Page 7 of Salt and Knot

Elaina sighs. “Yeah, my parents help me out, because it’s so much money, and taking time off work as well. I missed a fantastic acting gig once because the audition was during my heat. I was so pissed off. Thankfully my heats are pretty regular and infrequent. Only every six months or so. Is that why you take the suppressants? Are yours like every month?”

“I…” Don’t know. “Something like that. So do you choose the blankets you want? Based on scent?” I add to distract her. The suppressants dull every omega aspect of me, and I don’t think I’m very strong anyway. I can tell that an alpha is an alpha, but I just get the slightest whiff of their scent. It’s usually not great. And they almost never identify me.

“Yes! It’s the best.” Elaina grins. “Your beta will bring you more blankets and things from the ones who smell the nicest. Sometimes the selection is really rubbish, though. You can’t tell what you’re going to get. My senses are so heightened during my heat, and I really really dislike most alpha scents.”

The orc comes to the counter and Elaina serves her, whisking her avocados, sourdough bread, butter, and vegetables through the till, each item beeping as it’s scanned. When the orc has thanked her and left, Elaina turns back to me.

“Is that a symptom you get?”

“Ah, a bit,” I hedge. “But the suppressants, you know.” I shrug. I’m aiming to seem vague, and not like I grew up stupidly sheltered and without a clue what I was doing, and not much idea now.

Elaina nods. “So it’s really nice not having to worry about being yelled at for taking their best shirt when you’re mindless. But I would still like a mate.”

“Yeah?” I reply cautiously. “You haven’t scented anyone?” I refer to how fated mates are found. Through scent.

“No.” Straightening her back, Elaina gets a stubborn look on her face. “It doesn’t happen for most omegas. Fated mates just isn’t a thing that’s likely to happen, so although I would like it, I’m okay. I’m dreaming about winning the lottery,” she adds with a little mirthless laugh. “And I have my candles. That fulfils me.”

Elaina has a hobby hand making these amazing scented candles in clever designs that burn and melt to look even cooler, and I really admire her for having something that she’s passionate about. I’ve never found anything. Unlike everyone else, I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I “grew up”. Nothing felt like it fit.

I guess I’m still waiting to grow up.

“Oy!” Elaina yells. “Get that familiar on a leash!”

A young witch, magic sparking from her fingertips, looks up and gives us a dirty look. “He’s not causing any trouble.”

“The sign. On the door, lady. It says all familiars on leashes, even if they’re collecting items for you. Or shoplifting,” Elaina adds under her breath.

There are anti-theft and cleaning spells on the door, so in theory no one can tread in muddy feet or walk out with goods they haven’t paid for. But in reality, magic can circumvent magic.

I watch as the raccoon scampers back to the witch, who I guess is about my age—in her early twenties—and visibly sasses the witch as she accepts the collar and leash, but then rubs against her leg. A pang goes through me. It would be nice to have that sort of companionship. Witches and familiars apparently have a close bond. Not like bonded mates, not love, but they can talk to each other through the bond, and they live with them their whole lives.

Another pang goes through me that I’ll probably never be bonded. It would require coming off the suppressants, and maybe going to a dating service. I can’t afford that. And besides, alphas are pretty terrifying.

“My parents are always hoping that my fated alpha will walk in and scent me.” Elaina rolls her eyes, returning to our previous conversation. “I think that’s the only reason they allow me to have this job.”

“Mmm. I don’t know if that’s going to happen. Old Mr Reynalds who comes in every day for a can and a chocolate bar, won’t suddenly recognise you as his fated mate.” I refer to an alpha customer who is as bad-tempered and ugly as he is entitled. Just because we’re not alphas, he seems to think we should practically worship him.

Elaina snorts with laughter. “For real.”

A couple of betas walk in, hand in hand, the man holding a baby in one of those chest pouch things. They’re chatting and laughing, and before I can squash it, I’m sad all over again that I don’t get that. If I really were a beta, I could just get married and have a normal life. Have a baby. Except, since I’m an omega, I’d never have a child unless I’m with an alpha. My foster-mother told me over and over that being an omega—the special ones, the submissive, bottom of the strength scale but uniquely capable of breeding with alphas—the top of the human pecking order—is a curse. And honestly, most of the alphas who come into this little store only show that she’s right. They’re all crass and blunt, and only interested in power and money. She told me I didn’t want to be an omega, and that was why she gave me the suppressants. To protect me.

And it’s only recently I’ve been wondering if she wasn’t exactly right.

The witch has her familiar place her shopping onto the counter, and I scan it through as she waits and does something on her phone. There’s no one in the queue behind her, but I still cough quietly to draw her attention when I’m done. Familiars aren’t that great at being notifiers for their witches. This raccoon is sniffing the air, as distracted as her mistress.

It’s a pretty slow time of year, summer, and mostly there aren’t that many people around. The offices this shop serves are quiet, and it’s just the residents living in the apartments that are coming in. Hardly any betas in suits or alphas swaggering in the streets.

“Hey, how is your plan for a trip going?” Elaina asks once the witch and the beta couple with a baby have left with their plastic bags of groceries.

“Good!” I smile in anticipation. “I’m packed already.”

“Have you actually decided where to go?” Elaina teases.

“Yeah. Cornwall.” I finally have saved up enough money, and I’m going to the sea. The city is driving me crazy, and the number of photos I have of the sea on my walls in my room is getting out of hand. This fixation is probably just a response to having been banned any talk of the sea, never mind pictures. When I was a kid, I once requested a visit to the beach, and my foster-mother bit my head off and lectured me for so long that I never asked again. But it’s been three years since she died, and the need has grown steadily, an ache I can’t hold back.

“Ohh, why did you choose Cornwall? I was, and still am, team Scotland!” Elaina pumps her fist, like this is a football match we’re talking about, not the first trip I’m taking away by myself.

“It’s south, it’ll be warmer,” I reply, but that’s not true. I’m not sure why I picked Cornwall, except that I kept coming back to it. Every time I considered another place, something tugged me.