Starlight

Enlightenment - James

I've never had a witch call me before. Or a girl, to put it bluntly. But when I pressed that green button to find her voice on the other end, I knew I wouldn't be able to stay away from her.

Not that I've tried.

Here I sit, waiting for something to happen. Maybe for the rush of guilt at how close I'd been to deciding her fate without investigating beforehand.

I'm not surprised when, at exactly three o' clock, the doorbell rings, and then she is entering my house, looking more than a little flustered. Her gaze sweeps over her surroundings and she smiles, embarrassed, when she catches me watching her.

"Old house?" she asks sheepishly.

"Yes," I answer shortly. "Do you want to tell me what this is about, Maya?" I try more than anything to appear irritated, though I am far from. I think it works, because she glances at me all of a sudden, eyes softening.

"Are you okay? Did I come at the wrong time, James?" she says, and her voice is little more than a whisper. Her eyes dart all over the house - furnished like any man's should be with tables of the finest mahogany and plush sofas and carpets - as if seeking the answer elsewhere.

I see how artfully she has dodged my question; it's hard not to admire her, covering for herself with concern for me.

"Very subtle subject change," I say snidely. I bite my lip; this doesn't sound like me at all.

"Sorry," she says, pointed tongue glancing across her top lip nervously. "The thing is, I don't exactly....know why I called you, because I can't tell you what's wrong with me."

Maya looks everywhere except at me as we stand together in the narrow hallway, less than an inch between our chests - or, at least, it feels that way.

I don't know what to say, so I just stare at her wordlessly as she tries - and fails - to avoid my eyes. Her cheeks tinge pink and I find it so endearing. So bloody endearing, I think as my teeth grit.

Stop it, I order myself. She's the enemy! But no matter what that one rational fraction tells me, I can't quite stop the teenage boy in me from taking charge. My eyes move of their own accord, taking in her appearance. Her silvery hair is pulled taut at the nape of her neck, where it then flows down the length of her back in waves. I've never seen her face properly like this, as her hair is usually shielding it. It curves softly, allowing dainty little features: prominent brows arching over large - but not overly - pale blue eyes. Surprisingly, this shade of blue doesn't remind me of ice at all. Her lips resemble the silkiest of rose petals, red and parted ever so slightly as she takes shallow breaths through her mouth. But worst of all, she has dimples. Dimples, I think incredulously. Even the slope of her neck as it forms her shoulders fills me with desire, with need, the jutting of her collar bone. My eyes, my treacherous eyes, roam downwards, tracing the dip of her waist, the path to her hips, her long, shapely legs. I haven't noticed before, but she wears a ceremonial black dress that contrasts amazingly with the stark white of her skin, making me want to run my fingertips over it to see how soft it is.

And then I see it again.

It coats her whole being. She seems to glow from the inside out with the radiant glow wash of light that enhances everything about her.

"You don't even know, do you?" I say, much to my own shock. Can't take it back now, though.

"What?" she asks, eyes widening. I can't help but suppress a smile; I've caught her off guard.

"You heard me." Am I really doing this? Stupid, stupid! I scold myself.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says in defence, but her body language doesn't do anything but convince me she is lying. Her eyes drop to the floor, arms limp by her side.

"We'll see," I mutter. And louder: "Follow me."

The floorboards bend and creak under my weight as I run across the landing and up the carpeted stairs. I then hear the soft, feminine footsteps that tell me she is close behind.

Once on the landing, I head to my room, of which the door is ajar, hoping to God I'm about to do the right thing.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" she asks once we are inside, scanning all my belongings. To be honest, this sight is one I never thought I would see.

From my bedside table, I retrieve a plastic vial of black liquid and hand it to her with the label facing the floor.

"What's this?" she asks cautiously, holding the vial like it's either something very fragile or very dangerous - at least, to her it is. "Am I supposed to....." She turns it over and the flap of it opens the tiniest bit, the liquid sloshing on the floor. As it reaches the wood, it sizzles, bubbling and hissing.

I've never really understood why it does that on contact with any material, but it does. Maya jumps away in shock, breathing hard, holding the vial as far away from her body as possible now.

"Is that--?"

"Poison? Yes."

"Then, what....." Her voice trails off as she shifts the vial in her hands, more slowly and carefully this time - much to my annoyance - until the label is staring up at her, knuckles as white as her face as her fingers dig into the plastic so hard, I think the pressure will pop it. Maya looks up at me, stricken. She says nothing.

"Don't you dare deny it," I hiss, angry now, though I can't name why. She looks so pathetic. I want to laugh.

"But I - I'm -," she gasps.

"Oh, I understand. You're not a witch." I'm smiling, but it feels vile on my face, more like a grimace. Why am I torturing her? "Shall we test it out?" Inclining my head towards the vial and almost choking with laughter when she shake her head vigorously, looking like a child. Her eyes never leave mine.

As if only just realising, her lips part and she says, "You know."

I nod.

Then, she falls to my feet and cries.