2. Nova

Chapter 2

Nova

E zra’s jacket smelled like freshly baked apple pie. It was my favorite scent in the universe. The sweet smell infused comfort into my life, like I was getting a big hug, and everything was at peace when he was around. I should have returned his jacket when we got into the office, but I didn’t want to stop being wrapped up in a piece of him. Plus, he always draped it over the back of his chair, so it’s not like he would use it anyway.

Ezra Woodhaven, my best friend in the whole world, sat a mere ten feet from me, intently staring at a news article on his computer screen. I loved working this close to him. It meant I got a first-row seat every time he narrowed his eyes to understand something better, furrowed his brows in an attempt to concentrate, groaned when an email frustrated him, and laughed when he scrolled on his phone as a break from thinking. Every now and then, I would look over, and he would already be glancing at me with a goofy grin. Whenever that happened, I always felt a fluttering of excitement in my stomach and had to remind myself we were at work—and best friends.

The Witch Hotline was, in my opinion, the best place to work in all of Hidden Creek. Our job was to dispatch help to witches and wizards all over the country. Most of our calls were local since most creatures preferred to live within our little corner of Earth, where all creatures could walk around and didn’t have to mask from humans. However, occasionally, we got calls from places I had never heard of requesting help. Most of those calls were people from Hidden Creek on vacation or lost while traveling.

Our services were diverse, ranging from scheduling dinner reservations to aiding with car trouble. Some of our most commonly used services were injury care and clean-up services, often required after a potion-making incident or a spell snafu. The middle and high schools were the most frequent places that those services went out to. Ezra and I had worked for The Witch Hotline for the last few years, but he was significantly smarter and more important than me. He worked with important numbers and lots of math; I was the one who answered the calls and got to talk to people. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I snuck another peek at Ezra. His light brown hair was messy from the wind that swirled us on our walk, so it seemed like he hadn’t brushed it this morning. His white T-shirt was taut against his slim but muscular frame, nicely tucked into his jeans. The to-go cup his coffee was sitting in had already been reheated three times, and I was sure he needed to take it back to the microwave for a fourth reheat. Often, Ezra got lost in his work and abandoned finishing his drink until he came back from his state of concentration. He then would take a jarring sip of his coffee, be surprised it was cold after not touching it for an hour, and take a resigned trip to the microwave.

When he walked up to my condo this morning, he had scolded me again for sitting outside on the brick stairs. He claimed it wasn’t safe, but I was always fine, and no one ever bothered me. Most creatures in the neighborhood lived relatively peacefully with one another, and most crimes were akin to those in human territory. The most common one was teenagers stealing things out of cars. But safe or not, I would never miss seeing Ezra walking up the street with the sunrise in the background. The coffees were in his hand, his steps were long and light, and his face was serene. Plus, the little angry, you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me smile and eye roll he gave me when he spotted me on the steps was one of the best parts of my morning.

I know what you’re thinking. Nova, no! It’s such a cliché to fall in love with your best friend who is not interested in you and sees you as a sister! But clichés exist for a reason. As much as I am the embodiment of a witch on Halloween, I am head over boots for Ezra Woodhaven, my hotter-than-the-sun, overly-protective, and wickedly-smart best friend. But, this was a secret I would take to my grave.

At this point, my special ability might as well have been keeping secrets. I kept my abilities a secret, and my feelings clamped shut inside me. Thankfully, Ezra and I rarely talked about special abilities due to the sensitivity of the subject. Mine was hidden from everyone, while Ezra didn’t have one to begin with. As much as he pretended it didn’t hurt him to be an outcast like me, I saw the pain in his eyes every time he was on the phone with his family or the disappointment when someone would eye him as we walked down the street.

The Woodhaven family was powerful and dominant, basically the equivalent of royalty in our society. Everyone in the family was either a Healer, specializing in their respective areas to hone their talents, or a Transporter, which was handy when someone needed to get to a Healer. Well…everyone except Ezra. But he was an incredibly gifted wizard without a special ability. I didn’t care, but his family and most of the town did. We were both outcasts for different reasons.

After losing my grandfather to the conflict decades ago, the mere existence of a Manipulator could trigger chaos in our society. As a result, keeping my special ability a secret was the only recourse my parents and grandmother saw to protect me from creatures with malicious intent and to keep everyone else from fearing me. Because of the perception that Ezra and I had no special ability, society had cast us aside. We were excluded and looked down on as perpetual disappointments.

His parents saw him as broken. My parents, although they would vehemently deny it, were burdened by my secret. Not to mention, my mom did not believe I was living up to my potential. After graduating college, I opted to work for The Witch Hotline instead of going into my parent’s potion-making business. I was not only unmarried at twenty-five, which was rare in our society, but I also did not date, nor was I interested in doing so. To my mother, this was the most disappointing part, as she had a significant interest in ensuring the continuation of the Foster family line. I thought it was ridiculous, but despite our advancements, our society had not caught up to the humans and still clung to some archaic beliefs.

My desk phone ringing broke me out of my Ezra-induced trance. I clicked the green flashing button.

“The Witch Hotline,” I answered. “This is Nova speaking! How may I help you?”

“Hi,” a quiet voice mumbled on the other end. “I need some help.”

“Can I get your name and the issue you’re calling about, please?”

“Emory. I think my house is haunted.”

“Hi, Emory.” I typed in my call log. “No problem, this is a common call. Are you located in Hidden Creek or somewhere else?”

“Hidden Creek. I’m on Eighth Street.”

“Oof yea,” I chuckled. “Your house is definitely haunted.”

Eighth Street was the most haunted street in our town since it was across from the cemetery. The houses were smaller and much older than the surrounding area since they used to be the center of the town. That street was perpetually filled with ghosts looking for something to do while they waited to cross over. Over the years, we managed to evict most spirits and encourage them to stay within the cemetery, but sometimes, they wandered away.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “ghosts are fairly reasonable.”

“They are?” She questioned.

“Yep!”

Calls about houses being haunted landed on our laps at the hotline often. The occurrence was particularly heavy around Halloween since ghosts loved to mess with other creatures during this time. Usually, the calls came from witches and wizards who grew up in the human territory and didn’t know how to ask the ghosts to leave. Ghosts that hung around in the physical world were either looking for something they left behind to take to the afterlife or were trying to fill time waiting for their afterlife placement decision. In my experience, though, they usually went away if you asked them to. They weren’t assholes—most of the time.

“How do I get them to stop making noise at night?” Emory let out an exasperated sigh. “I haven’t slept since I moved in!”

“Have you asked them to stop?”

“No.”

“Try that,” I explained. “The best time to talk to them is between midnight and three in the morning. Tell them to stop making noise and to leave since they are not welcome. Most of them will leave.”

“What if they don’t?” Emory asked.

“Then, sage your house from the middle to the outside. Ghosts can’t stand the smell of it, similar to how vampires hate garlic, so that will get them off your property. Once they leave, pour a small circle of salt on the outer edge of your property and cast a permanence spell to prevent them from coming back. Then, you can clean up the salt if you want.”

“Are you sure that will work?”

“Yes,” I said. I had enough of these calls to know that was the solution, and it never failed. “I guarantee it.”

“Okay. I appreciate your help!”

“Anytime!” I said, my stomach now growling for lunch. “Good luck getting them out. Have a great day, and happy almost Halloween.”

I finished logging the call as my stomach released a second growl.

It was time for lunch.