Page 17 of Blood Match
The dress laid out on my bed feels like a shroud, its deep midnight blue fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light of my bedroom. Mia’s favorite color. The thought makes my chest tighten.
“It’s beautiful. Perfect.” Poppy is on the nightstand. She hasn’t fully forgiven me for the tail incident, but thankfully, tonight, she’s going easy on me.
“Yes. It is.” My hands shake as I reach for the dress. The silk whispers against my skin as I slip it on, cool and smooth. For a moment, I close my eyes, remembering how Mia used to twirl in her own midnight blue dress when we were kids, laughing as the skirt billowed around her legs. The memory is so vivid I can almost hear her voice.
I bite my lip hard, tasting copper.
No. I won’t cry. Not now.
The zipper catches halfway up my back.
“Slow down. Let me help.” Poppy hops up onto my shoulder, but I brush her away.
“Leave it, Poppy!” I don’t know why I’m so annoyed but right now, everything is upsetting me. I struggle with the zipper, frustration building until I want to scream. With a vicious yank, I hear the delicate fabric tear.
Damn it. Damn it all to hell!
“Now you’ve done it,” Poppy grumbles. “You should’ve let me help.”
I slump onto the edge of my bed, the torn dress hanging off my shoulder. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. Of course I’d mess this up, too. Just like every spell, every potion, every attempt at being a proper witch. Now I can’t even dress myself without screwing it up.
The laughter turns to a choked sob.
Mia. Oh God.
I shake as I fight back the sobs. A little chittering sound draws my attention back to Poppy, who’s hopped onto my dressing table.
“You need to do this, Rowan. It’s the next step,” she says, her eyes bright as they lock on me.
But I’m not ready for the next step.
“It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair, Poppy.” My voice comes out choked.
She was the good one, the talented one, the one who actually deserved her magic. And now she’s gone, leaving me behind – useless, powerless me.
A knock at the door to my cottage jolts me back to reality. I hastily wipe my face. “Just a minute!” My voice cracks.
“Rowan? Do you need any help, dear?” Gran’s gentle voice filters through the wood.
I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. “I’m fine, Gran. I’ll be over in a bit.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost feel her concern radiating through the door. But she doesn’t push. “Alright, love. Just call if you need me.”
Her footsteps fade away up the path that leads to my parents’ gracious home, and I’m left alone again. I force myself to stand, meeting my own red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. Pathetic. What would Mia say if she could see me now?
“Get it together, Ro!” That’s what she’d say.
With trembling fingers, I straighten the torn fabric of the dress. A spark of determination flares in my chest. No. I won’t let this beat me. Not tonight. Tonight is for Mia, and I’ll be damned if I let my own incompetence ruin it.
I rummage through my dresser, searching for the emergency sewing kit Mom insisted I keep. It takes three tries before I manage to thread the needle, my hands shaking so badly I nearly stab myself. But slowly, painstakingly, I begin to mend the tear.
My clumsy fingers struggle with the delicate work, but I keep going. I may not be able to cast spells worth a damn, but I can do this. I have to do this.
Finally, the last stitch is in place. It’s not perfect – the line of stitches is uneven and obvious – but it’ll hold. I turn back to the mirror. My hair is a tousled mess, my face blotchy and tear-stained. With mechanical movements, I begin to brush out the knots, wincing as the bristles catch on stubborn tangles.
I can’t tame the wild mass, so I just scoop my bangs away from my face, securing the curls with the silver hairpin Mia gave me for my twenty-fifth birthday. It’s hard to believe that was a little over a year ago. If I’d known how little time we had left, maybe I’d have—
Stop it, Rowan.