I let her pull me away but I keep glancing over my shoulder. The redheaded girl is talking to the two guys and no longer looking in my direction. That tingling sensation races over my limbs, then stops. I meet Claire, who seems nice enough, but the entire time I’m making small talk with her I can’t quit stealing glances at the other redheaded woman.
Moments later the meeting is called to order by Bridgette, who thanks everyone for coming. They give blessings to the four corners and thank the Mother. They go through a lot of small rituals that are nice, but there’s no power. Good for focusing attention and intention, but a far cry from what I’m looking for. I need real juice, power enough to travel in time, and this isn’t even an inkling of that. Worst of all, as they do the rituals, some people in the circle are on their phones. The girl beside me is on Instagram. Another across the room is taking selfies.
It’s superficial and definitely not what I am looking for. I know what power feels like. I’ve felt it, I’ve held it in myself, and there is none of it here. Exhaustion clouds my thoughts and makes it hard to focus. When they finish the blessings, they break into small groups again. I work my way to a dark corner of the room and do my best to not let my disappointment show on my face.
“It’s a bit of a letdown, aye?” I jump when the soft voice seems to whisper right in my ear. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya.”
The redheaded girl is right next to me. Her smell fills my nose with lavender and a hint of something earthy. Trying to cover my surprise, I shake my head and speak a bit too loud.
“It’s fine.”
Bridgette shoots me a look that causes my cheeks to flush. I give her an apologetic wave and shake my head.
“Sorry,” she whispers, almost giggling.
That accent. The lilt of her words calls me back. It’s much softer than what I grew used to hearing but it’s a thousand percent Scottish. She’s smiling that warm, inviting showing of her teeth that, at the same time, is somehow a challenge.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Quinn.”
“Moira,” she says, thrusting out her hand.
As I go to take her hand, static electricity pops between us with enough force that I yelp and my hand goes numb. We jerk back at the same time, shaking our hands to try and force feeling back. She mouths an exaggerated ouch, then nods her head towards the door. I lead the way, and in a few minutes we’re outside.
The porch light turns on as we emerge, flooding the front yard with its harsh luminance as it pushes back the dark. It’s good to be outside, free of the layers of soaps and perfumes so many bodies in a small space bring. Moira and I move off the porch. There is another guy and a girl outside smoking by the one shade tree so I walk out to the sidewalk that fronts the property where we have some privacy.
“Well, Quinn,” Moira says. “What brings ya to this mighty gathering of the coven?”
“Coven?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Aye, is that not what they’re calling a gathering of witches nowa—in tha’ Midwest?” she stumbles midsentence as if she was about to say something different then changed her mind mid speaking.
“Oh, right,” I chuckle to cover my embarrassment. I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep or something about her, but I can’t seem to keep a single train of thought. “Uhm, Bridgette. I met her in class, she invited me.”
That’s right, lie to her.
Part of me finds it distressing how easy it’s become to lie. I never used to lie, especially not like this. Now I lie all the time. No one around me could handle the truth, which doesn’t leave me with a lot of options.
I can imagine how well it would go over if I told the truth. I’m here looking to find real magic because, somehow, I need to find my way four hundred years back in time. See, I was accidentally sucked back and now I want to return but I can’t quite figure it out. Oh, and I met a bunch of Fae folks that, well mostly they’re a bunch of jerks, but they say I have a destiny, which sounds like bullshit, but you know.
Right, dump all that out on anyone here in the conservative Midwest and I’ll be on the first train to a seventy-two-hour hold. No thank you.
“Class? You’re in the college?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool, what are you studying?”
“Archaeology,” I say.
Moira snorts, then stops when she looks at my face.
“Oh, you’re serious?” I nod slowly and must look crestfallen or hurt because she backpedals. “I’m sorry, I thought, well, damn Moira, open your mouth and put yuir foot clear down to yuir ass.”
“It’s fine,” I say, because now I feel bad for her. “Not a major you hear about all the time I bet.”
“First time, for me. Why did you choose that? Don’t tell me, you have a massive crush on Indiana Jones and wanted to follow in his footsteps?”
Now I laugh. “Well, Harrison Ford. You know.”