“Oh, shut up!”
We share a brief, shaky laugh, but it dies almost instantly; the weight of everything crashes back.
“I was terrified,” Vanessa admits, her voice low and ragged. “When I didn’t hear from you after that night… Your house was torn apart. But when I went back, it was as if nothing had ever happened. And with that text you sent, your dad’s reputation… Well, the cops didn’t take me seriously. Then, a week later, they found Victor’s body at the bottom of a ravine. I thought… I thought I’d lost you, too.”
Victor is dead.
He was alive when he left my house. He was an asshole, sure. Did he deserve to die? Meh, maybe not, but what really worries me is how he died, because what if it was a demon that got to him?
“Was his body like the others on the news?” I ask, voice barely steady.
“No,” Vanessa’s tone drops, heavy with something I can’t quite name. “That’s the weird part, his head was severed from his body.” We lock eyes.
What or who did this? But more importantly, why?
“I never meant to scare you,” I say quietly. “I was drowning, Van… and I didn’t know how to reach you.” The silence that follows is thick with everything left unsaid. Regret, and that fragile thread of faith still stretched between us, somehow refusing to snap.
“So… You’re a witch?” I ask softly. Her eyes widen, just for a second, before lowering, shadowed with guilt.
“Back then, I didn’t know for sure,” she says. “But I had my suspicions. I could always tell when it was going to rain, or when a meteor was about to streak the sky.”
I remember it started that last week of July.
“Why are we doing this again?” Van huffs from behind me. Her steps are steady, even though she’s been complaining about the hike for the last fifteen minutes.
“Because it’s good for us, and you’ve been nagging me to do more outdoor activities. Well, this is an outdoor activity,” I declare, reaching the top of the mountain at last.The view is breathtaking. Rolling green hills stretch out below us. In the distance, we can make out the port, and even our go-to coffee shop.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a picnic… At the cemetery,” Vanessa mutters, leaning on her knees as she catches her breath. A few silver strands escape her ponytail, clinging to her flushed cheeks.
I roll my eyes.
Stretching my arms overhead, I let out a triumphant yell.
“You’re insane,” Van laughs, then joins in, her voice echoing over the hills. I shout again, and soon we’re both gigglinguncontrollably, while the peaceful breeze kisses our damp skin.ThenVanessawalks toward the edge, arms outstretched.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh… Just wait.”
The clouds above churn slowly, dancing, unsure of their goal yet. And then, a bolt of lightning splits the sky, followed by a low rumbling thunder. The air thickens, heavy and electric.
“Told you it would rain,” Vanessa says, tilting her head back as the first drops fall. The sky darkens into a bruised purple. The wind picks up, first a whisper, then a sharp gust that tugs at our clothes and hair.
I should’ve known.
The signs were there, all around me, but I didn’t understand them at the time. Vanessa Hawthorne awakened that day.
“I always thought your tattoos were just… abstract art,” I say softly. “But it’s lightning, isn’t it? They appeared after the storm?” Now, I remember that moment so clearly, Van tilting her head back, letting the storm wash over her as if it was an extension of her. The sky, a deep lilac, was alive with flashes of raw power. A peaceful smile played on her lips. And for a second, she almost glowed. I told myself it was the lightning reflecting off her skin, but now I know better. That was her magic waking up. Her true self, rising to the surface.
“Yes,” Vanessa says, voice quiet. “I don’t know exactly what they are, but I figured they had something to do with… my sudden control over the weather.”
“They’re awakening marks. They represent your power, you’re a lightning witch.”
If I remember right, they’re rare,veryrare. I glance down at her forearms, and now that I’m really looking, I see the pattern. Currents of energy etched into her skin. Lines twist and bend as lightning frozen mid-strike, as if it's still buzzing with power, waiting to be released.
All witches, male or female, have elemental abilities tied to a specific affinity. That one field where their magic feels like an extension of themselves. Most witches these days are tied to the classic elements: earth, air, fire, and water.
Vanessa turns to me, her voice full of quiet curiosity. “What about you? What’s your power?”
