Jackson.
I should have called on him first thing, made sure he was OK. There wouldn’t be much point having a phone to keep in touch with friends if I didn’t have any friends to keep in touch with.
‘What did you do yesterday?’ Wyn asked.
Almost choked to death while my aunt watched, went for a walk in the park and nearly died, saw a couple of ghosts, found out I’m also a witch.
‘Not much.’ I flicked the tab on my soda can backwards and forwards until it snapped off in my hand. ‘What were you doing out in the rain, school stuff?’
‘School stuff?’
He looked perplexed.
‘SCAD stuff,’ I clarified. ‘Jackson showed me some of the campus buildings. It’s a pretty school.’
To my shameful delight, something that looked a lot like jealousy took over his face and tightened his features.
‘Who’s Jackson?’ he enquired all too casually.
‘A friend. His grandmother is besties with my grandmother,’ I said, smiling as his tension eased. ‘We knew each other when we were babies but obviously I don’t remember that. We really just met.’
‘That’s great. Can’t have too many friends.’
He rested his hand on the blanket between us, right next to my leg.
‘Yep,’ I agreed lightly. ‘Friends are important.’
Slowly, so slowly, he slid his hand towards me until we weretouching. The lightest possible connection, skin barely brushing skin, but the quake it sent through my body was seismic.
When I looked up into his eyes, I saw all of my emotions reflected back and of all the impossible things that had happened since I arrived in Savannah, this felt like the most impossible of all. Something even more rare than magic. Looking at Wyn was like looking into a mirror. Hope, anxiety, and longing, it was all there. His pupils dilated as he leaned in towards me, coming closer until my vision blurred, his lips parted and my eyes closed. I took one last breath, both of us drawing in the same air, but instead of the soft promise of his lips on mine, I felt something grab the scruff of my neck and yank me backwards, hard.
‘Em?’ he said, his eyes snapping open.
I jumped up, searching for whoever had grabbed me, but there wasn’t anyone close enough to have laid a hand on me.
‘Are you OK?’ Wyn asked, rising to his own feet, one hand awkwardly cupping the back of his own neck. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, unexpected anxiety gnawing at my edges. ‘Something.’
‘Something like that?’ he breathed with disbelief.
I looked up to see a cloud of colourful butterflies surging out of the fronds of a palmetto tree, dancing in the air right above us before fluttering away towards the water.
‘Emily, look!’ he exclaimed as more and more butterflies appeared. We watched them go, their delicate wings carrying them too far, too fast. ‘Are you seeing this?’
‘Can’t really miss it,’ I replied weakly. This wasn’t right. This wasn’tnormal.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen butterflies at the beach,’ he said, observing them with a look of wonder. ‘Heck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many butterflies anywhere.’
People were on their feet with their phones in their hands, snapping pictures of my butterflies and the tingling in my hands scorched with unwelcome fire. I didn’t know how exactly but this was my doing. They moved as one, a kaleidoscope of colour in the sky, swirling up and down, onwards, onwards, onwards, out over the ocean. Beyond beautiful, and shimmering with all the colours of the rainbow and every shade in between. The rest of the world began to fade away. All I could see were the butterflies.
‘Is the water warm?’ I asked Wyn, my attention drawn away from the colourful cloud and to the ocean beyond.
‘Should be,’ he replied. ‘You want to swim?’
I nodded, drifting forward, passing blindly between towels and loungers, folding chairs and sandcastles. I needed to be in the water.
‘Watch out,’ Wyn called when I reached the firm wet sand at the ocean’s edge. ‘There’s a tidal shelf, it drops fast.’
