“Promise what?”
“Do you promise this is real?” whispers the woman I could become. Augustine clears her throat and turns away, and I’m grateful she’s pretending like I’m not falling to pieces in front of them. Celestine gently pries my aching fingers from the crumpled brochure and her warm, steady hands grasp my own without breaking eye contact.
“I promise.” A pact, made between the sun and the fragile flower. I promise. With two words, the wisp of hope that’s haunted me for so long catches, and I can almost imagine a little, flickering flame slowly warming the empty space inside my chest. I lean my head on the back of the couch and close my eyes. The rest of the room fades into the background as a high-pitchedringing grows more insistent, until the only thing I can hear is my pounding heartbeat.
I imagine the warmth from that little flame thawing my fear, and a part of me splinters in the moment between heartbeats. Like stepping onto the brittle surface of a frozen lake that’s been buried in the depths of winter, waiting for time to remember the sun. Cracks form and race along the ice, shattering the heavy silence in my mind. Beneath the sharp edges and the undulating waves, life teems in the depths, waiting to taste the first rays of warmth.
My lips move before my brain realizes a decision’s been made. “Okay.” Augustine narrows her eyes at me, suspicious from my lack of resistance. Which, you know, fair.
“Which school would you like to attend?” Celestine asks. One glance at the Edenwood brochure cements my choice.
“Dreadhurst.” I nod, reassuring her as much as myself in the certainty of my selection.
Augustine claps her hands together and looks around. “Fantastic. Grab the rest of your shit and let’s bounce.” Celestine roll her eyes at her sister’s crass language. “It’s like two in the morning on the East Coast so unless you plan on mainlining coffee tomorrow, you’ll need your beauty sleep, princess.”
“Has she always been like this?” I murmur to Celestine, still sitting primly beside me.
“Since day one,” she replies without missing a beat. Augustine points between us accusingly.
“Nuh-uh, none of this. Get moving,” she orders, throwing my backpack at me and ushering me into my bedroom. I return her scowl with a petulant grin and begin repacking my things.
A few moments later, Celestine knocks on the wall. “I’m going to report back to Council headquarters so they can prepare for your arrival. When you’re ready, Augustine will bring you to campus and escort you to your dormitory.” She pauses, the firstsign of indecision I’ve seen from her. “I want you to know how truly exceptional you are, Nyx, not only in the magical sense. Your tenacity and determination to overcome the hand you’ve been dealt is undeniably impressive, and I have no doubt that you will continue to grow into the woman you want to be—who you are meant to be.” I can’t meet her gaze, hiding the surge of embarrassment from being so unaccustomed to praise, but what she says next manages to eke out a small smile. “I’ll be seeing you soon, little witch.” She winks, and I watch her leave my apartment before turning to finish repacking.
When I’m done, I realize I already have most of what I need. Over the years, I’ve managed to only acquire things I can carry with me. There’s nothing in this apartment that I can’t live without, and while it shouldn’t come as a surprise, it does. With a heavy sigh, I turn to leave and a flash of color in the back of my closet catches my eye. A strappy, red sundress that I bought on impulse months ago after seeing it swaying in the breeze outside the thrift store. I’ve never worn it, but the thought of leaving it behind to gather dust or to be sold off by my landlord like the rest of my things feels wrong. So as absurd as it is to fill precious space in my backpack with something so frivolous, I grab it off the hanger and stuff it into the last remaining crevice.
“You got everything?” Augustine asks from the couch, having helped herself to the last six-pack of beer in my fridge.
“Just gotta make a call, then I’m good.” She nods before draining the first can and opening the second with a pressurized hiss. Apprehension and dread make me pause before I dial the only phone number I know by heart.
“Daly’s Bar—hang on. Maureen! Tammy! Shut the fuck up already!” Eileen screeches, and I pull the phone back. Augustine laughs quietly from her seat on the couch. “What do you want?” She asks in her iconic, husky voice.
“Eileen—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“Nyxie! What the fuck is going on?” I glance at Augustine, who shakes her head in warning, and I rest my head against the wall.
“I’m leaving town. Tonight,” I manage to get out. Maybe if I say it out loud, the edge of disbelief will eventually go away.
“You’re leaving Lynden?” she asks, as if the combination of these words in this order have never occurred before. Eileen’s always been unapologetically genuine, for better or worse. That’s one of the things I respect most about her, and how I’ve earned her respect in return. So, with a deep sigh, I tell her as much of the truth as I can.
“I got into a school, Eileen. A college out East. On a scholarship. They called earlier to let me know,” I pause, trying to swallow the wobble in my voice, “I have to take it,” I nearly whisper, begging her to understand my unspoken plea for forgiveness. On the surface, my boss is brash, callous, and volatile. But the same woman who regularly yells at her favorite assholes—her words—is the same one who gave the world to a kid who had nothing.
The familiar sounds from the bar filter through the phone as I wait for her to say something. I hear Chloe laugh with Bert in the background, while Colt’s unmistakable drawl sounds close to the bar, where he’s probably carrying a conversation with Montrell single-handedly.
“Well, shit,” she finally answers, and my chest tightens.
“Yeah. I’m sorry I can’t stay until someone else can take my hours.”
“Oh shut the fuck up, Nyxie,” she starts, and I sniffle at the curt use of her nickname for me.
“Can you let them know?” I ask, thinking of how everyone I could consider to be a friend in this town is probably at the bar right now. And about how disappointed Cora will be when I miss her birthday party next weekend.
“Yeah I’ll shout it from the fuckin’ rooftops.” She sighs, then clears her throat. “Nyxie, do something for me before you go.”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to promise me you won’t come back. That you’ll leave this place where it belongs, because this life was never meant for you,” she finishes, uncharacteristically serious. I choke on a sob, knowing her distaste for excessive displays of emotion, before I respond.
“I promise.”
