Turning my longing outward, I searched for him across the miles. It was something I’d got better at, locating people across long distances. Before my Becoming, I was able to latch on to a general sense of someone; provided I’d met them before and knew who to look for, it was simple enough to get a broad idea of their whereabouts, whether they were safe or in trouble, alive or dead. Now it was clearer, like someone had boosted the signal. Hidden away in the mountains of North Carolina, surrounded by magic ancient as mine, Wyn still shone as brightly as the North Star. There was a golden string wrapped around our hearts, long enough to span any distance and strong enough to survive any threat. Nothing could sever our connection. I wouldn’t allow it.
He appeared to me as soon as I closed my eyes. So tall and handsome, with chameleon eyes of green and grey and bronze, I still couldn’t believe he was mine. He was running along the side of a lake, his hair curling against the nape of his neck in dark ash waves, shirtless in the early evening sun, his body glowing in the golden hour. Full lips blew out long and even breaths, powering his lean muscles as he pounded the brush and bracken beneath his feet. There was no sense of fear, he was running to, not running from. His nerves felt easy, excited, and he smiled as he jumped over a fallen log. It was the kind of smile that could make me lose my breath. I was a walking encyclopaedia of his facial expressions. A tentative tilt at the corners of his mouth that came with soft, uncertain eyes, thehalf-cocked grin, always chased by his rich, warm laugh, and the broad, beaming happiness that forced his cheeks upwards into a joy he could not contain. I knew Wyn the way I knew my favourite song and my memories of him sang like lyrics. His strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, calloused fingertips tracing my cheekbones, full, firm lips pressing against my own. Wyn only ever looked for the good in things, only saw the good in me, and I missed him so much that when I looked down at the step where I sat, a chunk of stone had ground away into dust in my fist.
Things weren’t going to be easy for us, we both knew that. Witches and Weres weren’t exactly enemies but, as far as I could tell, we didn’t count each other as friends either. A fact that was all the more true in my case since I was responsible for the death of his brother, Cole. At the time, I’d had no idea the wolf I’d slain to save my grandmother’s life was a Were, but I couldn’t envisage a scenario in which the pack would accept that as a defence for my actions. So Wyn hadn’t told them. Not yet. They knew Cole was dead but they didn’t know exactly how. They knew there was a powerful witch in Savannah but they didn’t know exactly who. The two of us had been lied to our whole lives and we’d promised never to keep the truth from one another but that didn’t mean we had to share it with everyone else. Yes, our love was complicated, probably reckless, definitely dangerous, but I couldn’t change the way I felt, and I knew I would do whatever it took to protect it.
Opening my eyes, I let go of the golden thread and left Wyn to his run, allowing my gaze to wander. A magnificent magnolia tree took pride of place in the front garden of Bell House, rising all the way up to the wrought-iron balcony outside my bedroom window, armed with glossy green leaves, its huge white flowers, bigger than my fist, gone for the summer. I breathed in deeply and allowed the scent of the blossoms toconjure up recently acquired memories: the view from the window on my first night; Lydia climbing the tree to call on me without Ashley knowing; watching a meteor shower on the balcony with Wyn.
I missed him. I missed him so much.
Directly across the street in Lafayette Square, another tree waited patiently for my attention. Another living marker of my time here. The place where we’d exchanged our first words. A live oak with low-hanging branches, each and every one of them draped in swathes of grey-green Spanish moss.
‘Only it ain’t Spanish and it ain’t moss,’ I said to myself and the bright pink bobblehead of a zinnia planted beside the steps drooped onto my shoulder to console me.
‘Spoken like a true Savannahian.’
I whipped around to see who was there and the zinnias shot up straight, as though they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. There was no need for concern. Leaning against the front gate, a friendly look on his handsome face, was exactly the right person to pull me out my own head.
‘Jackson!’ I said, returning his easy, comfortable smile. ‘Hey!’
‘Em,’ he replied with a nod, one hand hovering over the latch on the gate. ‘Are y’all open for visitors or is it too late to come calling?’
‘You know you’re welcome any time.’
Hopping to my feet, I dusted off the back of my shorts as he let himself in the gate. ‘What can I get you to drink? We’ve got everything.’
He laughed and waved away my offer.
‘Nothing for me, thank you. And congratulations, your southern training is coming on strong. A true hostess from the hostess city – my grandmother would be proud.’
‘Now that’s a real compliment,’ I said, my cheeks flushing a warm pink.
It was to be expected when my best friend’s brother was around. The boy was born to make you blush. He always seemed to know exactly what to say with charm to spare, and he hadn’t exactly missed out on his fair share of good looks either. His long, muscular legs stretched out from a pair of baggy basketball shorts and his deep brown skin positively glowed as he joined me on the steps, dropping down to the ground and propping himself up on his elbows.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked with genuine interest. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while.’
I tried to remember the last time and realized he was right, it had been a minute.
‘I’m OK,’ I said, joining him on the step. ‘How about you? Lyds said you were at basketball camp?’
‘Finished up yesterday.’ He ruffled the loose curls on the top of his head then smoothed down the fade at the side, his subtly expensive cologne wafting my way. ‘Now I have two whole weeks of summer vacation to myself.’
‘Any big plans?’
‘Oh yeah,’ he said, lighting up with enthusiasm. ‘There’s a lecture at the historical society tonight, this guy who grew up here in the 1940s. Gonna be fire.’
I stared at him and he grinned back.
‘Seriously? You’re voluntarily going to the historical society? On purpose?’
‘Hey, dumb jocks can take an interest in history too. Sometimes a guy has layers.’
‘You’re not dumb,’ I corrected right away, nudging his knee with mine. ‘Even if you are a jock.’
‘Guilty as charged. For real though, it’s gonna be fascinating. Mr Moore was involved with the civil rights movement, ran with W.W. Law back in the day. Just think about all the changes he’s seen, the stories he must have. Real history is way moreinteresting than those weird fairy books you and Lyds are so obsessed with.’
‘Agree to disagree,’ I said archly, earning another laugh. ‘Wait, didn’t the meeting start already? Ashley left a while ago.’
Jackson shook his head. ‘Guest speakers don’t go on until seven, before that it’s all business and I really don’t care who wants to paint their front door an unauthorized shade of pink.’
