1. Ezra

Chapter 1

Ezra

S he was beautiful. And very weird.

Nova aimlessly walked in front of me like she did every morning. The rising sun snuck through the thinning branches of the trees, and the lamp posts along First Street were slowly turning off. Cars passed us, slowly making their way down the one-way road a few feet from us, and other creatures walked on the sidewalk. Low chatter accompanied the sounds of nature as everyone made their way to work or school.

The coffee I had picked up before getting her was tightly clutched in one hand, a blood-red lipstick imprint starkly contrasting with the white plastic lid. She ensured to stomp on every crunchy, fallen leaf she encountered. Newsflash: it was autumn in the Northeast, so there were a lot of leaves scattered on the cobblestone walk. Her stomping slowed our pace by approximately six to eight minutes—depending on the actual number of leaves on the ground—every morning, but every leaf made her smile. For that smile, I could watch her stomp on leaves all day.

Fall in Hidden Creek was the most enchanting time of the year. The changing trees and cooling weather indicated that Nova’s favorite holiday, Halloween, was just around the corner. Gray cobblestones peppered with red, orange, and brown hues lined the path along First Street, some cobbles more worn than others.

Bright fairy lights lined the streets, coiling around the black street lamps and draping between tree branches, giving the town square a charming atmosphere. Each storefront was adorned with jack-o-lanterns, colorful flowers, and an array of décor with comical depictions of different supernatural creatures.

I struggled to understand how Nova had enough energy to jump around and laugh at seven o’clock in the morning. Mornings were not for me, but I would wake up at dawn to witness this. Nova’s black skirt floated as she twirled, and her upper thighs were momentarily exposed, causing my heart and brain to stumble. My eyes traced the black fabric from the hem of her homemade dress to the orange belt cinching her waist that she picked up at the flea market, over the lovely curves of her chest, and ending on the white Peter Pan collar around her neck. Her dark eyeshadow highlighted her lavender eyes, making them pop.

Her dark purple hair smacked her across the face as she twirled, and a few strands stuck to her painted lips. It prompted a melodious giggle as she pulled them off, and she turned toward me and started walking backward. I watched the ground behind her for potential tripping hazards, slippery spots, or loose stones. Nova was many wonderful things, but coordinated was not one of them. She smiled at me, eyes exploring my face before looking up to the sky. The rays hit her face, and she took a deep breath of the crisp air. I wished I could have snapped a picture of her lost in the moment, but there were enough pictures of Nova on my phone.

Have I mentioned that she’s beautiful?

I looked at my best friend in the world as we walked to work. Every morning, I got up at six, rushed to The Brew, the coffee shop closest to my house, and picked up a black coffee for me and a salted caramel latte for Nova before starting my twenty-minute walk to her condo. Predictably, she would wait for me, elbow perched on her knee, watching other creatures walk by or scrolling on her phone. Monsters and scoundrels crowded her street as they headed out for the day, and more than once, I had caught them staring at her with bad intentions in their eyes. I had repeatedly asked her not to wait outside since she lived in an unsafe part of Hidden Creek, but Nova was not one to listen.

Every morning, I would comment about her sitting on the stairs, and she would retort that I worried too much and she could protect herself. I would argue I worried just enough before handing her the coffee. Then, we would start our walk to work. I had offered to drive us, but she insisted the fresh air was good for our lungs.

We would brace the cold and snow in our thick, fluffy coats in winter. When it snowed, Nova always stopped to lie on the powder and make snow angels. Occasionally, she would also pelt me in the back with a snowball. She would sneeze uncontrollably in the spring when the pollen was freely falling off the trees and continually spill drops of her coffee with every spasm. I always carried a couple of napkins in my pockets for when she inevitably spilled it on her hand. In the summer, her cheeks would turn a deep pink, and a few freckles would be exposed as the sun beat down on us. But the fall—the fall made the unpleasantness of the other seasons all worth it.

The breeze picked up, and Nova slightly shivered since she wasn’t wearing a jacket. She hated wearing layers, so if the weather was supposed to be pleasant in the afternoon, she didn’t carry a jacket in the morning. It was a fallacy on her part on days when it was freezing in the morning but hot in the afternoon. She would never admit it, but she was cold most mornings. I slipped my jacket off, feeling the air hit my exposed arms.

“I’m not cold!” she protested as I draped my jacket over her shoulders.

“Does your body know that?” I teased, noting her chattering teeth and goosebump-covered arms.

She gave me a smug smile. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and kiss it away, but that was a few steps further than the limits of our friendship allowed. So, I settled for second-best. I poked her nose as she defiantly looked at me before sticking her tongue out.

“Put it on, Nova,” I ordered. I held my hand out for her coffee cup. She stopped walking with a huff, reluctantly handed her cup to me, and cozied her arms into my jacket before taking her drink back. Her defiance was adorable, but she always forgot I knew her better than she knew herself. I rolled my eyes and chuckled under my breath.

“I’m so excited for Sunday!” she squealed, zipping up my jacket. After a few steps, she hooked her arm around mine and sipped her coffee.

Not only was Halloween Nova’s favorite holiday, but it was also her favorite book and movie genre, style, colors, and decoration. She would be considered a walking advertisement for Halloween in the human territory. In our world, however, she was just a slightly eccentric witch.

Once upon a time, all witches and wizards were like Nova, and every day in Hidden Creek looked like Halloween. Who was I kidding? It still did but to a lesser degree. As more humans intermingled with supernatural creatures, self-expression decreased, and other holidays started to rival Halloween for over-the-top decoration.

Nova, however, would never stand for muted colors or basic clothing. She was unapologetically herself. And I, unapologetically but secretly, loved her.

She wasn’t the only witch in town who loved to dress like every day was Halloween, but she was—to almost everyone—the only witch who had no special ability. While virtually every other witch or wizard had a special ability in addition to spell-casting and potion-making, there were a couple of exceptions. Everyone in town had one of the myriad of powers—anything from telekinesis to healing—except Nova and me.

Well, kind of.

Everyone looked at Nova and me as strange since they believed we didn’t have special abilities, which only happened once every couple of centuries. However, Nova’s lack of special abilities was a farce. She had an ability that she swore never to use or let anyone find out she had: she was a Manipulator.

All special abilities had a range of strength, but Manipulators controlled the most powerful ability in our world. Their ability to manipulate anyone’s mind and body was unmatched and almost unstoppable. It was easy for this power to lead to corruption, and it often had, or for Manipulators to be targeted by other creatures with nefarious intentions. Our society had seen very few Manipulators over the last century and only one had been born in the previous fifty years. The last Manipulator, Nova’s grandfather, Sherman Foster, died before we were born after a grueling conflict against the Carmine family.

The Carmine family had been one of the most powerful families in our society for centuries. Sinclair Carmine, the patriarch, had abused his manipulation abilities and submitted our society to live in fear. One day, my grandfather, Merlin Woodhaven, Nova’s grandfather, and Castiel Redd stood up to him. Creatures were tired of living under oppressive rule and ready to put everything on the line for a change.

After a year-long conflict, Nova’s grandfather was captured, tortured, and killed by Sinclair for refusing to succumb to Carmine’s rule and use his manipulation abilities on innocent people. His tragic death was the kindling the movement needed to succeed. Sinclair Carmine was killed, and the remaining Carmines were exiled. The ruling powers were divided between the Woodhavens and the Redds to ensure no single family could overtake control. The loss of Sherman Foster left Nova’s family in ruins, so they mostly stayed out of politics and lived a quiet life on the north end of town. Even though they were no longer involved in government, the town still looked at them as role models, and they held significant influence.

When Nova’s abilities were discovered, her family swore never to let anyone know she was a Manipulator. Nova hated, in her words, being cursed with that ability. It was also dangerous for that information to be out in the world, so she preferred the town to think she was an outcast rather than risk being discovered. Nova was the sweetest witch I knew and would have died before letting anyone use her ability for harm. And I would die before I would let anything happen to her.

“I can’t believe Damero chose Halloween out of all holidays to get married on,” I complained, opening the door to our office building. It was just as cold inside as outside, meaning the heat wasn’t on yet.

Usually, on Halloween morning, Nova and I would barricade ourselves in my living room, watch movies, and eat pumpkin pancakes. In the afternoon, we would hit the town’s Halloween festival. The various booths had pumpkin carving stations, apple bobbing games, and a costume contest for kids. In the evening, Nova would destroy my kitchen, making an array of baked goods while I watched, and we would give out candy when kids rang the doorbell.

This year, I was stuck going to my cousin’s wedding when I would rather sit across the couch from Nova in my living room with a movie on.

“I mean, Halloween is the best holiday,” she stated. “If I ever get married, I want to get married on Halloween.”

Mental note: my wedding day will be October 31st.

“Really?” I raised my eyebrow. “You want to share your favorite holiday?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I want to combine the best day of my life with my favorite holiday?” She gave my shoulder a slight shove. “Come on, Ezzy, you know me better than that!”

“You’re right,” I conceded, raising my hands as we climbed into the elevator. “My mistake.”