Page 26 of Anomalies

I look Solian. Even my hazel eyes have an odd sort of shimmer to them.

I separate a few loose curls, run my fingers through the softer waves, ultimately deciding to leave it down for the night. Then I grab the letter I wrote for Ivy and Jude, stuff it into my bra, and step out into the muggy summer-night air.

Gemma whistles when she sees me, then locks her cabin door and meets me along the path. She’s smeared gold glitter over her eyelids, practically glowing in her stark white sundress that she’s paired with bright red boots. “That looks much better on you than it ever did on me,” she croons.

“Thanks.” I feel my cheeks heat at the attention. “I don’t normally wear skirts.”

“Well, you should start.” She nudges my shoulder then looks around. “No Devon?” Her tone is optimistic, until she spots Pax up ahead, then she jabs a finger in his direction. “That one can carry a conversation at least,” she says, and the red-haired Ajax perks up.

“Devon can carry a conversation; he just hates talking,” Pax replies.

“Yes, and you have the opposite problem,” Gemma fires back, and Pax smirks, shoving both hands into his pockets as he falls in step beside us.

The entirety of Pirn has come to life with the setting sun, and there is a buzz of excitement in every person we pass. Soft music flits through the night, pale moonlight shines down on the roofs of every cabin, and small orbs of amber light bob and sway along the dirt paths that lead to the Banyan.

When the massive tree comes into view, my eyes widen.

Hundreds of those amber lights dance through the Banyan’s branches. They warm the bark along the massive trunk and illuminate the entire clearing that surrounds the tree.

Every Sol in Pirn is here. They’ve all exchanged work boots and muddied overalls for hand-sewn dresses, skirts, neatly pressed pants, and button-downs. There’s a certain wildness in all their faces, burning in their star-flecked eyes. It’s excitement and hunger and…I find myself wanting to be a part of it.

“Run along, Pax, you can keep an eye on her from your Coven’s section,” Gemma says, then skillfully pulls me through the mass of people, effectively losing Pax. Though I don’t think he tried that hard, I’m under enough watchful eyes as it is.

Most stares linger as we pass, and I note the glass jars of a glittering liquid that they all hold. Moonshine. There’s no one here who isn’t drinking it. The last time I had moonshine was New Year’s Eve, and I threw up all over Ivy’s dashboard.

I should take it slow.

I lift my chin and crane my neck over the crowd to see what everyone is gathered around. I catch the golden rim of a large basin, at least ten feet wide, the walls of it coming up to my waist. Wood is piled high within it, and I realize I’m gawking when Gemma tugs on my arm.

With one final tug, she pulls me through a break in the crowd where a long wooden table is set up, glass jars covering the entire surface. Gemma picks out two and hands one to me, wasting no time unscrewing her lid and taking a big swig of the shimmering liquid.

I hold it cautiously up to my nose. It smells like moonshine…

The first sip burns mercilessly as it runs down my throat, and immediately, my chest is warm. It’s like tiny sparks are being shot off within my rib cage, prickling down my arms and legs. It tastes like lemons and blueberries with a hint of smokiness that lingers on my taste buds.

I lift the jar to the light. This is not moonshine.

“What is it?” I ask, noting the way the liquid swirls around and around even as I hold the jar still.

“Moonshine,” Gemma replies simply. “Why do you not like it? I know it burns a little but⁠—"

“I’ve had moonshine before, Gemma… and it’s not supposed to…” Her blonde brows pull together. “It’s not supposed to move like that.”

Color blooms across her cheeks, the ‘moonshine’ flushing her skin like I know it’s flushing mine. “The word Selumira in our ancient tongue translates roughly to light of the moon. The Dame and her coven gather it for us, then the Hearth witches make it taste good. It’s captured moonlight.” Gemma clinks her jar with mine, raising the glass to her full lips that are still kicked up in a smile. “Moonshine.”

I eye the suspicious liquid, questioning everything in my life that has led me up to this point. Then I look back at Gemma. I guess I’m going to need some liquid courage if I see the Captain.

Screw it.

I drink deeply from the jar, swallowing a cough that works its way up my throat.

Gemma is grinning when she grabs my hand. “Come on, I want you to meet my friends.”

She weaves us back through the crowd until we get to a line of benches that have been set out before the golden basin. Most are already occupied, and I scan the crowd for Callan, but I can’t see a damn thing over all these people.

Gemma shimmies her way into the middle, right up to a wooden bench where two younger women, about Gemma’s age, sit cross-legged with their jars of moonshine resting in their hands.

“Of course you took in the stray,” the dark-headed one groans, the beads at the end of her braided hair snapping together as she turns her head to me.