When my eyelids betrayed me by opening the next morning, I felt like I was filled with sand—heavy, immovable, incapable of leaving the bed. But as my other senses woke up, I smelled food, and the realization I hadn't eaten in at least a day caused my stomach to ache and growl. I sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. If I didn't know any better, I would swear I'd been asleep for at least a week.
Standing was easier than I expected, and I stretched, feeling the muscles in my arms, back, and legs tighten and release happily. The window let in a surprising amount of light, and I looked and saw the sun making its way southward. It was probably at least 10:30, I guessed before confirming the nightstand clock's time.
I rummaged through my suitcase and changed my clothes. I would need to find a bathroom and brush my hair and teeth before I went downstairs. Had anyone even told me where it was?
I peeked outside my door with hair brush, toothbrush, and toothpaste in hand. My question was answered as I saw an open bathroom door across the hall from my room.
By the time I was done, I felt slightly more human and worked my way down the stairs. I had no idea what Ciaran had in store for me today, but figured I would soon be Killian's chore or be left alone in my room or out in the garden to read all day. That was actually my preference.
My hopes vanished the instant I spotted two unexpected faces at the dining table, and I froze, my face a mask of horror. Killian didn't look too pleased for them to be there either.
"Morgan," Ciaran greeted me with a smile I'm sure was meant as a warning.
I took a seat next to Killian, which to my great misfortune, was directly across from my sister. "Iona," I said with a tight nod. "Kyle." He nodded in recognition of my greeting while focusing on his breakfast and a newspaper.
Iona stared at me all of breakfast, and I could feel my face redden in discomfort and embarrassment. I hated her, plain and simple. Getting a reaction from me was just a game to her, and she lived for it.
"Little sister," Iona said in a sickly sweet voice, mocking Killian's affectionate name for me. I had just started eating some toast—the only thing I didn't feel awkward nibbling on in front of her. I set down it down on the plate and looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Her eyes were dull, almost colorless, but held a ferocity that made my breath hitch like I was about to be chased in a horror movie. "You don't have plans for today, do you?"
I glanced at Ciaran, who had stopped eating and focused on Iona as soon as she had addressed me. I shook my head. "I don't think so."
"Come to town with me? I could use your help."
"I think that's a great idea," Ciaran said with approval, and she beamed at him. "Morgan?"
I didn't want to. I absolutely didn't want to, but if she were going into town I could easily lose her and be on my own for a little bit. So I shrugged and said, "Sure."
"Great." Iona's smile faltered just a bit and then disappeared completely when he turned his attention to me.
"How is school going?" Ciaran resumed eating, waiting for my answer.
My eyes narrowed in confusion. "Mom didn't tell you?" I asked, and Iona looked visibly irritated at the mention of my mother. "I dropped out and got my GED months ago."
Ciaran looked stunned, if not horrified, but carried on. "What do you do then?"
"I work at the shop—the register, ordering supplies, I manage the inventory a lot." I explained, taking a bite of cold, jam-covered toast.
Iona giggled as she took a sip of tea. "You hear that, Da? Your brilliant progeny is a little shop girl." She set down her cup and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "All this potential, supposed power, and she wastes it by selling candles and herbs to second-rate witches."
"Iona," Ciaran warned, but she continued.
"No, Da, she doesn't deserve to be a MacEwan!" Iona snapped. "She hasn't done anything to prove she's one of us!"
Feeling a wall of anger slam against me, I sat back in my chair, arms crossed, mirroring her position, and said, "I'm not."
Her eyes narrowed. "What?" Iona demanded.
"I'm not a MacEwan," I said firmly, fully aware my father was sitting a few spaces away from me. "I'm a Riordan."
As if that had been the ammunition she needed, she laughed triumphantly. "A Riordan," she repeated. "A disgusting Riordan."
Ciaran was on his feet and leaning across the table to Iona in an instant, his chair falling to the ground with a crash. "What did you say to her?"
"I—" she started, choking on her words. Like a popped balloon, she was completely deflated, defeated. Submissively, she looked down at her plate and stayed quiet.
Ciaran, seeming satisfied, straightened and picked up his chair. "Killian," he said in a cheerful tone. Killian looked up at him at the mention of his name. "Will you take Morgan into town today? I'm sure Iona won't be feeling up to it."
Iona remained locked in her trance, as if she'd been spelled. Maybe she had been—I knew better than to underestimate my father's powers. Kyle continued to read as if he'd heard nothing.
Killian had been with me all of two minutes before running into some people he knew—mostly girls—and ditched me to go to the pub. At one in the afternoon.
I had found a quiet bench under a tree in the park, its leaves full and green, providing welcomed shade from the sun that seemed far more powerful than it had yesterday. I'd been walking just a few minutes and started to sweat before I found the small, grassy park.
This cool, shady bench also provided an excellent view for people watching. Kids played with their dogs, couples were enjoying picnics in full exposure to the sun's light. Other people were lying on blankets and reading alone. I stared at them in envy and wished I'd brought a book with me on this excursion.
Eventually I got a little too chilly and left my bench. As I walked through the small town, I spotted the pub I'm sure Killian was getting plastered in. There was a busy ice cream shop, a little market, a few tacky gift shops—I hadn't realized this place was such a tourist destination. A theater boasted titles of movies I had already seen at least a month ago, but if I got too bored I was sure I could make it through one again.
As I was making my way to the end of the shopping area and entering a residential neighborhood, I started to turn back. I tried to remember where the theater was when my senses prickled. I stopped, trying to pick up on it, and felt a pull into the first row of houses.
At the very end of the row, an old, rickety sign stood proudly in front of a roughed-up, white-painted house. Summer Sun, it read, painted in an obnoxious shade of yellow, for all your magickal needs! the text concluded in a soft sky blue, the chipping paint a rather pretty shade on the worn-out white sign.
Thank the Goddess! I cried mentally. Up on the porch were bookshelves, fully stocked. The front door was wide open, and I practically ran inside. The entrance was very much like Practical Magick; candles and incense towards the front for easy access. Crystals lay in flat trays on an antique table with hand-written tags describing the type of crystal and their purposes.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, I was happy. It felt like home, and I was too overjoyed to even think about missing my mom.
I wandered the book aisles towards the back, marveling at the similarities to our shop at home. My hands traced the spines of them, some worn out and fraying, others brand new. I liked that this shop had them combined rather than a separate "used" section—to me, books were books. They all held knowledge and enjoyment—why keep them apart? I had always preferred used books, and when I went to buy books in Manhattan or Boston from dealers for the shop, I scoured the used racks or overstock.
I wondered if the owner would let me ship books from here to sell in Practical Magick. A lot of these we absolutely would not find in the US—Books of Shadows from English and Scottish witches ranging in years from three, four hundred years ago to the nineteen-sixties. Original prints of spell crafting guides that we could easily charge a hundred dollars for or more but were just a few pounds here. One book caught my attention, and I wiggled it out of the tight grip the other books had on it.
It was a guide on fire scrying.
Like my mother, my element was fire, and the few times I'd clumsily tried scrying, I had used fire. Of course I'd read books on scrying and had worked with Mom to try to perfect my use with it, but it had never quite worked for me.
But this was something else. This was only for fire, and I felt like it was for me. The author's name on the cover was worn off—Goddess knew how old this book was. I opened up the title page—no publication date, almost as if it had been written by one person and self-published. In faded lettering after the title was the author's name. It was either an N or an M with part of it removed, as it looked like water had gotten to it, and the last name was Riordan.
My name.
"Trying to start a fire?"
A voice startled me, and I looked up at a tall figure illuminated by the sun in the store's windows. It took my eyes a second to adjust, and I saw a man at the end of the aisle.
"What?" I asked, my voice catching. I cleared my throat.
The man came closer, and as he did, his appearance changed. He went from a man to a boy within seconds—tall with scruffy, short blonde hair and angular cheekbones highlighting the greenest eyes I'd ever seen. He was intimidating to look at, and it would've been impossible for me to breathe normally if not for the dusting of freckles softening his appearance. He was hands-down the most amazing, gorgeous, perfect guy I'd ever seen.
"You were staring so intently that it looked like you were trying to light it on fire." He said with a smirk. He glanced at the title, then grinned at me. "I suppose I'm not too far off."
"It's um—I'm—uh, hi," I said, and I wanted to die. The only interaction I usually get from other people is when I'm working. Even when I was in school, everyone thought I was weird and didn't talk to me. So now there was a really attractive male speaking to me, and I was acting like a bumbling idiot.
"Hi," he replied, taking pity on me. "Just so we're clear, you aren't going to set anything on fire in here, right? Siobhan probably wouldn't like that too much."
"Who?" I asked.
"The owner," he leaned down close to me. "She has eyes in the back of her head, so I wouldn't get too carried away if I were you," he looked through an opening in the bookcase to point at a black-haired woman with her back to us.
I swallowed, feeling self-conscious with how close he was to me. His cool beauty only underlined how skinny and flat and intense I was. Seeming to sense this, he straightened.
"So are we clear?"
"With what?" I asked, making my way to the register. He followed and waited for me to pay. The clerk, Siobhan, smiled at the two of us and asked if I found everything I needed. I nodded and paid.
"Have a blessed day!" she called out after me, and I realized He was following me out.
"What?" I asked, turning to him as we got to the road.
His eyes narrowed. "Playing with fire is dangerous, you know."
I nodded. "I'm always careful."
He assessed me for a moment. "What's your name, fire starter?"
"Morgan," I said, feeling blush creep into face. "And yours would be?" I countered, feeling a wave of boldness take over. If He was going to be nosy and relentless, then so would I.
His half-smiled, taking the silent challenge I had offered. "Hunter."
"That's appropriate," I murmured, and he chuckled.
"Morgan," he tested it out. "You're not from here. Visiting someone?"
I nodded. "My father." I said.
"Ah," he replied. "And would your father mind if I saw you again?"
Biting my lip in an attempt to be calm and collected, I shook my head. "I don't think he'll notice if I'm gone."
"Tomorrow then?"
"Okay." I agreed. I tucked the book I'd bought into my bag and started walking down the road back to town. "Oh!" I said, turning back to him. Hunter's eyebrows rose, waiting for me to go on. "For the record," I started, and he took a few steps closer to me. "If I wanted to set something on fire," he was about two feet away now. "I wouldn't need a book to tell me how to do it."
I turned on my heels and continued down the road, enjoying the sound of his laugh.
To anyone reading this story, a review would be so greatly appreciated! I'm working on the next chapter now and should have it uploaded later today or tomorrow.
