Years ago, the Trolls were banished into the Nether, a void of evil and darkness between the magical realms. With their greed and treachery locked away, peace has reigned throughout the worlds. But not for nineteen-year-old witch, Aramina. Being dis...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sometimes I like to pretend magic doesn't exist. Pretend that if I keep my head down and take to my tasks like a blind, breathing machine, one day it will cease to be.
I bring the lip of a swing-top bottle to the keg of meadowsweet ale, and accept that today is not that day. No matter how low I duck my head, how tight I shut my eyes, magic lingers in the air like the scent of rain, lingers in my blood. At tonight's Crossing of Magic ceremony, it will burn brighter than ever.
The amber bottle full, I close the flip-cap down onto its opening and clamp down the wire. My fingers are numb at the continuous motion. Fill. Close. Set aside. Fill. Close. Set aside. If only life were that easy; once we had our fill of problems, we could close them away. Set them aside.
I slide this newly filled bottle into the holder and the bottles tinkle as if celebrating the last of their family come home. No more fit in the crate, so I pour wood wool shavings over them, pack it in tight, and shift the crate top closed. Another task down. God knows how many more to go.
A low creak resounds from the front of the store. I pick up a smaller crate, balance it on my hip, and use my other hand to clear the wood shavings from my worktable. The wind has pushed that door open more times than I can count today.
Three bells trill as someone steps on the doormat and confirm it's not the wind.
"Coming," I say. The empty crate in my hands shifts unsteadily as I walk through the curtain of beaded moons and stars that casts small rainbows on my arms. "How may I help..."
My steps slow. I stare at Caleb by the door and my heart sinks to the darkest depths of my stomach. I wish I could disappear into the same hole.
A small smile curls the side of his lips as he approaches, sparking little fires on my skin the closer he grows. He's as beautiful as I remember, an effortless, unconventional beauty of wind swept hair, his nose slightly dented where it'd once broke.
"Aramina," he says, the sound of his voice like distant thunder. He skirts the counter and stops before me. In spite of wanting to appear cool, I press the crate closer to my core. I want to run, fast and far. Fast enough to turn back the wheels of time. Far into the past to blight out last year's Crossing of Magic ceremony. Had Fate blessed me that day, I wouldn't be here, before the man that means more to me than I can stand. The man who can't mean anything to me anymore.
With green eyes focused on mine, he takes the crate from my hands. I yank it back to keep some distance between us, but in the process slice my palm on a nail protruding from the old box. I hiss and retract my hand to my stomach, cradled within the other. Blood pools at my palm, its warmth stinging as it seeps through the parted flesh.
Caleb sets the crate down on the countertop and reaches for my hand. "Crap, Ro. Let me see."
"I'm fine," I start, but his cool fingers come over mine. The next moment, my open palm is cupped in his. Tension tightens the sides of my mouth. It's hard business refusing him, but I have to, for his sake more than mine.
