place who seems to tolerate me, brings me coffee at ten, just like he always does. Raphael usually anoints me with my first cup of caffeine at eight am, but he’s not here anymore. I can’t deny that the prospect of coffee has me jittering in place.

The angel steps over piles of warped clutter, wings spelled away as he dodges pieces of metal flying through the air. I rip and tear the sheeting off the side of the telescope from high up on the scaffolding. Through the smoke rolling from the death stick hanging out of my mouth, I stare my problem in the face. Dante climbs up the metal stairs and sits down heavily on the platform beside me, feet dangling over the edge. I take the coffee he offers with a noncommittal grunt, eyes dashing across his face briefly.

“Wow, you look like shit today.” Dante states the obvious, gesturing to my rolled up sleeves, dirty forearms, rumpled vest and stained dress slacks. He’s not wrong, I never went home last night. He wrinkles his nose. “And reek like my abi’s ashtray.”

“You say that every day.” I say, turning my attention back to the broken and violently burnt mechanism once hidden. I rifle through perfectly preserved and organized details, closing my eyes to better access the room in my mind full of boxes. Boxes of files, files which contain memories and information, relevant and otherwise. I flinch upon finding the error, how I missed it before I don’t know.

“That’s a cooling compressor, isn’t it?” The papers between us rustle as Dante satisfies his curiosity. “Kind small, ain’t it? For that amount of force you’ll need–”

“5.5k EMU per device, yes I know. I need another one. Fuck, how did I miss this.” I scrub at my face, then take a tentative sip of coffee. It’s perfect, overly creamed and sweet, like always. “Now the scope’s systems are all fried, and I have to recode everything from scratch.”

“You mean Raphael does.” Dante points out with a mischievous grin and I glare at him. He puts his large hands up. “What? Isn’t that what interns are for?”

I shake my head. “No more interns. He’s the reason I’m in this mess, it was his math. I became … complacent, so I stopped checking the numbers. Besides, he’s gone anyway.” I wave off the idea, cheeks absolutely not heating. “I’ll do it myself.”

“How long did this one last, six weeks? Damn, nearly the whole summer at that!” Dante laughs, exposing miles worth of dimples as he takes out his phone. He types into what I’m assuming is the group chat between him and all the other science professors, sans me. “That’s a record. You made me some good money on him. Ah, suppose he’ll be joining my less cool classes.”

I light up a cigarette, giving the male a withering look. “I don’t appreciate you betting on how long it takes to terrify my interns. At least cut the pool with me, and … be nice to him.”

Dante scoffs, temporarily abandoning his coffee in favor of pulling his long, snow white hair back. For a brief moment, I wonder if his wings match the color. “How can we do that if you’re not getting another one? We can play it to our favor,” His voice lilts at the end and a small smile escapes me.

I chuckle. “You find someone willing to work with, what was the latest one… Oh yes, Professor Witches a Lot, or my personal favorite, that ‘fucking crazy asshole locked up in the tower’, and I’ll gladly rig the game with you.”

Dante grins, and it’s evil. “Oh, I’ve got someone in mind.”

I take another sip of my coffee, mildly intrigued. “Cheers to that then. What do we say, two days until I chase him away?”

Dante stands, laughing as he does. “Let’s try a week, can’t have the fun be over too quickly.”

I shoo him away and finish my coffee, half listening.

I have work to do.

I spend the day cleaning up my mess, emptying and filling ash trays, and pacing around the telescope. The overhead ceiling is wide open, allowing an unobstructed view of a twilight sky dotted with the faint corpses of planets. I stare up at the constellations as they come into view, thinking of Da. In a way I always do, he’s constantly there in the back of my mind, telling me how lonely it is to live on a rock that doesn’t spin, faced with endless darkness. He spoke with such surety, such detail that I could never dismiss it as a fable.

As the golden moon that spins a little each night pulls its smaller, glittering silver brethren high into the sky, I watch. I find myself standing still, for perhaps hours, watching as the moons come up. There is a small part of me that knows everyone else is right. I’m insane. Have to be.

Who else stands in one place for stretches of time as the universe turns overhead, watching for a sign? Waiting for evidence that someone is up there, someone needs help. My help.

“I’ll do it one day, Da. I’ll go up there and meet the Man on the Moon. I’ll bring him home.” I stood a little taller, snowshoes pushing against a packing of snow that composed the last winter my father saw.

He smiled at me then, hand raising to rest on my head like he always did when I had pleased him, but he didn’t have to reach down now. In fact, he had to reach up, for I was taller than him. “I never said there was a Man on the Moon, just a person.”

I tilted my head, wondering how or when I had decided such a thing. “I have a feeling.”

And oh, how he smiled.

“Arche!”

I jolt upright, heart pounding in anticipation and releasing toxic amounts of terrified magick through my veins. Energy lashes out, instantly mapping my surroundings. I relax somewhat at the realization it’s Dante calling me, but the rest is blurry. I scrub at my face, wrinkling my nose at the sensation of hair tickling my lips. I rake it back, frowning as I come upon snarls and grease from running my hands through the tousled length so much yesterday.

Desk. I’m at my desk, a tingling sensation swarming through the side of my face. My sticky face. I frown, reaching up to pull a piece of paper off my sweaty cheek. Ah, the calculations I was working on last night. Absently, I solve the last equation whilst studying the paper, then set it down. I smooth out the wrinkles of my now … three? days old shirt and frown down at my slacks, colored with ashes, coffee, grease and soot.

Dante’s clearly amused, rumbling laughter behind me is accompanied by a small sound, not a whimper, but almost like a restrained squeak. I sigh, searching my pockets for my cigarettes before turning around and dealing with whoever he has paraded in here with the intent of torturing them. “I assume it’s Monday, again.” I say over the stick in my mouth, inhaling greedily when it lights.

“Tuesday, actually. I assumed you were ignoring my texts, but I can see now that’s not the case. Would you like us to come back?” The angel casually says, but underlying the words is a friendly taunt. If I say yes, I’ll be fueling the fire I’m sure he’s building, kindled with sticks that read, ‘I told you that you’re overworking yourself.’

I stand, using the desk for purchase, and inhale another long drag before turning around. I exhale smoke and words are there too, but they shrivel on my tongue upon seeing my guest. For the first time in decades, I choke on my nicotine, and it burns. I swiftly turn back around, hacking up a lung as I stamp out my cigarette. I don’t miss Dante’s knowing laughter and am able to manage out a ‘fuck off.’

Another small, breathless sound mixes with Dante’s amusement and once I recover, I turn and find the person is laughing at me, too. It’s silent, bright nonetheless, and my heart aches, surely from my coughing fit.

“I was not anticipating visitors,” I glance around, noticing the mess I had cleaned up yesterday has been expertly replaced by more clutter. Ironically, the state of my tower bothers me more than my clothes, and the smell wafting from beneath them. “Dante, introductions?” I ask, clipped but not unkind, hopefully.

Dante recovers, patting the man beside him on the shoulder who sheepishly continues to smile at me, eyes never leaving mine. I have to look away from him, afraid those thin pools of mercury will suffocate me. “This is Io Litsvim, a transfer student from the Obelisk of Gia’s Magickal Physics program.”

The name rings a bell, I remember coming across it on the upcoming fall semester’s roster for three of my classes, all graduate level and begrudgingly populated, not to mention Astronomical Magick is infamous for reducing some students to tears. The endless, multi-dimensional math and research gives me a headache, too, but it’s vital. Magick, new and alternate worlds, fate, science, it’s all connected. It’s real. There’s a factual reason for why life as we know it exists, for everything.

I just have to find it.

My inner philosophy narrative lasts less than ten seconds before I file it away, pack it in a box, then fully evaluate Io Litsvim with fresh lungs and new eyes. Obelisk of Gia is well known for their scholars and frankly, Scarlet University isn’t as well funded, not as … dedicated to the pursuit of science as Gia is. Between that and Io’s choice of course load, my courses, it’s clear he thinks he’s smart, but he could be the son of a nobleman and pushed through science because it’s ‘trendy.’ He holds his head high and wears a shy smile no matter how hard my gaze penetrates him, searching for weaknesses.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.

Io wears black framed glasses that rest on round ears, his skin is pale and slightly wrinkled around the edges like mine and vastly freckled, unlike mine. The markings are so dense, small and scattered it’s as if he bathed in a cloud of stardust, and his hair adds to the effect. It’s thick, relatively smooth given the wildness of it. Russet, almost burnt orange and earthy green drift around his face, undertones of a dusky twilight brush against his shoulders. I can’t help but notice his teeth are perfect behind that unyielding smile, save for a crooked incisor.

He’s wearing an admittedly beautiful sweater, azure and silver yarn shimmers under the fluorescent lights, the universe across his chest contrasts the … sterileness of the place around us. His jeans are … tight, and not at all what I expect a physics student to be wearing. Honestly, none of him makes sense. He feels … fae almost, but looks human and something completely other. My fingers twitch with contemplation, but I immediately bury the thought. I don’t read minds, not without permission, not if I can help it.

My study of Io must have lasted longer than ten seconds, because Dante smirks at me in a way that ruffles my feathers more than they already are. I inhale sharply, extending my hand to Io Litsvim with the standard, paper cut out introduction I give to everyone. “Hello, I am Arche Caeleste, Professor of Magickal Physics, specializing in Astronomical Magick.”

What I don’t say to everyone is, “I’m glad to have you in the program.”

Io smiles when he slides his hand into mine, fingers brushing against the pads of mine and palm meeting the heated leather covering my rough skin. He firmly shakes my hand, then releases me without a word. Before I can reply, he brings his hands to chest level and asks me a question, signing it out.

My heart tightens, it’s been years since I’ve spoken to anyone in sign. At first I worry I won’t remember, but I understand him perfectly.

“I’m glad to have met you, but I’m surprised.”

I can’t help but laugh a little, surprising myself and Dante. Then, I surprise Io by responding with touching my fingers to my forehead and curling my middle fingers in as I pull my hand away, forming a Y of sorts with my hand.

“Why?”

Io tilts his hand back and forth, not an exact sign but a clear ehh gesture with a wide, slightly crooked smile which blinds me. “I expected a test, hoops, or something.”

I don’t know why, but I laugh.

I laugh with a vengeance I haven’t felt in years. Besides Dante, when was the last time someone was this blunt with me? Wasn’t afraid to do so?

I bury my hands in my pockets, ignoring the twitch in my fingers. I tilt my head at Io, encouraging greasy strands to fall over my eyes. “How do you know there wasn’t one?”

“I suppose I don’t.” Io signs, shrugging. He glances at Dante and I blink rapidly, remembering him all at once and shifting uncomfortably.

“I’ll finish the tour with Io while you acquaint yourself with a shower, maybe a bed?.” Dante offers, tone casual with a raised brow.

“Oh, yes. Why don’t you come back tomorrow, Io? I’ll be ready for you tomorrow.” I say, using the sign for moon when referring to Io. After doing so, he arrests me with another wide smile.

“Are you sure?” He asks, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his toes and heels.

I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

I was … not ready for Io Litsvim.

He hums all the time, wears colorful sweaters and bounces on his heels while he does math, constantly moving and making noise but no words. I found myself watching him quite often, which in turn makes Io stiffen and attune to silence without a single word from me. For the first time, I dislike how my presence affects others and I wish for easy conversation. During the first week we worked together, I tried to be … considerate, but given that I rarely take care of myself most days, I find it difficult to accommodate his needs.

Not that he’s ever asked for anything.

Io hasn’t asked many questions at all, actually. On the first day he introduced me to his current thesis on the possibilities of inter-dimensional travel, a topic even well seasoned tenure professors won’t touch, me included. I walked him through the lab and explained the telescope’s capabilities and current problems, which he took to solving within minutes, all without having to order a new part. That was the most we’ve talked I think, the rest of the days have been spent recalibrating the system and cleaning my admittedly disastrous lab.

Today though, my hands shake.

I enter the warmly lit tower, another key difference since Io’s arrival. Raphael always met me at the door with coffee, waiting for me to open the door to our dark tower even though he has, had, a key. I frequently insisted he didn’t have to wait for me, but he always did. I rub at my heart, frowning at the painful sensation creeping under my rib cage. I make a note to text Dante, see if he knows what became of Raphael. He was … is a genius, I’d hate to see him fail this year because of me. He stayed through the summer, worked hard and kept me alive.

I find Io in a rolling desk chair, my chair, grinning wide with his hands out as he spins and spins and spins. I stop just inside the doorway, watching him as he giggles and laughs whole-heartedly. Curiosity has teased my lips several times, but I haven’t asked him why he doesn’t speak. It’s clear that he can vocalize, he giggles when he has to correct my math and I flush, and when I smoke more than four death sticks in a row he voices his disapproval. I swear I’ve caught the edge of a whispered word in an unfamiliar language, and he …

He sings sometimes, if you can call it that. I do. When he thinks I’m not noticing, he hums and … I don’t know, perhaps the noises aren’t words at all but they have a cadence to them, a rhythm where whatever it is he’s softly releasing is harmonious and nice. Not unlike how Raphael would hum under his breath when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I’m a terrible person, aren’t I? What is it that I do that encourages people to sing when I’m not looking?

Nonetheless, I don’t mind signing with him at all, it reminds me of Da and … and Father.

Gods, I haven’t allowed myself to think of him for years. More specifically, the time when it was all three of us and we were happy. I was so young that the memories are blurred but unrelenting, a distressing combination. Not to say Da and I weren’t happy … after, but it wasn’t the same.

I clear my throat and leave the safety of the doorway, startling Io so hard he falls out of his chair, head lolling in dizziness. I rush to his side, my vampiric speed allows my hand to cradle his head before it smacks on the cement floor. Io stares up at me with dazed eyes and a shy grin, fingers clutching my biceps.

When I don’t say anything, his smile starts to fade and I grasp for something witty, that’s what people do, isn’t it?

“You spun sixty eight times without stopping.” I say, immediately regretting my detached, factual words.

To my relief, Io laughs. He laughs so hard it echoes off the tower walls and escapes through the open dome ceiling all at once, there’s so much of it that nothing can contain it, not even the sky. I chuckle, heart warming as I help Io to his feet. Our laughter awkwardly fades away, but his smile doesn’t, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find one on my face, too.

“Good morning,” Io says, then motions for me to sit at the desk where two cups of coffee wait, both steaming. He’s had the lights on, coffee ready for me every morning thus far, and I like it.

“That it is,” I say aloud, then take a seat and sip my coffee, going through today’s plan with him in sign, substituting voice for sign with more technical words that I’ve been working on but haven’t mastered yet. Thus far, I haven’t walked him through the intricacies of my project, given what I actually want to do isn’t on paper. For a brief moment, it occurs to me that I should be afraid, I don’t know this man. Raphael and all my previous interns signed an NDA and were thoroughly vetted to ensure they committed to this.

None of them were, proving the process to be faulty.

“Can I ask a question?” Io draws me from my thoughts and I nod, going to take a sip of my coffee but finding it gone already. I frown, setting the mug down in favor of a cigarette. He rolls his eyes at me and I snort.

“Unless it’s to stop with these, then I’m afraid not. They won’t kill me, so don’t waste your time.” I flinch the second I shut my mouth. I had meant to come off as teasing or something of the sort, but no, I’m just an asshole.

But Io doesn’t seem phased. In fact, he rolls his eyes at me. “Give me more credit than that. No, I want to know what we are doing. You have a telescope that can determine one pebble from another with such accuracy it’s terrifyingly impressive, but you’re not looking for anything on the gold moon, everything is focused on the smaller, less impressive silver moon, some would say. But even then, there’s no pictures, no data samples. This doesn’t feel like a research project to me.”

I take a long drag of my cigarette, contemplating Io. He straightens in his chair, but otherwise doesn’t remove his gaze from me. He stares into my eyes and my fingers twitch with curiosity, but I reign my magick back. There’s something about him that’s wholly familiar and startlingly exotic to my world all at once. Even Dante has commented that ‘this one seems different,’ and I’m inclined to think he’s right, but there’s … I don’t know, something that’s holding me back.

“What do you know of the dark side of the moon?”

Io’s cheeks flush immediately and he adjusts his glasses, ducking his head. He glances back up at me, revealing the slightest bit of cool mercury and an unreadable expression. “That no one has seen it, and any satellites sent up there are lost.”

This is the part where they laugh, run, or stay.

I’ve been laughed at many times and my skin has grown thick, but if Io does, I’m afraid it just may sting.

I nod, treading in a whisper that speeds with my thinly veiled excitement. “I have reason to believe there is someone living up there, and I’m going to prove it. Not only that, but I’m going to reveal the dark side of the moon for everyone to see. When it comes to light that there is a person abandoned up there, all alone … Someone will be sent for them, and they won’t have to be alone anymore. It’s a win-win for everyone. For fame, for accreditation, for morality.”

Io and I have leaned forward in our chairs, inadvertently rolling ourselves closer to each other. He studies me, frowning for the first time since I’ve met him. “How can you be so sure? I can see that you truly believe this, but why?”

I open my hands, staring into my leather covered palms and bare finger tips untainted by ink and grease. This is where I spew logic and myth and years worth of hypotheses, enough scientific jargon to get them in the door. Only Raphael never asked me why. When I told him what I wanted to do, he enthusiastically said yes without question.

“Because I have to,” I admit, so quiet I’m not even sure the words actually even escaped. I chance a look up at Io, and his softened features tell me everything. Such a vulnerable look would usually trigger my defenses and the need to flee, but I don’t. I don’t.

I say, “I can’t leave them alone.”

Io’s pale fingers meet mine tentatively, his skin slowly brushes against mine and when I don’t pull away, he takes both my hands in his, never breaking eye contact. I inhale sharply and my magick thrums beneath my skin, vibrating and pulsing and wanting.

His pupils dilate and he squeezes my hands, the only indication he noticed my power greeting him, then releases me just as slowly as he took me. With one hand he says, “Ok.”

I nod, chancing a smile. “Okay.”

After that, I explain everything to him. The tractor beam, the magick engines, how we’ll need to prepare the telescope and the potential consequences for my actions.

I brush off such things. “As long as we succeed, that’s all that matters. You won’t be subject to any investigations, you have my word. Besides, it’s not like I’m planning on keeping the moon this way, could you imagine what would happen?”

Io shrugs. “You break a plate and put it back where you found it, but it’s still broken.”

I arch a brow. “Do you disagree with me?”

He laughs. “Of course I do.”

I frown, lighting up another cigarette. “Then why did you agree?”

Io’s laughter transforms into a deadly grin. “Because I believe you.”

“Oh.” I say, because what else can I say? My throat dries up and I go for coffee, but it’s long gone. I take a drag from my cigarette and instantly regret it, subsequently stubbing out the stick. I stand abruptly and Io stares up at me through his earthy hair, a smirk playing at his lips. “Thank you, um, thank you for that. I am not … I’m not good with these things, so don’t expect praise or anything like that. I hear that I’m terrible to work with. In general if I say nothing, that’s good.”

Io chuckles as he signs, “Consider me warned.”

I nod, neck hot. “Excuse me for a moment. Why don’t you get started on today’s problem at hand? We need to make sure the math is right, and we both know you’re better at it than me, just like–”

I abruptly cut off, shaking my head. Io’s smile fades and something sad swims in his eyes and I ache at the sight of it. “Well, go ahead. I’m just going to check on something.”

I turn away before I can embarrass myself anymore, stalking off to the nearby scaffolding surrounding the telescope. I stop at the bottom stair, pulling out my phone. I find Dante and call him, keeping my voice down.

“We have seven more weeks, don’t tell me you’ve scared him off already.” Dante pouts as a way of answering and I grumble in response.

“Good morning to you, too. And Io is doing fine, thanks for asking. I actually had a question.”

“Must be pretty important if you’re actually using your phone, and for a call no less.” Dante yawns over the line.

I huff and roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “Forget it.”

“Oh come on now, I’m just teasing. What do you need?”

My lips itch for a cigarette but I resist, for now. “How has Raphael been adjusting? I know it’s only the first week of classes, but I … You know what, never mind, it’s not my business, I’m not his teacher anymore.”

“Arche,” Dante cuts through my nonsense firmly, but not unkindly. “You have his number, why don’t you shoot him a text?”

I balk at that, sputtering indignantly. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not appropriate, I only had it in case of emergency and I … doubt he wants to hear from me, honestly.”

Dante chuckles. “But you still have it? His number?”

I growl at my so-called friend. “Good bye, Dante.”

“See you at ten,” Dante says, laughing as he cuts the call.

I stare at my unlocked phone, the wallpaper something Raphael had chosen for me when he set this device up. For all my worldly knowledge, the technicalities of phones escape me. I open up a message thread, adding Raphael’s name because yes I still have his number. I type, erase, and type again for several minutes, eventually coming up with the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written and have been thinking about the sentiment since he left.

Good Morning Raphael. I wanted to apologize for my behavior, not just for the day you left, but for the weeks before it as well. Without your help, ideas and genius I would’ve gotten stuck long ago, and for that I would like to add, or keep, rather, your name on the accreditations. If you are uncomfortable with this I will not, but I feel you deserve it. I know I am difficult, and you are superb, beyond what I deserved. With or without, and dare I say more so without, you will achieve grand things, and I wish you the best. Thank you, Raphael.

My finger hovers over the send button, then slides to erase.

No.

I slam my thumb down on the little paper airplane meant to take my apology, resulting in a rather anticlimactic moment. I take a step, but then–

Oh, but then.

Then, a phone chimes.

My boot slams down to the floor, toe scraping the first metal stair leading up the scaffolding and my shoulders tense at the sound of a familiar ding-ding reminiscent of a trolley.

I slowly turn in place, sure I’m being paranoid.

What I find baffles me.

Io stands halfway between the desk and I, phone in hand and a soft smile upon his face. His mercurial eyes drag from the screen up to me and his features haven’t changed, but in my heart of hearts I know when we lock gazes.

He signs, “I think we can achieve grand things together, don’t you?”

“Raph … Io?” I start and sputter, unsure what to say. “Why do you— Why did you leave only to … Why?”

He sighs, smiling sadly. “I only wanted to be close to you. If I had known … Well, I guess that doesn’t matter now. Do you see now that I’m right here, and I’m not alone? I’ve never been alone, because I’m with you.”

And then, the Man on the Moon offers his hand to me. “I’m sorry for deceiving you. This is me, the real me. Can you forgive me, Arche? Can you allow yourself rest, now?”

He ends his plea with the sign for my name that I’ve loved since the start, and there’s no doubting my decision. There’s so many questions, the deceit erodes my bones, and yet.

And yet.

How can I not explore the dark side of the moon?

I hope you enjoyed Arche’s story! Tomorrow is Ghost, which is Arlo’s story. Here is a first look.

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.

I spent three years calling them my imaginary friends.

Then, I witnessed my first death and learned otherwise, diving into a world of secrets, of shame. No matter what, no one could know.

But, like all secrets, it was found out. He found out. I lost friends, so many friends, and it brought on a new blanket of pain that I didn’t shed for centuries. I never lost the memories of my first friend, either. My first memories ever, for that fact.

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.

What did I do differently?

September 21, 2022 / Aelina / Leave a comment

What did I do differently this time compared to the first time I published a book?

Well, I’m not using KU for Phantom and Rook. While it was a good idea at the time for TEM, and it obviously works for lots of people, I hated the exclusive thing. Now I can offer my ebooks to libraries and a LOT more distributors using Draft2digital, their setup is so much friendlier and it feels better getting away from Amazon. Obviously the ebooks will be listed there, but everything for me is right on D2D.

I comissoned a cover (in the works) from Bear Pettigrew, a fantastic artist. While I’m happy with my self made covers (for a series I hurried to get out there), I KNOW that my books would have done better if I had someone else do the cover.

Speaking of time, I have spent a little under a year on this book. Much more feasible than doing it in three months. Again, everyone works different, but I really needed that time to let it sit between edits.

Also, I got the ball rolling on an audiobook narrator much sooner, and again, I moved away from exclusively Amazon. I love the narrators I worked with on the Iverbourne books and was very lucky to collaborate with them using royalty share, but I like the idea of this book being *mine* to distribute where I want (libraries included).

Not to mention I was able to snag an AWESOME narrator who is a favorite of mine.

And my pre-orders are much cooler 😎
Three maps, wax seal, all the prints, bookmarks, Misfits pin, signed book and stickers. The Game announcements will be included in print as well.

ARCs were sent out earlier, I was much more selective this time and I’m not sending EVERYONE HARDBACKS. So, so, SO much money and I never heard from people again. I’m guilty of taking two months to read an ARC at times when my brain is mush, so this way no one is pressured.

In short, I spent ALOT more time and money. Like, alot alot. It’s terrifying, but that’s how much I believe in this story, these characters, my writing. What works for me may not work for you, but if I can say one thing, is take your time. Invest when you can and do your best with what you have at the time, because your story deserves to be told.

Have you met the coffee shop owner?

September 20, 2022September 20, 2022 / Aelina / Leave a comment

“By chance, do you know where Gleason went? Or, when Thatch will be back? I suppose he’d be the one to talk to about the apartments.”

“Oh? Gleason’s just outside, but Thatch is,” Helena’s iridescent eyes flash to Rhea snorting, then down to the dishwasher digging around in the pastry case, hood pulled down around their face as they struggle to pull out the empty trays, “boss, really?”

The person stands and my heart palpitates in response to my magick’s upcoming symphony. Waves of tightly coiled copper flow from beneath his hood, covering one of his striking oceanic eyes. His mouth’s stuffed full of scone, and mocha icing dots his nose. I bite my cheek in attempts to reel in my magick, a few heads turn in response to the mark on my face glowing brighter than a fucking neon sign.

Hello, witches.

And no, it’s not him. He’s not my person, so stop looking between us with those smug grins.

“Oh, hello again.” He says over attempts to choke down his food. “You guys missed one.” He points to his reddened cheeks full of scone.

“Oh! You already know each other? Why were you hiding then, boss?” Helena asks and the questions in Quentin’s eyes multiply. I rub the back of my neck in anticipation.

“No, he just, I just, we ran each other last night.” Thatch gestures between us hastily with icing covered fingers, curls bouncing. His eyes linger on mine for a second, but he otherwise avoids looking directly at me. “I did not feel the need to bother you again.”

His gaze hardly falls on Quentin, but Quen can’t stop staring at the man with a smile brighter than the sun. Wait.

Wait. Thatch.

Thatch Phantom.

Oh, shit.

And so their shenanigans begin.

Where would you hang out, with the books or in the cafe?

What’s your favorite detail?

Now What?

September 19, 2022October 6, 2022 / Aelina / Leave a comment

The ARCs for Phantom and Rook have been sent out and now I’m just twiddling my thumbs, wondering what to do with myself. In the meantime, enjoy some art and an excerpt about the magickal bookstore in this urban fantasy that’s releasing on November 2nd. The cover reveal will be mid-October and I’ve secured an audiobook narrator.

“I won’t forget you, I promise.”

“As you can see, everythin’s in working order, buildin’ has been standing longer than I have, but you’ll have that in Old Town. Contracts were just renewed with the kingdom, shipments come once a month and the staff are great, though the mural out front will have to be fixed up. Oh, the latest one I hired, he’ll need some trainin’, but he’s a good one, I promise.”

I follow behind the shopkeeper that doesn’t remember me, but that bothers me not. I’ll visit his mother’s grave tomorrow, not that she would remember me either. Guilt eats away at my insides, I wish I could’ve saw Mrs. Thitwhistle off to the next world. She was the epitome of hospitality, and her son takes after her gentle side. The old man was a down right bastard, but he left when Gleason was just a babe, and it seems the boy turned out more than alright.

I trace along bookshelves, caressing the engraved detailing hidden in the wood. I find no tacky dust there, same as the last time I visited. The town, no, city, has changed infinitely in the last eighty years, but Thitwhistle’s hasn’t changed a bit. Most of Old Town is the same as it’s ever been, but especially here.

“It’s perfect,” I say, smiling down at the katan.

Pride lifts Gleason’s chin high, he re-ties his mousy hair back and we leave the expansive back end of the shop behind, where aisles upon aisles of books sleep, and enter the cafe section.

The barista counters and refrigerated display cases are centered on a raised, half moon plaza that dominates the head of the cafe. The once white tiles of the dias are painted cobalt and spattered with star dust clouded constellations. Vibrant colors of the night flow beneath our feet, extending into a river that swirls around the raised area and spreads out to blanket the rest of the wood floor in starry clouds.

The lapis astronomy theme accented by gold continues throughout the shop, much different from the earthy tones Mrs. Thitwhistle used, but I think it’s a rather nice touch. The lofty ceiling of the entire place is filled with golden galaxies and meteors, milky ways and dying planets. More paint detailing shows up in random places, the artist’s touch reaches every subtle inch of the room.

Lines of planets along the edge of a table, shooting stars over top of a curving window frame, explosive golden bursts of light that make my heart ache.

Curtains drape along each of the unique round windows facing the street, which are quite a few. The heavy, royal blue fabrics are embroidered in simple gold along the edges and match the upholstered lounge chairs and couches nestled by the fireplaces. Dual hearths rest on the east and west sides of the room, accompanied by chess boards, small tables to eat, and the furniture which the college kids are currently taking advantage of. Enormous groups congregate around both roaring fires, laughter rolls through the gossip and small talk thickens the warm atmosphere.

Thitwhistle’s feels like someone’s grand study open to the public rather than a bookstore, complete with coffee beans and scones, and I’ve never felt more at home. The crowd is equal parts magickal beings and humans, young, old and everything in between. There are a few older folks tucked into a corner, eyes crinkling and steam curling around mugs which hide their smiles.

A set of half shifted werewolf pups tug on their mother’s sleeve, begging for the ‘Monster Hot Cocoa’, complete with candy and whip cream on top. She rolls her eyes good naturedly, in humanoid form, then orders three of the drinks and half a dozen donuts for the bus ride to Full Moons Field.

“Scone?” Gleason asks from my side, patiently watching me take in the scene with a sly smile on his slightly creased face. Half-Katan don’t live as long as their magickal parents usually do, but a couple hundred years all the same.

I reach down and take it from him, then bring the pastry to my nose and inhale deeply. Mocha and walnut. I glance down at Gleason with a wicked smile, despite myself. “You do remember me.”

Gleason flushes, then tucks a strand of escaped hair behind his softly pointed ear. “Indeed, but I must admit, I thought ya’ were just a childhood fever dream at first, but seeing you here now, that’s not true, is it?”

That’s how most people describe their memories of me, the blurred edges of a dream that fades the harder they try to remember. It doesn’t hurt when old friends, acquaintances at best really, forget me. I’ve long gotten used to the feeling of perpetually being alone, but my heart aches in an unfamiliar way.

Bells ring when the door paned with colored, patchwork glass opens. The nightlife of the Old Town meets my ears the moment he opens it, but Gleason abruptly stops in the doorway. I halt in time so I don’t step on his heel and his wide eyes catch my attention.

Gleason presses a hand to his chest and takes one small step at a time, staring reverenterly at the front of the store. “That kid,” he whispers breathily, and it’s not until I’ve joined his side again that I find what he’s looking at.

The once crumbling storefront has been restored to beyond its former glory. The faded mural which held a portrait of Mrs. Thitwhistle hauling two armfuls of books over her broad shoulders has been painted over. A mural of the solar system, with the unique bookstore itself as the center of the universe, stretches from one end of the storefront to the other. The family sigil of the Thitwhistle’s hides in the stardust of a galaxy, along with the words, ‘Knowledge is Life.’

Standing tall in the center of the tremendous round, two storey building is the paned door we came through, flanked by the mishmash of round windows on either side. The same gold and blue color palette from inside the bookstore inspires the mural and trim. The paint shimmers underneath the lamplights lining the street, smooth against the cobbed surface. Underneath a window, I notice a decent sized canvas that matches the mural.

I kneel before it and brush a thumb over the artist’s signature done in white, indecipherable, but my heart skips all the same. I take the canvas and offer it to Gleason, but he’s caressing the miniature bookstore floating on a cloud of stardust. His fingers settle on the family sigil, then he clears his throat, glancing sideways at me.

“Shit like this makes me want to stay.” Gleason huffs out a laugh, then gently takes the canvas from me and studies it. “Kid down the street, he’s the one who did all the artwork on the inside over the past few years, and now this. Always when I’m not looking, won’t take any money for it. ‘He’s bored’, he says. Agh, fuck, sorry.” Gleason wipes his wide nose with his flannel sleeve, sniffling.

“Don’t fret, tears bother me none. Good for the soul, I say.” I pat his shoulder and he nods. The streets have begun to thicken, patrons move past us to enter the bookstore, waving to Gleason as they do.

He nods to them, rallying himself once we’re alone again. “I want to see the world. Took me so fuckin’ long to even think about it. ‘What would mama say?’, you know? She always said this place was enough, and it is, but … I want more. I want to go on adventures, Mr. Phantom, that’s why I want to sell. Silly, isn’t it? Leave this behind for some fantasy, at my age.”

I stare directly into his eyes. “Doing what you love isn’t silly. I admire you, Gleason, and I think you should do it. And I’m not just saying that because I want your bookstore, but because I think your mama would want you to. As long as you don’t forget to visit, of course. I can hear her saying it now.”

I gesture dramatically before us and he chuckles, eyes brightening. “You’re a devil, Mr. Phantom. Alright, let’s sign some paperwork.”

“Wonderful.”

Look at what I have…

September 10, 2022September 10, 2022 / Aelina / Leave a comment

After spending all day on maps and poring over everything once more, I finally put together the first bit of Phantom and Rook for my newsletter peeps to check out.

We’ve got three maps, a language and magical race section, a prologue and three chapters. If you’ve been on the fence about joining the Advanced Reader team for my latest queer urban fantasy, then this is the perfect chance to see if it’s for you.

In these chapters you’ll meet the main characters and a friend group with no boundaries, not to mention the meet cute that’s second hand embarrassing for all of us. If you need a laugh and something to warm your cold heart, then this will definitely do the trick.

I’ll be sending the email with this short bit out first thing tomorrow along with the full version of this beautiful art done by @gagakumadraws on TT and IG, one of many pieces I’ve comissoned from them for this book.

Protected: Art for the Misfits

August 17, 2022 / Aelina

The Boys are Back

August 6, 2022October 6, 2022 / Aelina / Leave a comment

Arlo Rook has decided it’s time to move out of Garren Castle, home for orphans of all races, magical or not, at 100 years old.

It’s not the first time he’s left home, but after a setback that landed the Hedge Witch in the hospital a year ago, he ended up right back at square one. But now he’s ready to strike out on his own, despite his friend’s worries that he’s not ready for the ‘real world.’

Then, he crashes into a mess of copper curls and bright eyes, sending apothecary goods and his life into a chaotic mess. Thatch is a mysterious and incredibly wealthy benefactor of Levena, only spoken of but never seen. He requests a night of Arlo’s company and a tour of the city, which Arlo immediately declines.

But that’s not the last time they see each other, and it certainly wasn’t the first. Arlo doesn’t remember him, no one remembers Thatch after he visits, but Thatch never forgot the Witch with a familiar mark on his face.

Thatch Phantom ‘The Scarlet Illusionist’

Thatch Phantom is an immortal, the last of his kind and perpetually bored. When he’s not closing inter-dimensional rifts and corralling demons, he’s visiting his favorite city of all, Levena. Centuries ago, when life was particularly dull, he set up a scavenger hunt for a starving village, providing them with a year’s worth of supplies.

He anonymously returned year after year, upping the ante and providing less practical things, as the village had become a city and was wealthy beyond belief. Festivals were thrown in his honor, and have continued every year since. Hundreds of years later, The Game is still put on by the fabled ‘Scarlet Illusionist’, but no one has figured out who blesses them with the puzzles.

Once again, Thatch is listless and has decided to throw a wild card into this year’s Game. Whoever discovers him will win one wish of their choice, no restrictions. Aside from the obvious, such as no falling in love, murder or resurrection.

What he didn’t anticipate was crashing into the one person whose soul mark flares like a beacon when Thatch is around, teasing the immortal with the one thing he wants most.

Someone to call home.

What follows is a wild chain of events filled with magical coffee shops, villains with vendettas against cheese makers, moving tattoos, grand puzzles, and second chances at love, and life.

Thank you to my artist and friend, Henni Eklund, for bringing to life these two chaotic disasters, along with everything else you do for me. Arlo and Thatch are just as I imagined them and I cannot wait for you to all to experience the joy that is grumpy witches and sunshine immortals.

If you’re interested, I currently have ARC signups up until September. You can find it at the top of my linktree.

Linktree

Neshama Publishing

Home of Aelina Isaacs and Noah Hawthorne

indie author

Witchtober – Glitter

Witchtober – Thorns

Witchtober – Ghost

Witchtober – Lunar

Lunar

What did I do differently?

Have you met the coffee shop owner?

Now What?

Look at what I have…

Protected: Art for the Misfits

The Boys are Back