This Spells Disaster, page 21
That had been her and Hazel and Andy once, along with other friends Morgan no longer saw as often. At that age, Morgan had yearned for more magical responsibilities, dreamed of honing her craft well enough to work at Bed, Bath, and Broom and be considered a fully capable witch, one ready to be welcomed into the Harborage coven. She suddenly felt way older than her twenty-five years, and a lot more depressed about what all that yearning and dreaming had gotten her.
“So how’s it going with your project this morning?” Rory asked.
“It’s not going,” Morgan said. “We’ve been too busy for me to work on it. I’ve always believed inspiration comes when you’re not trying to find it”—and hadn’t that been the truth—“but I’m feeling stuck in that area, too.” Morgan wondered if there was a way to work in a question about Rory’s dislikes based on that bit of information, but she couldn’t think of one. She settled for the next best thing. “I’ll probably stay late at the booth again today.”
Rory cast her eyes down and broke her last bit of crust into pieces. She knew she was being pushed aside but seemed reluctant to bring it up, perhaps remembering how she’d told Morgan that she’d once put her practicing above all else. After a moment, she tossed aside part of the crust to feed some squirrels who were braving the humans in search of food. “Just take it easy on yourself, okay? Inspiration is great, but creating new spells is hard. Like your grandmom said, you can’t expect to be successful overnight, and you might fail a lot before you succeed. It doesn’t make you any less of an amazing person.”
Morgan swallowed, a lump growing in her throat.
Rory doesn’t mean it, truly. She’s only saying these things because you bespelled her. Why the hell had her conscience taken on Nicole’s voice?
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Rory said.
“What?”
“Your ex.”
Morgan reached for her water and nearly knocked the bottle over. “Why do you think that?”
“Gee, I don’t know. That deeply unhappy expression on your face?” Rory raised an eyebrow. “Look, don’t think I haven’t noticed the timing here. On Wednesday, you had a bad run-in with the ex who told you that you weren’t good enough for her, and yesterday you became obsessed with this idea you have for creating a new potion. Tell me that’s a coincidence.”
“It’s a coincidence.” Bizarrely enough, it was. Although the irony was like a dagger through Morgan’s heart. “She has nothing to do with it, I swear. To be honest, you were the inspiration.”
Rory stared at her, clearly unsure whether to believe this, which was almost funny. But although it was the truth, Morgan had to drop her gaze to her empty plate. All the parts she was leaving out—the entire, bigger truth—were killing her.
“Okay, then. I hope so.” Rory smiled tentatively at her. “That is, I hope it’s not your ex inside your head driving this, and I look forward to someday seeing what you’re working on. Especially if it involves spiders. But in the meantime, please don’t get so caught up in your quest for greatness that you ignore the people who love you for who you are, and not for what you can do.”
Oh fuck. Was Rory intent on completely breaking her? Morgan’s lip trembled, and she quickly grabbed her ice cream. “Thank you.”
Rory’s sincerity, real or false, had Morgan close to tears. Everything Rory said, everything she did, made her fall harder. Her brain might know it all meant nothing, but her heart didn’t care. It had chosen Rory, and there was no tying up her emotions anymore. No constraining them.
She loved Rory, and that was that.
And she’d never wanted to kiss her more than she did now when she absolutely couldn’t.
She needed to get out of here. She remained determined to help Rory with her family—she owed her that much and was doing a terrible job of it—but being in her company unnecessarily was too difficult.
If hiding in the booth was out, Morgan would just have to find somewhere else to go. Since it was Friday, there would be no shortage of workshops or lectures she could pick from. Odds were good that she could find one that might teach her something relevant to her dilemma. Morgan brought up the festival itinerary on her phone and read through the workshops on offer this afternoon while she ate her ice cream.
When she’d scraped the bottom of the dish without settling on one, she turned her head in the direction where Rory was looking. In spite of her gloom, she had to smile at the girl who was walking their way. She couldn’t have been more than six, her curly black hair pulled into two fluffy pigtails atop her head. Each pigtail was wrapped with several yellow ribbons, and at the end of each ribbon was a tiny, magical butterfly that flew around her hair. The effect was utterly charming, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. She was too enraptured by her ice cream cone, which had been enchanted to turn into a rainbow of glittering colors. With each lick, the ice cream morphed from blue to purple to pink and back again. Who knew if it tasted any good, but that was exactly the sort of treat Morgan would have begged for at that age.
Enthralled as she was, the girl took another careless step forward and stumbled over an uneven patch of ground. Morgan caught her breath as the whole scene seemed to unfold in slow motion. The child didn’t fall, but the cone lurched forward as she tried to maintain her balance, and ice cream flew into the air. Morgan was already cringing in sympathy when the ice cream froze in place and poured itself back into the cone.
From the corner of her eye, she caught Rory lowering her hand, and Morgan blinked. It should have been impossible for Rory—for anyone—to cast that quickly, but when she recalled Rory’s trick with the lighter fluid and the pyre, Morgan reminded herself that should have didn’t apply to her fake girlfriend.
The girl gasped, and so did several of the onlookers. Soon enough, their surprised and curious faces latched onto Rory. Her role in averting that tragedy must have been clear from either the way Morgan had turned to her, or because one or more people recognized her. A few of them clapped.
“Thank you so much.” The girl’s mother led the child over to Rory so her daughter could thank her as well.
Rory shook off the thanks. “Glad I got a sense that was coming, so I was ready.”
“We would have heard the cries all the way across the festival site,” the girl’s mother said. A few more thanks and pleasantries later, she and her daughter moved on, and Morgan heard her urging the girl to eat the ice cream before she spilled it again.
“Heroine.” Morgan nudged Rory in the ribs before she could think better of it. “Reflexes like that must come in handy at the Chalice.”
“I wish, but trust me—I’ve spilled many glasses and bottles in my time.” Rory winced as though recalling a specific incident. “I really did just get lucky and anticipate that.”
“It was impressive,” called a man from down their table, a compliment that struck Morgan as a rather vast understatement. The newcomer looked to be around the same age as the girl’s mother, with crystal beads woven into his sandy blond beard. “With some practice, your control could be quite good. Your hand movements need sharpening, though. They’re weak, but that’s fixable.”
Was this guy for real? He might not recognize Rory, but he had to know how few witches could ever hope to demonstrate that level of elemental control. The complexity of the ice cream, the speed at which Rory had overpowered it—that was intense magic, regardless of whether Rory had anticipated anything.
Morgan glared at the stranger, but Rory merely looked amused. Her expression suggested she didn’t know him, so this wasn’t some former rival or rival’s coach trying to get under her skin. He was just another mediocre white man, one who probably called himself a sorcerer, inserting his bad opinion where it was neither needed nor wanted.
Rory simply acknowledged the guy had spoken with a half-hearted nod, and she put her sunglasses on, giving Morgan the sense that she’d like to disappear into the crowd.
But of course. Rory was not comfortable in the spotlight. Last night and the effect of a couple of glasses of mead excepted, that had been perfectly obvious over the entire year Morgan had known her. Rory was gracious when approached, but she kept her head down. She would be fine letting some stranger, who had no idea what he was talking about or who he was talking to, criticize her technique. No doubt she found it amusing. Morgan supposed that if she were the sort of witch who could laugh in the face of fire, she’d find this jackass’s arrogance funny, too.
A good girlfriend would respect Rory’s preference for keeping a low profile, which meant that finally—finally—this was an opportunity that Morgan couldn’t screw up. She could be honestly and truly annoying because doing so would be giving in to exactly what her instincts were screaming at her to do.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, Morgan’s blood pumped with something akin to glee. No one put down her friends when she was within earshot.
She stepped between Rory and the crystal hipster. “I’m sorry, are you seriously criticizing her technique? Do you know who she is?”
“Morgan.” Rory grabbed at her arm.
Morgan ignored her and pointed with her free hand. “That is Rory fucking Sandler. You know, the youngest national spellcasting champion ever. The woman who pioneered a trick so dangerous it almost got banned from competition. Do you really expect me to believe you could have reacted quickly enough, with enough control, to stop that spill because you flick your wrist more sharply?”
Her voice carried throughout the immediate vicinity, her mouth running free of any restraint. Rory was probably a breath away from lighting her on fire, and Morgan didn’t care. Later, she would regret embarrassing Rory, but at the moment, her tirade felt unapologetically right. The guy was glaring at her like she had nerve for lecturing him, and now she couldn’t have stopped herself from going full-on bitch if she’d wanted to.
“Do you also give Simone Biles advice on how to do a cartwheel?” Morgan asked. “Do you tell Taylor Swift how to write a song?”
“Okay, seriously, that’s enough, Morgan.” Rory’s grip on her arm tightened painfully, her voice louder than before.
Morgan took a deep breath. Rory’s cheeks and neck gave the impression that she was suffering from a massive sunburn, and her lips were pressed as thin as Morgan had ever seen them in disapproval. The urge to apologize rose up Morgan’s throat, but no more than a second of silence passed between the end of Morgan’s tirade and new voices rising to defend Rory.
“Yeah, get real!” The group of teen girls sitting nearby had jumped up and were loudly expressing their outrage. “Like you could do better?”
Unable to handle the negative attention, the guy stormed off, shaking his head. But the girls didn’t stop voicing their disapproval until he disappeared from sight, and one of them approached Rory shyly.
“I can’t believe he said that to you.” The girl’s olive-toned cheeks turned almost as bright red as Rory’s.
“It’s . . .” Rory flailed about, clearly at a loss for how to expand. “It’s okay. Thank you.”
“No way. I bet he wouldn’t have said that if you were a guy.”
Rory bit her lip, and her cheeks started returning more to their normal shade. “No, probably not.”
“Definitely not,” Morgan said loudly. She took a long sip of water and pretended she didn’t see the less-than-pleased expression Rory shot her.
The girl who’d approached Rory clearly wanted to say something else, and she kicked at the grass until one of her friends ran up to her and shoved her. She cleared her throat anxiously. “Okay, so I didn’t want to bother you while you were eating, but I’m going to perform in the junior spellcasting exhibition today, and I wanted you to know that it’s because of you. You’re my inspiration, and I’ve been practicing elemental magic since I came into my powers because of you. You’re amazing.”
The words poured out of her in such a rapid torrent that it took Morgan a moment to decipher them. The girl’s cheeks, already red, flushed so deeply that Morgan feared her face might explode. She’d have handed her water bottle to the girl if she hadn’t already been holding her own.
The girl turned around and buried her face in her friend’s shoulder while Rory stood there, her jaw hanging partially open. Morgan wondered if she needed help translating that rapid-fire speech, but then she realized Rory had simply been struck into silence.
Morgan pressed her fingertips against Rory’s back, and Rory snapped out of her daze.
“That’s really nice.” She sounded confused at first, but her tone grew more confident as she spoke. “Thank you for telling me that. I’m glad you did. Is this the first time you’re going to perform for an audience?”
Slowly, the girl turned around and nodded. “I was too young to do it at the last festival.”
“Okay, just remember, it can be kind of scary at first when you see strangers watching you, but you can use that nervous energy to feed your power. Just don’t feed it more than you can control, or you might cause explosions when you don’t mean to.” Rory smiled.
The girl nodded again, earnestly. “I’m in our school band. It’s probably a lot like playing in front of people, right?”
“I’ll bet, and I’m sure you’ll do great. What’s your name?”
Rory might be furious with her, but Morgan couldn’t suppress her grin as she watched Rory sign autographs for the girls and offer more encouragement. The whole group had come forward, and they’d gathered in a semicircle around her, hanging on her every word.
Face it, said the hateful voice in Morgan’s head, the Nicole-like one. Even if you hadn’t fucked everything up, how long do you think your fling with Rory would have lasted anyway? She’s way too good for you. Too kind. Too powerful. Too special. Even if she never performs again, she was somebody, and you are nobody.
Morgan pushed the cruel thoughts aside. She had half a mind to sneak out of the tent while Rory was distracted, but she feared Rory would chase after her as soon as she noticed Morgan was gone. She’d rather Rory give the girls her full attention.
When Rory turned toward her a few minutes later, the anger that had been simmering in her eyes had vanished, and Morgan didn’t know how to feel about that. She only became more confused when they stepped back into the sunshine and Rory kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I thought you’d be furious at me.”
How could Rory not be furious? She’d definitely sounded furious a few minutes ago.
“I was. Never do that again, or I will be forced to hex your tongue into knots.” Rory poked Morgan in the arm, then smiled sheepishly. “But I do appreciate your willingness to always speak up, and how fearless you are when you’re defending people you care about.”
Oh. Wait. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work.
“I don’t think those girls would have talked to me if you hadn’t made them brave,” Rory continued. “It was good for them to see that. I’ve always hated drawing attention to myself, but I forget that sometimes being seen is helpful.”
WHAT. THE. HELL?
The universe had to be messing with her. How did she keep failing at being obnoxious? First dancing and now this—she was such a spectacular screwup that she was fucking up the things that should have been un-fuck-up-able. It was wholly absurd.
Morgan couldn’t hold in a wild laugh. “I told you that you were intimidating.”
“I definitely wasn’t intimidating to that guy.”
“Yeah, well, luckily, the world doesn’t entirely consist of mediocre white men.” Morgan pretended to shudder. “But you did intimidate those girls.”
“I don’t want to be intimidating.”
“Maybe stop dressing all in black?”
“I like black. It hides the bloodstains of my enemies.”
Morgan snorted. “Why do you have to be so adorable?”
“See? Adorable. That’s the antithesis of intimidating. You, however, jumping into strangers’ faces when you’re trying to protect people—most intimidating. And, I have to add, even though it pissed me off, supremely hot.”
Oh, fuck her. This was so not fair.
“Seriously, it’s a very admirable quality,” Rory said, driving the knife in further, “and part of what makes you special. Not your ability to create a kick-ass potion.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Translation: she would replay this conversation in her head a thousand times, each one cutting deeper into her psyche until she was catatonic in her misery.
Or she would have, but Morgan’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice calling out her name and Rory’s.
They both turned as Verbena plowed through the throngs of people, her black and gray hair streaming behind her. “Oh, thank the stars. There you are! We have an emergency!”
19
“I have to get back to work,” Morgan said immediately. She loved Verbena and would do almost anything for her, but that almost was included for a reason. Whatever Verbena’s emergency was, it couldn’t possibly be more urgent than the mission she’d assigned herself, even if she was only attending a workshop on using rare plants in potion-making. Odds were against it, but what if the perfect anti-love potion plant existed and Morgan had just never been aware of it?
Verbena’s bracelets jingled as she stuck her hands on her hips. “I was just at your family’s booth, and your mother and grandmother both volunteered your services. I believe Lianne’s words were, ‘It’ll be good for her.’ ”
Morgan bit down a curse. The last time her mother had said something to that effect had been when Morgan was fourteen. She’d shot up in height over the summer, making her one of the tallest girls in her class, and she’d been recruited to play for the junior varsity basketball team. Morgan hadn’t figured she’d be any good, but her mother and grandmom had encouraged her to try. She’d lasted two games, until her competitive streak and her still-developing magical talents had somehow resulted in an exploding ball, a 911 call, and a girl on the opposing team needing to be detangled from a suspiciously large hoop.
