2. Lorin

Chapter two

Lorin

W aking up to the sound of windchimes and birds chirping threw him off balance the moment he opened his eyes. He'd grown used to the sounds of traffic, of people, of the bustle of a busy big city as the residents rushed to get where they needed to be.

His alarm clock was quiet, the bed he was in was half the size of his own, and the small window just off the side of the bed let in more light than the floor-to-ceiling windows in his city loft did.

It was unnerving just how different this morning felt from the one just the day before. When he'd still believed his life was his own and there was no way anyone would ever find him and pull him back to this place.

He stretched in bed, pushing aside the book he had been reading before passing out, which was now uncomfortably digging into his ribs. He thought of the day prior and the cocktail of emotion at being back here roiled in him.

Stepping inside his old room to leave his things there had brought up memories he didn't want to admit were pleasant. Sitting down with his grandma to eat her cooking for the first time in ages had felt painfully familiar. And even if they'd spent most of dinner in silence, with her only asking a few stilted questions about his life and work, it had still felt just a little bit like it did before. When he'd talk at her with his mouth full and she'd smack him from across the table with her staff, warning him to finish eating before talking.

He'd missed his grandma. There was really no denying that. She'd never been overly affectionate, but she showed care in her own ways. Brusque and clipped most of the time, sparked with criticism and as many side-eyes as she could fit into a conversation, but always underlined with a steely type of love.

There'd been very little of that the night before, and Lorin knew it was his own doing. He didn't know if he'd change what he'd done if he could, but he could admit the consequences were there now for him to deal with.

"You planning on lazing around all day?" Her voice rang through the narrow hallway outside his room the moment he thought of her.

Like always.

As if she knew.

"I'm awake," he called back, and she snorted.

"Well praise be to the stars," she said, and he could visualize the eye roll that followed those words. "Breakfast is in five minutes. If you're not there I'm feeding it to the chickens."

He heard her clunk back down the stairs, purposefully loud to make sure he didn't go back to sleep. It was followed by the sound of dishes rattling so loudly he felt like the neighbors could hear them despite being an entire farmland space away.

He groaned and slipped out of bed with his joints stiff and sleep still lingering in the corners of his eyes. He lifted his hands to rub it away and caught sight of his marks, darker than they'd been before. He knew he was only a single spell use away from the dark hue on his skin taking a more defined shape, and he couldn't help but dread that moment.

He clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from dwelling on it. His nails dug into the flesh of his palms, getting longer and sharper by the second, it seemed, refusing to allow him what he so desperately wanted.

He'd tried filing them down before bed, but it had done nothing. They were still there. A clear mark of a witch, sharp against his skin and not letting him forget who he really was.

He put on a pair of dark jeans and an oversized black sweater before pulling his gloves on and padding down the narrow staircase, running one hand over the faded floral wallpaper.

"Set the table," his grandma barked the order the moment she felt his presence in the small kitchen slash dining room area. His grandma had knocked the wall through herself and had never patched over the wall and ceiling where the join had once been.

"Is everything in the same spot?" he asked, wedging his way in next to her in the cramped space. The table had already been set when he'd arrived yesterday.

She gave him a look. THE look.

He nodded and scurried to do as she asked, setting the table with two mismatched plates, cups, and cutlery. It made him smile despite the angst still broiling inside him. She'd never had a matching set of anything in her life. It was almost like a point of pride for her. It was comforting in its own way to notice the many things that had stayed the same. But in the cold light of day, the differences about the house were becoming more apparent to him too.

It still hummed with his grandma's magic—oppressive, with a tinge of ozone and dirt—but Lorin could feel that it had grown and morphed over time. Magic was fluid and ever changing. Lorin hadn't been there to witness its growth.

The rafters were lofty and still Sjena's favorite spot to hang out if she wasn't riding on the top of Grandma's staff, but new objects hung from them. Ones Lorin didn't know the stories for. He used to know which pots held unspeakable terrors, but now he had to hold his breath before opening one, hopeful that it was a sugar pot and not something more unsavory.

With every discovery, Lorin felt sadness brew beneath the surface, making his chest ache uncomfortably.

He'd missed so much.

He sat down as she brought out the fresh bread, homemade butter, and cream, preserves he knew she made and a steaming pan of fluffy scrambled eggs she collected from her chickens. She settled across the table from him, scooping some eggs onto her plate and loading a slice of bread with butter and strawberry preserve before eyeing his empty plate.

"Would you like a formal invitation?" she asked, and he unfroze instantly, tugging his gloves off, grabbing the end piece of the bread that had the most crust, and spreading some butter and preserves over it.

He took a dainty bite, reluctant to admit to himself there was nothing in the big city that tasted even remotely like his grandma's homemade food.

He closed his eyes to savor the taste.

"So." His grandma's voice made him open them again, tension flooding back in when he saw the expression carved into her weathered face. "Let's talk."

She'd clearly used last night to lull him into a false sense of security and let him think he'd have at least a full day without this, but apparently, she was just as efficient and no-nonsense as he'd remembered her.

He barely swallowed the bite in his mouth, the lump getting stuck in his throat with how tight it had suddenly gotten. He placed his slice of bread onto his plate, wanting to disappear inside the blue and gold swirls.

"I guess we should," he murmured.

She nodded, putting her own food down and crossing her hands in front of her plate.

Hands that had nails sharper and longer than anyone he'd met before. With marks so dark and visible they looked like they were glowing. Each shape on her fingers was clearly defined and visible despite the skin being wrinkled with age. They spoke of her power.

"Twelve years, Lorin," she said, and some of that sharpness in her voice rounded at the corners. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"You'd always be able to find me in the end," he said around the lump in his throat. "Just like you have now."

"That is not the point. The point is that you didn't want to be found. You made it near impossible to track your whereabouts. Why?"

"I…"

"And I don't want bullshit answers." She pointed a claw at him. "After all these years I deserve to know the truth. I raised you. I sacrificed a lot to turn you into a functioning human being. I think the least you can do is explain yourself."

He sighed, the knot in his stomach twisting tighter. She was still good at the guilt-tripping. Lorin wondered if that was one of the powers she possessed. To make you feel like crap for disappointing her. For even thinking about it.

"You're right," he said finally, knowing there was no getting out of the conversation. "I didn't want to be found by you."

"Why?" she asked, and he struggled to form a sentence that would convey how he was feeling without offending her. Except he didn't think there was a way.

"Because you never understood, and you never accepted," he said bitterly. "Not when I first told you, not when I explained for the millionth time, and not even now, otherwise you wouldn't have to ask."

"Lorin…"

"I still don't want this." He raised his hands into the air and turned his nails and fingers toward her. "If I can find a way to give it up, I will do it."

"That is like saying you don't want to be human," she said, that same outrage coloring every word. She still didn't get it, and he was right to think she never would. "There is no stopping being who you are, Lorin. You were born a witch."

"I don't have to live like one, though!" His voice was just slightly louder than before. "I've been living away from all of this for so long and nothing bad happened. I can just keep doing that. You just have to accept it and let it go. And then maybe you and I can still have a relationship, without it hanging between us."

She pursed her lips, challenge lighting up her wizened gaze. "So that's your plan then? Ignore the power instead of learning to harness it? Hide yourself from everyone because nobody can see this side of you ever? Live in exile from your roots forever?"

He'd been doing it for twelve years. Most days he could convince himself it was enough. The frustration of running aimlessly with no clear direction in life was easy to beat down if it meant he was protecting himself. That he wasn't proving them right by falling into the projection they wanted to cast over him.

"I don't mind solitude."

She scoffed. "Always so stubborn. I hate others as much as the next spinster, but you need a community. Everyone needs somewhere to belong."

"I belong there, Grandma."

"Do you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Do you really feel like that's the place for you?"

He set his jaw. "Yes."

"Why? Are you truly happy, Lorin?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it with a click, realizing that after all these years, he wasn't sure how to answer that.

Happy?

It had never been the focus of his intent. The walls around him had been the priority.

Boring.

Uneventful.

Solitary.

"It's safe there," he said finally. "I'm safe there, and whoever would be bonded to me in the end is safe when I'm there. I don't want to be like…"

He bit his lip to stop himself from talking, but she knew. She frowned and closed her eyes for a second before looking at him sharply.

"Like your parents?" she asked, and he felt the hollow echoes of pain reverberate through every limb. Phantom aches for something he couldn't rightly remember anymore.

He held her gaze as best he could as he whispered, "Can you blame me?"

"It was never about blame," she said, and he could see some of the same hurt in her, but less raw. He wanted to know how she managed it when he couldn't even stand to think about it. "She was my daughter, Lorin. I understand what it means to have lost her better than most."

"Then why—"

"Because she wouldn't have wanted this for you!" His grandma slammed her palm on the table, the cutlery rattling around loudly. "She wouldn't have wanted something she loved so dearly to become a nightmare for you. She wouldn't have wanted to see you alone."

He looked away, heart hammering against his chest. She'd poked at one of the wounds that had never fully healed. Pressed a finger into a bruise that would never go away.

"She's not here anymore," he whispered, blinking against the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Neither of them are."

"But you are," she said. "You're here. You say you don't want to be, but you came anyway."

"I…" He frowned because he didn't really know what to say. He'd gotten her note and booked the first flight to her despite his inner protests. He'd felt compelled and he hadn't wanted to stop and examine why, to look inward at whatever secret part of him had overridden the decision. "You told me to come."

"And you haven't listened to anything I've said in years," she said. "I didn't summon you, Lorin. You weren't magically bound to come. But you did. Why?"

"Could I have avoided it?" He snapped a little, tired of the questions being fired at him when he had no answers to them. He wasn't ready to face his own reasoning. "Was not showing up an option? Because I was led to believe it wasn't."

"And I was led to believe you'd be kicking up a fuss and fighting me every step of the way, yet you came the very next day. You came because you felt like you had to be here. Because you're searching for something," she said.

He shook his head, because no…that wasn't…it couldn't be…

"I don't want to be a witch, Grandma," he said instead of explaining himself. "I don't want to bond myself to a familiar and I don't want to unlock my full power. I don't want the risk of it. I think it's best if it stays hidden."

"You never had any problems with witchcraft as a child, you know. You used to beg me to bring you to rituals," Grandma said.

"Things change," Lorin said through gritted teeth, fighting back the flashes of memory of the happiness and awe. He didn't want them. "I'm not a child anymore."

"They only changed when you found out the truth. It was like it flipped a switch and suddenly—"

"I don't need to explain why." Lorin cut her off angrily.

"And I'm not trying to make you!" his grandma fired back, overcome with emotion. "But you never stopped to consider what you actually wanted. You let fear make every decision for you and nothing has changed. You're still the same as when you left. Still lost."

Lorin turned his face away, feeling hot all over, stinging sharply from her words. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"One ceremony," she said, throwing him completely off balance.

"W-what?"

"It is your duty as a full-born witch to attend one bonding ceremony. You're here anyway. Whatever your reasons are, you're here. If you don't find your familiar there, you're free to go back to your fancy city life."

"And if I do find it?"

"The chances of that happening on your first try are minimal," she said. "Most witches go through at least two or three in order to form a proper bond. You know this."

"Mom and Dad…"

"Were outliers in every way possible." She shook her head. "They were soulbonded. One in billions. And there are no shifters among the potentials listed. Your father had to register to join."

Lorin shook his head. It was the same conversation round and round. Even if the risk was low, it was still too much of a chance. The what-ifs kept him up at night, haunting both his sleeping and waking thoughts. But there was a secret part of him that wondered. The lost part that she had called out was always reaching into the distance, trying to push past the walls Lorin had erected…

"One ceremony," she repeated. "And in return, if you don't find your familiar, I'll help you find a way to remove the markings."

Lorin's eyes snapped to hers instantly, his breath leaving him in one swoop. She couldn't possibly… After all this time of fighting him on it. "You'll…"

She hardened her face. "I'll help you look for a way to remove your power for good."

Kit

He shook his head to get the water droplets off his nose and ears. If he could he'd scowl at the world around him.

He had a hard time sensing what was going on around him from that far away as it was. Rain made things even harder. It stole the scent from the air and intercepted the wind as it carried it. It blurred the edges of his vision and weighed down his fur.

He was sitting in the same bush he'd been hiding in the day before, as the community set up the fences for the bonding ceremony.

Today.

It would happen today.

Kit had seen them bringing the potentials in in comfy-looking crates, filled with soft blankets and a lot of different foods.

None of it was for him though. Nobody could know he was there unless his witch was there too. Revealing himself to others risked him being hurt even more than he already was, and he didn't want to give them that chance. There was safety in staying hidden until he knew for sure that the one he was looking for was there.

So he shook himself once more and burrowed deeper into his bush to wait. Maybe the rain would let up by the time the witches arrived. Maybe the winter sun would win its fight with the clouds and be on Kit's side for a change.

He really wanted that to happen. He wanted something to go his way for a change.

He dropped down to his belly, wet head resting on his front paws as he watched the community bringing in a large tent with open sides. They set it up in the middle of the clearing, covering up the potentials—animals of all different shapes and sizes stirring about in their enclosures—and the seats and wooden tables they'd brought inside.

Everyone would be as comfortable as possible in the horrible weather. Everyone would stay dry, have enough to eat and drink and a chance to bond with their familiar if they were there.

Bonding ceremonies were joyful occasions for everyone.

Everyone but Kit.