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To most, that passage wouldn’t mean much. To Willow, it is some of the most beautifully written prose she has ever laid her eyes on. Her mother’s first grimoire. A collection of every magical thought her mother had at sixteen, the same age Willow is now. Her mother had entrusted it to Willow as she began writing her own first real official book of spells.
I am going to rock the shit out of this, she thinks to herself and smiles while further investigating the use and success of hex bags in history. She’s also got some other books strewn across the table about medicinal herbs and healing rituals. Add in A History of Wild Women, which Willow knows to be full of other actual witches just like herself, and a biography of Stevie Nicks because obviously she’s a witch and you have a whole occult smorgasbord to dive into. She is not at all concerned about any of the busy bodies moving about this public library just over her shoulder and if they might see what she is reading.
She’s weird. Her family is weird. Everyone in town already knows it and it gives her immense joy to always be pushing their boundaries. They all think her magic is fake anyway. As long as it stays that way, no one has anything to fear. Everyone just assumes she is going through a “Wicca phase” and has a hippie mom, like that is some kind of mid-western rite of passage or something. She rolls her eyes at this idea, she’s happy to let them keep thinking it anyway.
No suspicions of real magic and no one will immediately think it’s her when she turns that self-important twerp kissing her best friend into a frog. She scowls as she looks up to see them in the library lobby. Her beautiful, kind, Emily. That piece of self-righteous garbage sucking her face. Willow isn’t even sure why she hates him, but she really can’t stand the sight of his golden boy face. He sets off alarm bells in her head that she’s never experienced before and he makes her stomach tickle in nauseating ways. He’s gross and no amount of attraction charm is going to make him any more palatable.
What Emily sees in him is such a mystery to Willow. It isn’t really any of her business, she supposes, but there is just something so off-putting about him. It’s like he has blaring red and yellow lights flashing all around him, screaming ‘Stay away’.
What isn’t a mystery, though, is that this relationship will not lead to anything good. Of that, Willow is one hundred and fifty percent certain.
Callie sits at a computer at the back of the room with a search engine displaying volunteer opportunities at the local domestic violence center. She intends to use this Saturday morning to plan her next weekend at the shelter, but it seems the comings and goings of those around her are more interesting today.
Teenagers are an intriguing study for the observant eye. They seem to always be playing a part. No matter who they are or who they are with, they never quite know who they actually want to be. Callie is positive she looks the same to anyone willing to watch her as well.
She’s part of the ‘popular crowd’. The pretty girls wearing designer brands want to sit with her at lunch. The football players ask her on dates and want to be seen with her on their arm. They invite her into their circle of secrets and jokes, but none of them are truly her friend and she knows she is playing a part every time she is with them.
Sitting here in solitude surrounded by books or at the shelter helping wipe someone’s tears; those are the only times Callie feels genuine. Do any of them have those moments too? The moments that make them feel like this is who they are supposed to be? Do any of them love this quiet existence as she does?
She scans the room in search of kindred souls and settles on the face of Willow Kearney. Books strewn across the table, chewing on the end of her pen. Willow looks like the kind of girl Callie feels like inside. Willow wears it with pride instead of hiding it away in the closet like Callie. Willow is the only teenager Callie can ever remember seeing who always seems to know exactly who she is at all times. She exudes such confidence that it makes Callie feel a pang of jealousy. What must that feel like, to always be okay with who you are? To be so sure?
At this particular moment, it seems Willow knows that she is annoyed in an extreme sense. Callie follows Willow’s line of sight and finds the object of her annoyance. She completely understands the sentiment.
Standing together in the library lobby are Emily Larson and… him. Seeing them standing there, eyes locked and holding hands, makes Callie sick to her stomach. She remembers when he used to look at her that way, back in the beginning. Seeing him look at another girl that way is infuriating. She just wants to slap him right across the face.
Fire is flaming in Callie’s cheeks now and she knows she is scowling in their direction. He leans down and whispers something in Emily’s ear eliciting a soft giggle from his paramore. He always was a funny boy. Callie rolls her eyes and feels the urge to gag. He kisses Emily’s mouth, gently tugging on her lip with his teeth as he pulls away. Callie almost comes unglued. It’s sickening.
As he finally walks out the door, Callie looks sadly at Emily’s lovestruck face and feels the prick of tears in her eyes. Callie used to look at him like that too, but then he broke her.
It’s finally noon and Sam is so ready to leave work.
Her Saturday shift is only four hours long, but it is four straight hours of absolute torture. Saturday at her family’s butcher shop brings in every family in town preparing for tomorrow’s Sunday after-church supper. Not only does that keep her insanely busy from start to finish, but she has to interact with every single busybody in this tiny town. The mere thought elicits a massive eye roll from Sam.
Within thirty seconds of seeing the clock hands both reach directly upward toward the twelve, Sam is in the back throwing her apron in the laundry, throwing her bag over her shoulder, and heading toward the door to go meet the girls at the library. As she approaches the front counter, a scowl takes over her whole face as she peers out the window and sees Emily’s boyfriend walking by. She stops and refuses to take even one more step until he is completely out of sight, just so she can be sure she doesn’t have a run-in with him.
To be fair, she doesn’t know him and really has no reason to hate him, but something about him just rubs her the wrong way. As her mother would say, he’s smarmy. Nothing he says or does seems real, like there is another version of him in there hiding under a varsity jacket and football jersey. He and one of Sam’s four older brothers are both seniors and play baseball together in the spring. Big brother says he is perfectly harmless and Sam has tried to cling to that, but something just won’t let her fully believe it. She is trying so hard to play nice for Emily’s sake, but that means avoiding him in every possible situation.
At least he was walking in the opposite direction she needs to go and she now knows for sure Emily didn’t ditch them for him again because she is nowhere in sight.
Sam counts to thirty after he passes the window and then runs for the door. She is careful to not give even a passing glance in his direction. She doesn’t have the energy to get sucked into any kind of interaction with him today.
NINE
The air is so crisp and alive.
Fall is Raven’s favorite time of year because the world changes so much. She loves breathing in the cool promise of transition on the breeze. She closes her eyes and takes it all in for a moment as she turns the corner on her way to the butcher shop Sam works in. As she rounds the corner, her body collides with another and her eyes fly open. It’s him.
Raven has never been a fan of his. Something about his presence just makes her uncomfortable. She can’t put her finger on it, but her gut knows he’s no good. She can almost feel the darkness vibrating off of him.
He roughly reaches to push her out of his way until he sees who it is that walked into his path. Seeing Raven’s face, he smiles. “Hey there, Little Bird.”
The pet name makes her cringe.
“Where are you off to in such a rush that you can’t watch where the fuck your going,” he asks, just barely holding his deep irritation in check.
“I’m going to meet Sam, not that it’s any of your business,” she throws back with equal irritation but paired with a protective gaze. He makes her feel so unsafe.
He raises his eyebrows and laughs quietly. She can feel his anger flash.
