Page 25 of The Witches of Cambridge

I will forget you. You are nothing but a shadow.

“Do you want me to disappear?” Carrick asked. He’d never known someone with witchy tendencies and was interested in her talents. Forget, forgive, close your heart, open it again, become invisible when the need arises.

“It’s so you don’t have to remember me. I’m doing you a favor.” Lauren carved her name into a black candle and told him to burn it down until it was nothing but melted wax, then to break the wax into pieces and throw them in the river on a night when the moon was full. “You’ll forget my name,” she promised, and she sounded oddly wistful, even to herself. “You won’t be able to picture my face.”

When a monster’s heart is broken you’ll know it. He won’t be able to hide it, not even from himself. Carrick had dropped his arrogant attitude to reveal himself, a wounded man. Lauren kissed him, which was likely a mistake, for a single kiss can undo any spell that has been cast. After she left, Carrick didn’t burn the candle; instead, he set it on a shelf underneath the sink, where he kept the paints he had used when he was an art student, before everything he created was colored blue or black. Then he finished the word he’d begun with L, carefully, so that every letter was a gorgeous thing, and even though it was more of a mistake than a name, the word was there by the end of the night.

Lauren finally had all the letters she needed. At night she would sit at her desk or curl up in bed with her grimoire. She was writing so much she thought she might soon need another notebook. Let the other girls at Lilith House burn white candles for love and luck, let them write the names of their beloveds on papers that turned to pale smoke when they were burned in a delicate porcelain dish. Lauren had found what she’d been looking for, the kind of magic that came alive, letter by letter, the best, oldest magic of all. Words lived on, even when they went unspoken. You could fall in love with them if you let yourself, if you lit the lamp and used every word that was inside you, if you let the rest of it burn.

Ava had taken notice of the lovelorn girls in the quad who trooped after the boys they adored, eagerly hoping to be asked out, too polite to approach anyone directly and do the asking themselves. It was only proper for women to wait and be silent, to smile brightly and never ask for what they wanted. Ava saw it all the time at the café when she worked on weekends. Young women who’d clearly been stood up, waiting alone at a table, looking up whenever the door opened, disappointed each and every time.

Jamie had never come to look for her after that breathless kiss, and now Ava wondered why the woman had to be the one to wait for the man to appear. Should she not demand answers? She set a finder’s spell, taking a handkerchief, tying it in a knot, and tossing it atop a map of the city. It fell on a street in North Cambridge, and she set out right away with Jack at her heels.

“Here we go,” she said to him. “Let’s find out if it’s the beginning or the end.”

The streets grew quieter as they headed north on Concord Avenue. Many of the houses were in need of paint, and most were three-family dwellings, stuffed with tenants and relatives, where children played in the yards behind chain-link fences. Ava followed the map, at last arriving at O’Malleys. There was only one window, which made it nearly impossible for anyone to look in and catch sight of a loved one who might be taking some time for himself to relax and have a drink. It was a safe place, a neighborhood place, and your wife didn’t need to know you were there at lunch with your pals, and your girlfriend didn’t need to know, either. Jamie Mather was at the bar, drinking a beer that was clearly not his first of the day though it was not yet noon. He’d had a lousy, boring summer, spent working with the hired men in the barn, guys he’d been friends with when he was young but who now kept their distance, for he was the boss’s son and therefore couldn’t be trusted. He was glad to be back in Massachusetts. He’d wanted out of dormitory life, had no interest in private societies and finals clubs, and was satisfied with his cheap room in the basement of a house on a run-down street where Harvard students didn’t usually rent. So much the better, as far as he was concerned. He felt less like an impostor here than he did in Harvard Yard or walking through his family’s house in Sudbury.

When the door to O’Malley’s opened and sunlight streamed into the darkness, Jamie looked up, wary, narrowing his eyes. He always feared that his father might hire someone to trail him and nose around in his business. Ever since Jamie’s arrest after high school graduation, Paul Mather had been convinced his son had criminal potential, and Jamie wondered if his father was right. Now, he was surprised to see Ava. She was blinking, her eyes adjusting to the dark until at last she spied him, a lone figure at the end of the bar. Jamie had lost weight, and he hadn’t bothered to cut his dark hair; he wore old boots and blue jeans, as if he were still in Wyoming, but also a white shirt and a black tie and the requisite sport coat, so he would look presentable when he went to classes. He was being directed toward studying economics, which would be helpful once he went to law school, something he had no desire to do. The very thought of it had caused him to order yet another beer even though he wasn’t done with the one he was drinking.

Jack trotted in when he recognized Jamie, and he didn’t flinch when Jamie reached out a wide hand to pet him. “Hey there, bud. Staying out of the river?”

“No dogs, my dear,” the bartender called to Ava. “Lie down with them, and you’ll leave us with fleas.”

“He’s not a dog, he’s a wolf,” Ava countered, hoping this would be a way to get around the house rules.

Impressed by her moxie, the bartender nodded. “Then by all means, be our guest, just don’t blow the house down.”

At the bar Ava ordered a whiskey, no ice. She’d never had a whiskey in her life but thought it was an appropriate drink at a place like O’Malley’s, which reminded her of the Pine Inn in Genesis, a place her family had avoided. For sinners and untrustworthy men, her father had always said when they passed by, which had only served to intrigue Ava. Now she tipped the glass toward Jamie as if to congratulate him. He’d won the dog over, and he had a grin on his face as he rubbed Jack’s head. “My buddy,” he said, knowing it would annoy Ava.

“You should have come to find me,” Ava said. “You would have if you weren’t such a major asshole.”

Jamie laughed to hear her use crude language. She was so beautiful that the two other men who were customers in the bar couldn’t take their eyes off her. “And a well-known fucking narcissist,” Jamie said drily. “Don’t forget that.” He put a hand on Ava’s arm as she was about to lift the glass to her mouth. The heat of his hand went through her sweater and her blouse. “Are you sure that’s what you want to drink?”

Ava pulled away and shook her head. “You think you know me.”

“And you think you know me,” Jamie countered. He had been thinking of her constantly, wondering how the new information about his history would affect them. Could he work a spell, rise from the ashes, get whatever he wanted, change his life?

Ava took a sip and quickly placed the glass down, her mouth burning. “Maybe not this time.” She took the paper crow from her purse and set it onto the bar. “You sent this to me.”

“I did,” he admitted with a grin.

“Why?”

He said he would tell her the reason, but not at the bar, they’d have to go elsewhere to have some privacy. Ava glared at him, but Jamie shrugged and said, “If you don’t trust me enough to take a walk with me, then what are we doing here, Ava?”

He had a point, and she certainly didn’t want to slink away after having searched him out. “This one time,” she said.

They left O’Malley’s, walking in silence. At last they found a small park at the end of Upland Road, where they lay in the grass. The crows were perched above them, chattering in the trees. Ava raised her arms into the air, and the crows fell silent. They were always curious, and one had a ring in its beak that appeared to be a wedding band. Ava laughed, knowing it was a message about love.

“Do they always follow you?” Jamie asked

“I fed them when they were babies,” she said. The crows had come with the woman in the cloak who had visited her at night throughout her childhood, calling to each by name, as if they were guardians there to watch over Ava.

“There was once a crow who had a wife on earth,” Jamie told her.

“Is that possible?” The crows in the trees were quiet now. Perhaps they were listening in.

“I’m telling you a story. One my mother told me. So please, no judgments.”