Page 80 of Scars Like Wings

Fifteen years would be when…

“Now, as for why Maisie could feel it—” Isidora started before I could spiral like my brain so desperately wanted to after all of this new information.

“It’s because I’m a fitch, r-right?” Maisie stuttered but finished Izzy’s thought.

Izzy nodded. “Fitches can sense each other and are connected to each other. Their magic is attuned to one another. Few can kill a witch-fae and live to tell the tale, but a fitch can kill another fitch.”

“But if I’m a fitch, that would mean that… my mom’s a… then, my dad…” She trailed off, zoning out for the briefest moment. Then her eyes started to blaze.

“Maisie? Hello?” Simone called.

“I’ve got to go.” Abruptly, Maisie got up and left toward the elevator. Simone followed closely behind her, calling after her.

Isidora and I stood. I grabbed the book and gripped it tight. Learning it was a grimoire with an ancient rune inside of it somehow didn’t make me want to fling the damn thing across the room like it probably should. For some reason, knowing that and that my mom’s handwriting was still curled inside made me want to never let it go. I wanted to keep it as close to me as the obsidian pendant around my neck.

Isidora placed a hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to the present. I looked up at her. She smiled down at me, her eyes twinkling. “Remember, little lotus, you never really lose anything.”

My eyes narrowed toward her. “I can’t tell if you are doing that thing where you can see into the future after you looked atmy tea leaves left in my cup, being a riddler, or just repeating what you saw on a fortune cookie to fuck with me.”

Isidora’s laugh rang out in the room before I hugged her and followed my friends to the elevator.

Circling Vulture

The silence and tension on the elevator was heavy and thick as we rode back down to the main level.

Maisie stared forward, her eyes locked on the doors. Her spine was ramrod straight, her whole body stock-still. Her arms were crossed in front of her, but her hands shook as if she was trying to contain her energy and keep it bottled inside of herself. She was mostly succeeding. Yet, dark purple mixed with the brown in her eyes, her magic kept within reach but not at the forefront. Simone and I glanced at each other behind Maisie, sharing a look of concern.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Maisie briskly walked out and down the stairs to the main level with me and Simone close behind. The Archive was still as empty of patrons as when I arrived this morning. Journee’s coffee shop though was far more packed with a line going out near the tables. When we approached, Rhois looked up from the computer behind the circulation desk. She took us in and immediately stood up with a frown, especially as she took in Maisie and my deathgrip on the book—the grimoire,mygrimoire—still in my arms.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day, mo wee hen?” She held her hand up to stop me just as I opened my mouth. “Now,none of that. It’s Monday. We are not busy today. We never are. You all clearly went through a lot upstairs, and you seem emotionally hungover. So, how about you take today to rest and recover?”

“Rhois, I think you are doing your job wrong. You are my boss, and you are supposed to be an Overlord of Capitalism who doesn’t care about my emotional wellbeing and just tells me to get back to work instead.” I smiled.

Rhois shook her head and passed my backpack purse and coat to me over the circulation desk’s counter. “That absurd humor never gets old. Get out of here, babe. I will see you bright and early tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded. My boss was the coolest one out there, and I loved her dearly. I made a mental note to get her favorite bloody velvet cake from Key Foods before tomorrow as just the tiniest sign of my gratitude. I put on my coat and placed the book back into my purse before tossing it over my shoulders. I blew her a kiss goodbye as we left.

The three of us piled into Maisie’s car. We agreed on Maisie taking us to her house, and then Simone and I would take a teleportation spell later, after we knew she was okay. Maisie had wordlessly nodded. She was quiet as she drove. She had both hands on the steering wheel, her hold white-knuckled. Her eyes were forward and focused, just like in the elevator. She had a set jaw, and she drove fast out of the University. Maisie’s rage was palpable as it came off of her in waves. I turned to the backseat to share another look with Simone.

I toyed with my obsidian pendant, looking between the road and Maisie. I knew my best friend. The three of us knew each other better than we knew ourselves at times. When Maisie was stressed, her magic went haywire, creating massive purple insects that destroyed everything in sight. When she was happy, her jokes were never-ending because she loved to spread herjoy. When she was sad, she absolutely hated it. She would watchDownton Abbeyor some historical romance that she had seen a million times because they forced her to focus on anything that wasn’t what made her sad. But when Maisie was angry? She was a force to be reckoned with. She would fume in her irateness for only a brief moment. Then she got an idea. She developed this focus, and the only thing that mattered to her or that could assuage her rage was completing whatever she felt she had to do against whoever or whatever wronged her. There was no talking her out of it. There was no changing her mind. There was no stopping her. We supported her always, and she meant well. But Maisie’s anger could leave a trail of fire in her wake. All that could be done was to contain the fallout as much as possible.

It wasn’t long before Maisie pulled into her driveway. Maisie rented a house in north Little Salem. All the neighborhoods there gave strongHalloweentownvibes, but make it Southern. A few were full of multi-story antebellum or eastlake-style homes that looked closer to mansions, but most, including the neighborhood where Maisie lived, had cozy, colorful bungalows lining the streets with fenced-in yards and vibrant gardens in the front. No two houses looked the same, Maisie’s especially. The house she rented was a minty green single-story craftsman with large windows, a wraparound porch, and a white-picket fence enclosing her backyard. Herbs and spices grew verdantly in front of her porch. It was just as homey inside as it was outside. Maisie filled it with used furniture from various yard and estate sales, thrift stores, and more. Combined with some random pieces from Target and Michael’s, as well as plants and witchcraft books everywhere, I truly felt her house was what mine would look like.

Maisie quickly got out of the car with her bag. She was already up the stairs on the side of the house before Simone and I had a chance to grab our bags. She waved her hand at thedoor using her magic to unlock and open it at the same time. She hurried inside. Simone and I took the steps in two leaps to follow. We caught her in the laundry and mudroom you meet as soon as you enter. She was taking off her last shoe and tossing it near the door.

“Maisie? Are you okay?” Simone asked, starting on her boots while I locked the door and started kicking off my own boots.

“Oh, I’m peachy,” Maisie said, the first words she had said since we had left Izzy at the Archive. She headed to the kitchen, tossing her bag on the tiny dining room table before going into the living room. Simone and I were close at her heels.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Simone questioned.

“Cleo, summon my mother,” Maisie said to her smart crystal ball sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. Her Cleo was a small version of the large model in my bedroom at home. Since Maisie was a spellcaster, her Cleo was more powerful than mine and could do more.

White smoke filled the crystal globe for just a moment before clearing. “Copy that! Summoning your mother. She should be on soon.”

Cleo’s smoke returned, but was yellow this time as we waited for Maisie’s mother to answer. Simone and I shared the oversized loveseat while Maisie crossed her arms, standing between the coffee table and the couches. Her hands clenched and unclenched with sparks of her purple magic flying out as she opened her fists. Simone and I kept exchanging worried glances within her impatient silence.

We weren’t waiting long, thankfully. Cleo’s smoke changed to green, and she announced. “Okay! She’s coming on now.”