Page 8 of Werewolves and Witches AU

When the time comes. Ray didn’t mean those words to be heavy, objectively I know that, but they sit on my chest like a nightmare where they suffocate and paralyse me.

“When the time comes,” repeats in my mind.

I don’t want the time to ever come.

“Will you let me speak with the Coven Leader? See if I can at least get you affiliated?”

“Hmm?” Ray’s question is earnest, but my mind is already drifting. “Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks, Ray.”

The keychain slips to the floor. Forgotten.

“Anything for you, Miles. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to repay you ever since you saved me from Andrew, so this is something I’m passionate about. I’ll go first thing in the morning, before breathworks starts. Will you be alright tonight?”

I slide onto the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Always am. Like a cat, I think. I’ll land on my feet.”

Ray hums.

“I’m sorry about dinner. I didn’t mean to forget,” I add.

“Don’t worry about it, it was only chicken pasta. We’ll rearrange it. Will you eat something tonight? Do you have stuff in? I can order you something if you like? There’s still time.”

Ray’s concern is touching, but there’s that word again. Time. “Mhm, yeah. I’m sure I can rustle something up.”

“Okay, well, if you’re sure you’re okay, then I’ll hang up so you can order. I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know how it goes with the Coven Leader. And Milo?”

“Yeah?”

My gaze catches on the reflection of my white-blond hair in the full-length mirror opposite, except it’s not my image that I’m drawn to, but the small bookcase beside it. The bottom shelf is full of Family Line books and grimoires I inherited, and soon they’ll be all that’s left of the Tobitts. Because we’re out of time.

“I always have time for you, you know that, right? You’re not alone, and you won’t ever be, because you’ll always have me.”

I smile, my eyes roaming over the aged spines of the magical tomes. “Thanks, Ray.”

“I mean it. Now, go on, order something before you’re too late.”

Before I’m too late. “Yeah, ’kay. I’m going.”

“G’night, Miles.”

“Night, Ray.” I end the call.

Time: twenty-two minutes.

Time.

When the time comes.

The dark green binding of Liber Magiae looks almost black in the low light of my room, the sun having set long ago.

I crawl forward to flick on the lamp that barely fits on top of the bookcase, its wonky shade angled down because it’s too close to the wall to rest neutrally. The yellow light immediately reflects from the gold lettering on the spines of the other grimoires: Liber Magi and Liber Spirituum et Animalium, but it’s a smaller journal-type book by Rosa Fidelis that holds my attention. Tempus Vitaque Magae Lunaris. The Life and Times of the Moon Witch.

Time.

Carefully, I ease the book out from its tightly wedged spot on the shelf. Despite these books having been in my family my entire life, I’ve never actually read them. Never had enough time.

One of the very first things a child witch learns is to listen to their gut. Intuition is the foundational practice upon which all other casting is built. Grimoires aren’t just fancy recipe books, where as long as you follow the instructions on the page, you’ll always cast the perfect spell. Magic is unpredictable. Intuition guides us, and something in this book is screaming at me; it has been ever since I came home from visiting Ethel this morning. I was just too distracted to hear it.

Crossing my legs under me, I tuck my hair behind my ear—finger catching in my tunnel piercing as it always does—and scan the contents page: A History of Witches, The Lunar Phases, Practical Magic, Protective Magic, A Note on Time…