Chapter 12 Starshine Moves

12

Starshine Moves

"You told her I was a vet ?" Ivy hissed at me through her teeth, eyes wide with accusation.

I shushed her frantically, throwing a harried glance over my shoulder toward the doorway leading to the tiny space that served as both my kitchen and very-mini dining room.

I'd inherited this glorified caretaker's cottage from my great-aunt, who'd passed it down to my father first. It had been an Avramov property for generations, mostly due to its off-putting proximity to the Witch Woods, and had originally been on the same parcel of land as a much larger Victorian that had eventually been sold separately. The cottage's owners tended to be Avramovs with an affinity for our haunted forest, like my great-aunt Akilina, who'd brewed concoctions from the strange, bitter flora that grew in the Witch Woods, selling them to the witch community for the psychotropic spells we cast during our Samhain celebrations and full-moon esbat circles.

My dad had held on to it after Akilina passed, not that people were lining up to live in a cottage that needed to be perpetually warded against curious shades nudging up against its windows. I'd chosen to move in when I turned eighteen, despite my mother's protests. But it turned out I actually liked living with its low beams and boho-rustic feel, the gloom of the Witch Woods hovering at my back. It felt a bit like an extension of the other side, a little piece that I could safely borrow and make my own.

"What was I supposed to tell the amnesia-stricken normie?" I hissed back. "Hmm? That you were Ivy Thorn, of the green-magic Thorns of Thistle Grove, blessed with the healing powers of root and earth? I was thinking maybe we'd keep that on the low to start."

"We do not say any such corny shit about ourselves." She tipped her head to the side, pursing her lips. "Not bad, though, to be honest. Kinda like it. Still, a vet . Dash, that doesn't even make sense."

"I was thinking on the fly, okay? My stranger-with-amnesia management skills are, weirdly, kind of rusty. Hence why I called you—at least you have actual experience. Next time I'll tell her you bring flowers to life and make them sing bops, if that's your preference."

Ivy thumbed her lip ring, looking pensive. "Well, at least she knows what vets are. That's something."

"That's what I thought, too. Her long-term memory doesn't seem impaired at all, at least not in that sense. She understands how the world works, what things are. Just not who she is."

"That can happen with some forms of mundane amnesia." Like most Thorns, Ivy actually had received fairly extensive (human) medical training as part of her magical education—standard fare for a witch as powerful on the healing scale as Ivy was. "How is she now?"

"Still eating, I think."

We glanced back toward my kitchen in unison. As promised, I'd granted the little redhead's wish and stopped by one of the few fast-food joints within town limits, loading up on a variety of breakfast sandwiches, wraps, and hash browns, in case she didn't know what she preferred. She'd tucked into it all as soon as we'd gotten here, surfacing only to inform me that "wow, your place is colorful ," before diving back in. Ivy had arrived ten minutes ago in answer to my frantic summons, and from the faint wrapper rustling and munching sounds emanating from the kitchen, the pace hadn't slowed any in the meantime.

"A lot," I added. "Housing it, really. I don't even understand where she's putting it all, from a physics perspective. I think she might have spent the night up by the lake—maybe even been there since right after the Avramov spectacle. She seems pretty young, and probably a witch-town tourist rather than a local. Who knows how much she ate yesterday, or how much money she even brought to spend on food?"

Ivy nodded, nibbling on the inside of her lip as she thought it through. Even under the strange circumstances, my mind swam with the way her perfume had expanded to fill all the available air in the room, the way it seemed to steal directly into my lungs as if it had seeped into the oxygen particles. The memory of last night's kiss hovered over us like a (very sexy) ghost. And it didn't help that we'd spent so many nights right here, cuddled together on my teal couch among the peacock-patterned pillows and throws, snacking on pastries Ivy had nicked from the Honeycake Orchards store and watching trashy shows until we couldn't keep our hands off each other anymore.

Now, we sat a circumspect distance apart, knees not even brushing. But the memories layered over each other like onionskin, as if all of them still existed—maybe were even still happening right now—in a series of painfully close alternate realities.

Worlds in which things hadn't gone wrong between us, and the right branch had been taken. The one that kept us together.

"And you're thinking it was the Avramov glamour that did it?"

I gave a broad shrug. "It seems like the most reasonable explanation, though it doesn't tell us why she wound up wandering Lady's Lake alone at night. It's not a terribly difficult hike; we've all done it enough times, for fun and ceremonies. But still, alone, at night, disoriented…why would she have done that?"

"The lake does feel very inviting to some," Ivy speculated. "Maybe she's one of those normie sensitives, and in the absence of any other touchstones—if her memory loss was sudden and she had no idea what else to do, or if she was in a fugue state for a while—it might have called to her. Felt like a safe haven."

"Do you think you'll be able to feel anything when you examine her?"

"We'll see. The more receptive she is, the more I'll be able to glean. So I'll start with making her comfortable."

"Thank you," I said stiffly. "Look, I know this isn't your problem. I know you didn't have to come."

"Technically, it's not your problem, either," she pointed out. "You could've just taken her to the hospital or the police station. Someone's probably looking for her."

I flashed back to the terror on the stranger's face when I'd suggested it, the sense of primal protectiveness that still paced inside me like a caged tiger. "I couldn't, not after how she reacted to just the suggestion. Traumatizing her further doesn't seem like the way to go, and if she's that afraid of the idea? Maybe she's also afraid of whoever's looking for her, in a way that we shouldn't ignore. Obviously, I'll keep an eye out online for missing person reports, to see if we can at least find out her name. But I don't want to push her into anything she doesn't want to do."

"Still." Ivy's face softened, her eyes lustrous in the early morning sunshine that poured through the window above the couch. "It's good of you to choose to get involved."

"Thanks," I said, just as softly. For a moment, we just stared at each other, that old magnetism thrumming in the air between us like a struck chord.

Just before I gave in to the urge to reach for her hand, she cleared her throat and heaved herself up, narrowly avoiding one of the vintage Yule ornaments hanging from the rafters. The little redhead hadn't been wrong in calling my place "colorful." One entire wall was a vibrant collage of Broadway musical posters—Amrita's and my handiwork, back when I'd first moved in. I'd matched my teal couch with a plush hobnailed chair the color of raspberry jam. My cedar curio cabinet held everything from petrified snake skulls to crystals to my old dancing shoes, tattered to bits, along with about a million framed photos of my family. And the stuffed, sequined unicorn Ivy had once won for me at a Castle Camelot carnival booth.

She hadn't said anything, but I'd seen her notice it. This was probably the last place she wanted to be, given everything, but still, she'd come. For me.

"Not like we have anything better to do today, anyway," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Right after we'd arrived, I'd gotten a series of both texts and emails—missive spells might have been more appropriate, but sometimes modern technology was simply more reliable—informing me that the spectacles would continue as scheduled, only without the magical components. As the quorum's reasoning went, we knew from the Grimoire that the Cavalcade was necessary to Thistle Grove, but removing the magic might block further intrusion attempts from the entity while keeping the general vibe of the experience intact.

This was obviously only a stopgap solution, given that we had a whole month of weekend performances to go, and I suspected I'd soon be called in for a debrief on what had happened on the other side. No one had experienced the entity more intimately than I had, and the quorum would want every piece of information they could get.

But no summons had arrived for me just yet. I'd also texted Amrita to let her know I'd borrowed her car to meet Ivy for a breakfast chat about the previous night—a rendezvous with Ivy being one of the few things that could have plausibly gotten me up that early—and would be returning it a little later in the day, with plenty of time for her to drive to the Emporium before the tourist crush began. So, Ivy and I had at least some time on our hands for this mystery within a mystery.

"Alright," Ivy said briskly. "Let's do this. Let me take the lead, okay? I'll need to establish my own rapport with her."

I gestured to the kitchen with a flourish. "All yours."

As we ducked through the low doorway, the girl—it was so hard not to think of her that way, though I kept correcting myself to woman —looked up, chipmunk-cheeked with whatever cheesy biscuit and mystery sausage she'd been tearing into. As soon as she spotted Ivy, she swallowed the impressive mouthful with effort, then broke into the first real smile I'd seen from her. Apparently the quick and dirty calories had gone a way toward perking her up.

"Hey!" she said, with a little wave. "The vet, right? Nice to meet you. I'd offer my name but…well. No information available."

"I'm Ivy, and I'm not exactly a vet," Ivy clarified, smiling back. "More of, ah, a holistic practitioner. You know, Reiki, energy work, pressure points. Things like that?"

"Acupuncture," she said, nodding sagely. "Sure, I'm into that, I think. I know what it is, for what that's worth."

"I'm pretty well versed in first aid, too," Ivy went on. "And I've had some field training in more extensive medicine. Would it be cool if I took a little look at you? Just preliminary exam?"

The redhead wiped her mouth and hands with surprising daintiness, considering the unabashed way she'd wolfed the food, then crumpled up the napkin and nodded, patting the chair next to her. "Please. I'd love to know just what the fuck is rattling around in my head. Bring on all the holistic disciplines."

As Ivy moved to sit by her, I shifted from foot to foot. "Would you, uh, like me to leave? If you'd be more comfortable, I could—"

"No, no." She gave an adamant shake of the head, those fiery ringlets bouncing. "You didn't have to do any of this for me, I know that. But you did. You brought me into your home without knowing the first thing about me, literally. Shit, without me knowing anything about myself. So I'd…I'd like it if you stayed for this."

I nodded, a warm, unexpected rush of relief surging through me so hard it nearly weakened my knees. Why was I feeling so attached to this unfamiliar person? To be fair, she was adorable, and shockingly upbeat for someone undergoing such a traumatic experience. But I felt almost bonded to her, as if it would hurt to relinquish the role of protector I'd taken on by finding her.

As I sat down, Ivy was instructing the redhead to shift in her chair so they could face each other. "And I'm going to touch your face now, okay?" Ivy said. "Kind of weird, I know, but it's what works best."

"That's fine," the redhead replied, instantly relaxing into Ivy's touch the same way she'd done with me up at the lake. Even her voice mellowed with pleasure at the physical contact. "It's nice. Feels warm. And really good, actually, making me a little sleepy. I'd leave a bomb Yelp review for this if you wanted, tell you what."

Ivy chuckled, her eyes sliding closed. "Just relax into it if you can, and keep your breathing nice and steady. Now, let's take a look."

For a few moments, nothing happened. They both stayed quiet, the redhead's breathing slowing to a steady lull as that sweet, mellow Thorn magic funneled through her, presumably questing into her mind as Ivy gently probed for answers. I was just beginning to relax myself when Ivy caught her breath in a sharp gasp, snatching her hands away from the woman's face and backing her chair up with a scrape. Then, she flapped both hands frantically in the air, as if she'd accidentally touched a still-hot stove burner.

"What?" I barked, a spike of fear lancing through me. The redhead flung a startled glance back at me, and I struggled to soften my tone. "Ivy, what is it?"

"Nothing," she eked out. But from the tension in her face, I could tell she was still in pain. "I'm—I'm sorry. I couldn't, ah, detect anything out of the ordinary. It just took me by surprise, is all. Usually I'm…a lot more intuitive than this."

For a moment, the girl appraised Ivy with watchful eyes, rightfully dubious; it seemed obvious that whatever Ivy had felt, it hadn't been a raging case of the nothings. Then she sighed, deflating.

"Well, bummer. Guess it was a long shot anyway, right? Thank you for trying. I…" She broke off, yawning hugely. "You know, I'm still feeling really sleepy. So sleepy. Dasha, I know this is a major ask, but do you think I could crash here for a while? Sleeping bag, air mattress, the floor. Whatever you've got would be great."

"Of course," I said, rattled. Ivy was still staring into space as I stood, clearly trying to gather herself. "I have a very cozy guest room, if you're into sleeping in the equivalent of a walk-in closet. There isn't even an overhead light fixture. But the sheets are clean; it's all set up. Does that sound good?"

"More like fantastic," she said through another jaw-cracking yawn, knuckling at her eyes. She stood, too, tottering a little bit, as if she were about to fall asleep on her feet. "Thank you."

As she trailed me out of the kitchen, I cast a look over my shoulder at Ivy. She mouthed, "We need to talk ," widening her eyes emphatically at me. I nodded, trepidation whipping up inside me like a dust storm.

What the hells had she felt in the stranger's head that had shocked her that way—and even caused her pain?

"Someone built a wall in that chick's head."

We sat on my screened-in back porch, watching the light rain that had begun to fall. The festivities wouldn't be affected; there were so many meteorological spells in place at the family demesnes that it was a wonder the Blackmoores had time to be casting anything else. But over here, in the unprotected area near the north end of the Witch Woods, what looked like a thunderstorm was gathering, gunmetal clouds churning above us. It rarely stormed in Thistle Grove, but when it did, the fall weather brought the appropriate melodrama. The kind of lightning-struck backdrop befitting a cackling crone bent over a bubbling cauldron.

I could already smell the tang of ozone crackling in the air, along with the delicious petrichor that mingled so well with the Witch Woods' damp mulch. Every once in a while I even caught a draft of the wild garlic that grew in the woods, a pungent, nearly skunky odor that had become an acquired taste.

Before settling in out here, we'd dropped Amrita's car off at Saanvi's. But despite her earlier urgency Ivy had been uncharacteristically quiet as she drove us back, still mulling over what she'd felt.

"I'm sorry," I said now, "did you say a wall ?"

"Yes, and not just a wall. A hot one," Ivy elaborated, making a face. "That shit felt like pressing your hands against a furnace on full blast." She winced, turning over her unmarked palms to examine them. "It's not like anything I've ever felt before, I'll tell you that much right now."

"But Avramov magic is almost always cold. I've never known a glamour to feel hot," I mused, bewildered. "Especially not an oblivion glamour. It doesn't make sense ."

"No," Ivy agreed grimly. "That, it does not."

"And you don't think it's something mundanely medical? Some neural condition that might register that way to your, uh, magical scanner?"

"Almost definitely not. Whatever that was, according to my magical scanner , it wasn't mundane." She shuddered a little, curling her hands into fists. "It wasn't anything I've ever sensed before, and certainly nothing from the Grimoire. But magic for damn sure."

"Do you think you'd even know if it were an Avramov working? Some vestigial remnant of last night's glamour, maybe, like what happened to Delilah?"

"I can't be sure, obviously. But I do know Delilah's mind never felt that way, and I'd be able to tell if there were parallels. I used to spend hours with her, trying to balance her out a little. She was a whole mess, but it was nothing like that."

We heaved sighs in weary unison, then caught each other's eyes and shared a little smile. Beyond the screen, the rain had begun to fall harder, in a needling sheet that lanced sideways and made the screen tremble with each lash. We were both already wrapped in the fuzzy blankets I kept on my rocking chairs, but I felt a little chill course through me at the next damp waft of breeze that blew over my face.

"Want some mulled wine?" I asked Ivy. "It's the perfect weather for it. And are you hungry? I'm suddenly realizing that I haven't eaten all that much since yesterday afternoon. There's gotta be some leftovers, even after those intense amnesia munchies."

"I wouldn't mind a nibble of something." She stretched long arms above her head, arching her back like a cat, and I made a herculean effort not to let my eyes linger on the high, full curve of her breasts straining against her caramel-colored sweater. "And mulled wine sounds heavenly, if you wouldn't mind. It's a little early, and I'll have to sober up before I head over to the orchards for the spectacle. But yeah, the weather does call for it. And…"

She made a broad gesture that encompassed the boggling quality of our entire morning, pulling an expressive face.

"Exactly." I pushed up from the rocking chair, letting the throw fall back from my shoulders. "Just give me a minute. I'll pull together a little porch picnic for us."

She smiled at me, so full and sweet I felt a sharp yank at my heart, like tugging on an unraveled thread. "You always were epic at bringing the snacks."

"Next-level girl dinners—another trademark Starshine move," I said, winking at her the tiniest bit, even as my stomach tumbled into an entire series of somersaults. Maybe I was wrong, but her willingness to linger here with me, even now that our mysterious stranger was asleep, felt like a possibility. The cracking open of a door that I'd thought firmly shut. "And I'll have you know I've only upped my game since us, due to all the solo meals. So prepare to be impressed."