I wrap my arms around myself to stop the cold from creeping in. “I don’t know. You tell me, you’re the professional man witch…”
He raises an eyebrow at me while taking a seat on the bench that’s in the center of the rounded greenhouse. “I get the feeling you don’t want to be here.”
“Hmmm.” I sit beside him, aware how close our fingers came to touching. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I love The Coven. It gives me a sense of self that’s away from my usual life—but…”
He hangs onto my words as I try to find the next ones.
“I guess you could say I found out some information recently that flipped my world upside down and now I’m trying to live with it.” He doesn’t answer. I appreciate that. I’m not talking for answers. I’m not looking for anything.
He crosses his leg over his knee, turning inward toward me. He’s dressed in a suit. I have to stop the comparisons that whiz through my brain. The complete opposite to Brantley. Might be good to talk with someone who shares no resemblance to my deepest and dirtiest nightmare. “You want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” I keep my eyes locked on the peace lily in front of me. How ironic. “Tell me why Frankie is obsessed with you.” I say, suddenly desperate to focus on anything but Brantley.
Sam laughs, his head tilting back. “Ah, Frankie. She and I have known each other for a little while. I guess she doesn’t like being told no.”
“So you and her?”
He stares at me. “There is no you and her.” I find his words trustworthy, but then maybe that’s what he wants me to think.
“Oh, there you two are!” Veronica sashays through the entrance with a train of black satin not far behind. “I got an interesting invite from The Kings.” I pause. I’ve ignored all of Bishop and Madison’s texts, even Tillie’s. The truth is, the only reason why I was so quick to jump into the car with Veronica is because I thought the memories might choke me. All of them remind me of the life I knew in one way or another. I can’t stomach them right now. I hope they will understand.
“What?” I whisper, though I’m not sure they heard.
Veronica picks up a rose gold watering can and begins showering the greenery. “The reopening of the high school and the college. They would like us to be there, along with my friends.”
“Why?” Sam asks dubiously.
“Well, the invite extended to all of the… families that reside in Riverside, and on the outskirts, too. I guess we are only part of that.” She places the can back down and turns to look at me. “It’s not for another two weeks, Saint. Until then, we can focus on you learning your craft a bit more and you can spend time with Sam and your sisters.” Veronica leans down, her fingers on my knee and her eyes pointedly on mine. “And when you show up to that ball, my dear,” the edge of her nail glides down my cheek, “we’re going to make them wish they never lied to you.” She pushes off me and pats my head. “We’re having a feast tonight. Wear your best attire.” She disappears the way she came, like a tornado sweeping through an innocent village and taking any and all prisoners. As time goes on, I’ve found my level of trust and admiration for Veronica fluctuate. There’s an invisible vise sealed around my heart that will never let her in. I know it will never give it up.
Samael stands. “I’ve got to hit the gym. I’ll see you later?”
I smile up at him, though it doesn’t go unnoticed how heavy the edges of my mouth are. As if I have to force it. “Sure.” Once he has gone, I close my eyes and count to ten. I know I should check my phone. I should let him know I’m safe.
I unlock my phone and stare down at the blank screen. White. Nothing but the black clock numbers stare back at me. I swipe it unlocked and open a new message to Bishop.
Me: I’m ok. I need time.
Once I hit send, I place my phone onto the seat and move toward the cuttings of plants that are sitting in glass vases. Some I don’t recognize. Actually, all I don’t. Pink and whites ripple through the leaves of one, while another is completely black. Even darker than the black raven plant. I tap my fingers against the counter. My thumbs drum to a beat, grazing against the imposed carvings in the wood.
I tilt my head and move the plants and vases away, desperate to see what the images are or what they make up. Patterns connecting together are carved into the wood. I don’t know what I’m supposed to fill my time with during the day here, so I make my way back up to my bedroom, ignoring the laughter and chatter coming from the lounge and lock my door as soon as I’m safe inside. A sigh of relief douses over me. My fingers curl until my nails dig into the wood. “You can do this.” I push off and head to my bathroom, busying myself with filling the tub with scorching hot water. I pour in some essential oils and petals from a mini rosebush off the counter and watch as the water level rises. It’s ironic how this tub feels like my emotions. I’m filling to the top slowly, and I know that once it reaches the top, everything is going to topple over and I’m going to expose my true feelings for everyone to see. I’ve never been good at being something I am not. I don’t last very long lying, and when I do, I feel a churn in my belly saying it’s wrong. I hate injustice and want to help people who have been wronged, but when it comes to helping myself, I can’t seem to find that same fight.