“You don’t plan on changing her, do you?” he asks.
I arch a brow at him, wondering why the fuck it’s any of his business.
“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly, though I try to tamper down my irritation.
He taps his finger on his steering wheel a few times. “If you were to go back all those years ago, can you honestly say you would choose this?”
“I’m not sure if I would or not,” I say and he nods.
When we approach her house, it’s the same as the last time I saw it. A wrought-iron gate that could use some maintenance surrounds the parameter. Her yard is filled with flowers, the greenery is overabundant, nearly taking your eye away from the small home nestled along the entry way path.
“Should I stay?”
“No. Thank you, Achille.”
When I’m out of the car, he drives off and I stare at her home. I’ve spent many nights out by this tree just staring at what I couldn’t have. I’d watch her through the windows as she used her magic to braid her hair, or cook a meal. She often sits on her couch and speaks with her overly large raccoon familiar.
It’s a peculiar familiar to have, but I suppose Ember is no ordinary witch.
Watching her has become habitual, a type of indulgence that I always edged myself with. Never once did I consider knocking on her door or approaching her. Distance was best for her, safest.
If Oz knew what she was to me, he would have killed her.
Now that Oz is dead, I still have to worry about her safety, but I’m done waiting. I’m probably still selfish for wedging my way into her life, but fate was always determined to bring us together, even if she doesn’t have a clue. I’ll protect her and give her the tools to protect herself. Even if this magic between us is only one-sided, I’ll keep her safe until I’m no longer walking this earth.
The gate creaks as I open it, and it clunks against the lock as it shuts behind me.
“Ah! Everyone fly for your lives, he’s going to drain us dry,” a high-pitched voice screams and I roll my eyes.
Of course the witch has a penchant for saving homeless little fairies. I’d seen them from afar, the way they bitch and complain about every single thing. Yet, Ember is patient with them, providing them with everything they need.
My witch enjoys caring for things, nurturing them. It’s a ridiculous concept. The moment the little shits bitched about the type of flowers she planted on the west-end of the property, I probably would have eaten them like Tootsie Rolls. My mouth waters when I think of the candy I haven’t had in over a century, though I know of something that’s far sweeter than any candy I’ve ever had. She’s tucked away in a pretty pink cottage, in need of my assistance to complete her spell.
“Do you know how much blood is in a fairy?” I shout, with my hands in the air. “I’d have to rip off all your heads and only get a drop of blood. Not worth it, though I do hear fairies are quite delicious,” I jest, not able to help myself.
There are more high-pitched screams as I watch the fairies all fly onto the porch of Ember’s cottage. A small wooden door opening that the human eye wouldn’t spot slams shut.
The steps to Ember’s porch creak as I walk up them. I never dared to actually go on her property. I never let myself get too close, worried about how I’d react. The first time I tasted her, I knew what she was to me, what power she held over me. It was decades of restraint, self-hatred, and fear that kept me in check.
I’m a weak immortal being for giving in, for dooming her to be tethered to me. Yet, I can’t seem to give a fuck as I hold up my hand and lightly tap against her door frame.
She swings the door open quickly; the speed whipping her wild pinkish hair behind her. She looks me up and down with her soft green eyes, like she’s unimpressed and it has me grinning.
“So you're why the fairies are being frantic,” she says, one hand on the handle of her door and the other on her hip.
I glance inside her home, not able to pass the threshold. There are areas I haven’t been able to see from my typical lurking spots.
Her hefty raccoon comes to the door, a chittering noise escaping him, and I can only imagine what the ancient creature has to say to his bonded witch.
Ember purses her full lips and I stare at them a moment. They’re full and pouty and absolutely turned down with my presence.
“May I come in?” I ask.
“Absolutely not. What do you want?”
I shove my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Was just here to see how you were coming along on the first spell. Perhaps you needed some assistance.”
“Perhaps not. I got it working just fine on my own, thank you very much,” she says, wiggling her fingers, showing me the sparkling ring that sits on her ring finger.
