Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

‘And where are we going this morning, little witch?'

I had one foot out the front door when I heard Ashley's voice and froze. She'd been invisible ever since I'd asked about her abilities the day before, even choosing to eat alone in her room when dinner time rolled around. Not that I'd missed her, my evening was consumed with questions about this so-called blessing and by the time Catherine finally convinced me to go to bed, my head was spinning. But here she was, Sunday morning, lurking behind the staircase, waiting to pounce.

‘I'm going to meet Lydia.'

It was a lie. Could she tell?

‘Does Catherine know?' Ashley asked, prowling around me.

‘I think I mentioned it.'

Even under the arctic blast of the air conditioning, I was starting to sweat.

‘She's out, isn't she?' I added, knowing full well that she was. She told me she had business to attend to this morning and I'd watched her leave twenty minutes earlier, peeping out of my bedroom window as Barnett drove her off.

‘That doesn't mean you should be running around town,' my aunt replied. ‘Not right now. Who knows what kind of trouble you'll get yourself in, especially with that Lydia Powell.'

‘You don't like Lydia?'

‘No, I don't like Lydia. She's loud and impertinent and I don't know how her grandmother stands her.'

I had to duck my head to hide my smile. Ashley probably didn't need to know the feeling was mutual.

‘Well, I can't just not show up. I don't have the number for her cell and she's probably already on her way to meet me.'

It was mostly the truth, only it wasn't Lydia I was supposed to meet.

‘I don't know.' Ashley slipped her hands into the pockets of her skirt. ‘Catherine might not like it.'

‘Catherine wouldn't want me to be rude,' I countered. ‘I won't be gone all that long anyway. She'll never know.'

I held up my hand in a Girl Guide salute, about the only thing I remembered from the two meetings I'd convinced my dad to let me attend years ago, right before we moved again.

‘Before you go, how do you feel?' she asked and if I didn't know better, I might have said she sounded worried about me.

‘Tired,' I replied. ‘Very tired.'

It was the easiest honest answer I could give her. Sleep did not come easily, and even with the help of my favourite hot tea, I'd tossed and turned for hours. Catherine was right when she said people were afraid of the unknown. I was people. I was afraid. But underneath the layers of anxiety and trepidation, all the what ifs and the why me, something else had burrowed its way under my skin and into my bones. Excitement. Curiosity. Magic . The tingling I felt when Catherine and I repaired the orchid had never fully left me, instead it covered me like a warm blanket, protective and strangely familiar.

‘And what are you planning to do if there's another incident?'

‘There won't be,' I replied, even though I didn't feel as certain as I sounded.

Ashley raised an eyebrow. ‘You're sure about that?'

I wanted to say yes but I couldn't. I'd told too many lies already.

‘Just go,' she said, stepping out of my way. ‘But try not to end the world if you can help it.'

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,' I said as I raced through the door, already too late to second guess myself. ‘I think that's a bit beyond my abilities.'

‘Let's hope so,' she replied, closing it loudly behind me.

I saw Wyn before Wyn saw me. He was waiting, just like he said he would be, leaning against the same old oak tree, sleepy-eyed and smiling. My heart lurched at the sight of him. So much had changed in the last two days. Part of me knew I should be at home, safe in Bell House, waiting for Catherine to return to teach me more about my newly discovered legacy. But there was another, even more powerful part of me that was desperate to see Wyn. A longing so overwhelming, it was almost as frightening as finding out I was a witch.

I had already decided I wasn't going to tell him, not yet. Sure, he said he knew a little about astrology but knowing your rising sign was a long way from believing witches were real and, oh, by the way, I am one. All I had to do was keep a lid on my magic, avoid storms, dangerous trees and unexpected ghosts, and we'd be completely OK. Simple.

‘I'd offer you a penny for your thoughts but I reckon they'd be worth a whole dollar,' he said, interrupting my train of thought. ‘What's on your mind?'

‘I was just thinking about, um, what was I thinking about?'

Don't say kissing you, don't say kissing you, don't say kissing you.

I gulped and turned away, searching the park for an alternative answer. A golden retriever bounded towards the fountain, dragging its owner behind it.

‘Dogs. I was thinking about dogs.'

His crooked smile stretched so wide he couldn't rein it in.

‘You were thinking what about dogs?'

In fairness, I wouldn't have believed me either.

‘How come there are cat cafés but not dog cafés?' I replied, fighting off an overwhelming internal cringe. ‘People like dogs just as much as they like cats, why don't they have their own cafés?'

For what felt like a very long moment, he stared at me as if trying to figure out the joke. I smiled back too big. Why couldn't I behave like a normal human being? What was I supposed to do with my hands? Why did my feet suddenly feel too big for my shoes?

‘Personally, I think it's a million dollar idea but I think your question just answered itself.'

Wyn pointed at the same golden retriever as it hurled itself into the fountain, splashing its owner and anyone else within a five metre radius. ‘Would you trust him around an espresso machine?'

‘Oh, yeah,' I agreed, wondering if the dog would consider dragging me into the fountain and leaving me there. ‘Probably a little too unpredictable.'

He smiled again and my heart skipped several beats.

‘Unpredictable can be good. Speaking of, how do you feel about a field trip?'

The owner of the dog wrangled it out of the fountain, and it wagged its tail until it was a blur. As soon as it was out, it leapt right back in, racing around in a circle and soaking the owner through. Unpredictable wasn't good. Unpredictable was risky. What if I saw another ghost? What if I had another vision? Travelling too far away from Bell House was a bad idea. The sensible thing would be to stay right here in the square.

Wyn reached out and took hold of my hand and all my fears fluttered away on the breeze.

‘There's that look again,' he said. ‘What is on your mind, Em?'

‘Absolutely nothing,' I replied, closing my hand around his. ‘Let's go.'

Sensible thing be damned.

Tybee Island was only a twenty-minute drive from downtown but when Wyn's vintage cherry-red pickup truck pulled off the road and into the parking lot, I felt like we were a million miles away. The change of scenery was extreme, Savannah's careful squares, with their centuries-old townhouses and towering oaks, gave way to beach houses, cute shops and restaurants, and as we drove into Tybee, Wyn pointed out the kind of lighthouse that looked like it should be in a movie.

It didn't take long to find a quiet spot on the beach even though it was a scorching hot Sunday. It was still early by Savannah standards, no one ever seemed to be in a rush around here. I turned my face up to the sun and soaked it all in while Wyn opened a striped beach umbrella, his biceps straining against his sleeves as he drove it into the ground.

‘Welcome to Tybee Island,' he said, grinning down at me while I attempted to lay out a matching blanket without kicking sand all over it.

‘It's gorgeous,' I replied, kicking sand all over it. ‘I can't believe we're so close to town.'

‘You said you didn't get to visit the beach all that often before. Now it's right on your doorstep, you can come any time you like.'

Sitting back on my heels, I shielded my face from the sun.

‘You remembered that?'

Wyn pinched his shoulders into a casual shrug that was completely betrayed by the way his cheeks shone bright red. Digging around in a massive backpack, he produced a pair of red, retro plastic sunglasses and a tube of sunscreen.

‘Can't have you burning to a crisp,' he said, handing them both over. ‘The lady in the pharmacy said this was the best brand for redheads.'

‘But my hair is brown,' I protested until he gently grasped the end of my messy braid and held it between us. ‘Except in this light where it definitely has an auburn tint.'

‘Reminds me of the way the sky looks at sunset,' he said, still holding my hair in his hand. ‘Right after the sun goes down.'

A million tiny jolts of electricity burst through me as he carefully laid my braid back over my shoulder and reached for the tube of sunscreen, pretending I didn't feel the tingling sensation building in my fingertips.

‘Let me look at this,' I said, popping the cap. ‘SPF 50, nice. How about I do you, then you do me?'

Wyn let out a howl of laughter as I turned into the human embodiment of cringe.

‘Whatever you need,' he replied, a playful grin lighting up his eyes. ‘Always happy to help.'

‘Appreciate it.' I squeezed a glob of thick white lotion into my hand and slapped it against my face, rubbing ferociously as I pressed my lips together to seal them shut, hopefully forever.

Tybee was heaven. A cool breeze blew in off the water, transforming the sticky city heat into perfect beach weather, and the vibes were undeniably high. Wyn, in his T-shirt and swim shorts, was already perfectly golden while my limbs gleamed a conspicuous white, peeking out from my loose cotton shirt and new denim shorts that were formerly old jeans. We sat side by side on the beach blanket, not quite touching but close enough for me to be intensely aware of his body. I silently catalogued the parts I hadn't noticed before: the worn leather strap of the watch on his left wrist, the freckles on the backs of his hands, the long indent of a scar on his left shin.

‘That looks rough,' I said, pointing to his leg. ‘Get into a fight over the last scoop at Leopold's?'

‘It was lemon custard and it was totally worth it.'

He traced the mark all the way up from ankle to knee. ‘Truth is, I don't know how I got it. Happened when I was six. According to my folks, they left me playing outside with Cole then my grandpa found me with this crazy gash on my leg. I don't remember a thing. Only that my dad took us out for McDonald's afterwards which was a big deal because my dad does not approve of fast food.'

‘Did you get a Happy Meal?' I asked, still staring at the scar.

‘Complete with SpongeBob SquarePants on a skateboard. And yes, it's still on my nightstand.'

‘Can't go wrong with SpongeBob,' I smiled. ‘You don't have any theories about what happened? Whatever it was must have been sharp.'

‘And clean too, it healed up right away. Guess my brain decided I was better off not knowing. I heard that kind of thing can happen when you go into shock, you know?'

I nodded, I did know.

‘And your brother didn't see what happened?'

‘Not exactly a surprise. Cole isn't that observant,' Wyn replied flatly before nodding to the scar on my arm, the one from Bonaventure. ‘While we're comparing war wounds, how'd you get that one?'

‘Oh, boring story.' I rolled my sleeve all the way down to the wrist. ‘It happened a long time ago. I fell. Off a scooter. In Italy.'

‘Doesn't sound boring to me but I've never fallen off a scooter in Italy.' He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his elbows. ‘I really want to travel after I graduate. Get out and see the world, maybe backpack around Europe for a year. Maybe you can give me some pointers.'

My stomach turned at the thought of him getting on a plane and disappearing from my life, strolling through European cities with girls falling all over him.

‘What about SCAD?' I asked, keeping my jealous thoughts inside and out of my voice.

‘Oh, yeah. SCAD.' He rubbed the underneath of his chin with the back of his hand and frowned. ‘Maybe I could travel for the summer before the fall semester, hit up a few hotspots.'

‘Funny how you want to leave America when I was always desperate to get here,' I said. ‘Dad used to call us part-time Americans.'

‘How come you never came back before?' He turned and reached into his bag, pulling out a small, soft-sided cooler full of sodas and seltzer waters. ‘Y'all didn't want to visit family? Or did they travel to Europe? I guess that's what I would do if I had the chance.'

I popped the tab on a can of Diet Coke. Wyn had put so much thought into our day.

‘Our family is complicated,' I replied with a scrunched up face. ‘To say the least.'

‘I'll toast to that.' He raised a lemon seltzer in my direction and we tapped the two cans together. ‘At least you got to live in some cool places, probably met some cool people.'

‘Meeting people was easy but making friends was more difficult,' I explained before flashing back to all my awkward first days in new places. ‘My dad was kind of strict about curfews, hanging out without an adult present, things like that. He didn't even like me going on the internet if he wasn't there.'

‘I have seen your cell phone,' Wyn replied. ‘I believe you.'

‘Exactly. No messaging, no social media. It's tricky to stay in touch with people when you can't send them a DM or like their posts. Parents love to hate on phones but they're the easiest way for people to stay connected.'

With sparkling eyes, he twisted the bottom of his seltzer into the sand and reached back into his bag, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he dug around inside.

‘Well, that's about to change. This is for you.'

Triumphantly, he pulled out his ice-blue iPhone and presented it to me with both hands.

‘What is this?' I asked as I took it from him.

‘We full-time Americans call it a cell phone,' he replied, enunciating carefully. ‘You use it to call people, send them photographs of cool dogs you see on the street, that kind of thing.'

‘Oh, OK,' I laughed. ‘It's like that now, is it?'

One tap brought the screen to life. On it was a picture of an oak tree. Our oak tree.

‘The guy at the store said he could put in a pre-pay SIM, so, I did. If you want it, it's yours.' He swiped through to the contacts list where there was only one name listed. Wyn Evans. ‘I put my number in already. Like I said, in case you need to send me a photograph of a really cool dog.'

My top teeth cut into my bottom lip as I stared at the phone, not sure what to say.

‘It's really not that big of a deal,' he rambled, filling the awkward silence. ‘I was due for an upgrade anyway and I figured this was a good way to recycle the phone and—'

‘It is a big deal,' I interrupted. ‘It's one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. Thank you so much.'

‘We should take a selfie.' He took the phone back, leaning in close to me until I could smell his fresh deodorant and under that, the soft, woody warmth of his skin. Suddenly, I was looking back at the two of us side by side on the phone screen. I pulled a face and Wyn laughed.

‘Delete it, please,' I begged, covering my eyes with my hands. ‘That's a terrible angle.'

He deleted the picture, then went back to the camera setting, his arm raised a little higher.

‘Let's try again,' he said.

I leaned into him, daring to rest my head against his, red-brown hair against dark ash. His chest rose and his shoulders lifted, both of us holding our breath as he took the picture.

‘Now that's a good one,' he declared, handing the phone back to me. ‘Can you send me that?'

‘Yes,' I said happily. ‘I literally can.'

The photo left my new phone with a swoosh and a quiet ping inside his bag confirmed delivery.

‘Seriously, thank you,' I said. ‘It's so generous.'

‘Don't even mention it,' Wyn replied with a self-effacing grin. ‘I walked by your place last night and I wanted to call in but I get the feeling your grandmother might not love unexpected evening visitors. Now I'll be able to text first, give you some warning.'

‘Last night would not have been a good time to come calling,' I confirmed, endlessly grateful he'd kept on walking. Hi, Wyn, how are you? What's that? Why is the wallpaper alive? Well, that's a very good question. Perhaps my grandmother, the witch, can answer.

‘Probably best you didn't see me anyway,' he added with a chuckle. ‘I got caught out in that crazy afternoon storm. I looked like a wet labradoodle.'

A brief flash of him in a sopping wet T-shirt was quickly replaced with the memory of what almost happened in Forsyth Park, followed swiftly by a sharp stab of guilt.

Jackson.

I should have called on him first thing, made sure he was OK. There wouldn't be much point having a phone to keep in touch with friends if I didn't have any friends to keep in touch with.

‘What did you do yesterday?' Wyn asked.

Almost choked to death while my aunt watched, went for a walk in the park and nearly died, saw a couple of ghosts, found out I'm also a witch.

‘Not much.' I flicked the tab on my soda can backwards and forwards until it snapped off in my hand. ‘What were you doing out in the rain, school stuff?'

‘School stuff?'

He looked perplexed.

‘SCAD stuff,' I clarified. ‘Jackson showed me some of the campus buildings. It's a pretty school.'

To my shameful delight, something that looked a lot like jealousy took over his face and tightened his features.

‘Who's Jackson?' he enquired all too casually.

‘A friend. His grandmother is besties with my grandmother,' I said, smiling as his tension eased. ‘We knew each other when we were babies but obviously I don't remember that. We really just met.'

‘That's great. Can't have too many friends.'

He rested his hand on the blanket between us, right next to my leg.

‘Yep,' I agreed lightly. ‘Friends are important.'

Slowly, so slowly, he slid his hand towards me until we were touching. The lightest possible connection, skin barely brushing skin, but the quake it sent through my body was seismic.

When I looked up into his eyes, I saw all of my emotions reflected back and of all the impossible things that had happened since I arrived in Savannah, this felt like the most impossible of all. Something even more rare than magic. Looking at Wyn was like looking into a mirror. Hope, anxiety, and longing, it was all there. His pupils dilated as he leaned in towards me, coming closer until my vision blurred, his lips parted and my eyes closed. I took one last breath, both of us drawing in the same air, but instead of the soft promise of his lips on mine, I felt something grab the scruff of my neck and yank me backwards, hard.

‘Em?' he said, his eyes snapping open.

I jumped up, searching for whoever had grabbed me, but there wasn't anyone close enough to have laid a hand on me.

‘Are you OK?' Wyn asked, rising to his own feet, one hand awkwardly cupping the back of his own neck. ‘What are you looking for?'

‘I don't know,' I admitted, unexpected anxiety gnawing at my edges. ‘Something.'

‘Something like that?' he breathed with disbelief.

I looked up to see a cloud of colourful butterflies surging out of the fronds of a palmetto tree, dancing in the air right above us before fluttering away towards the water.

‘Emily, look!' he exclaimed as more and more butterflies appeared. We watched them go, their delicate wings carrying them too far, too fast. ‘Are you seeing this?'

‘Can't really miss it,' I replied weakly. This wasn't right. This wasn't normal .

‘I don't think I've ever seen butterflies at the beach,' he said, observing them with a look of wonder. ‘Heck, I don't think I've ever seen this many butterflies anywhere.'

People were on their feet with their phones in their hands, snapping pictures of my butterflies and the tingling in my hands scorched with unwelcome fire. I didn't know how exactly but this was my doing. They moved as one, a kaleidoscope of colour in the sky, swirling up and down, onwards, onwards, onwards, out over the ocean. Beyond beautiful, and shimmering with all the colours of the rainbow and every shade in between. The rest of the world began to fade away. All I could see were the butterflies.

‘Is the water warm?' I asked Wyn, my attention drawn away from the colourful cloud and to the ocean beyond.

‘Should be,' he replied. ‘You want to swim?'

I nodded, drifting forward, passing blindly between towels and loungers, folding chairs and sandcastles. I needed to be in the water.

‘Watch out,' Wyn called when I reached the firm wet sand at the ocean's edge. ‘There's a tidal shelf, it drops fast.'

But his voice was a million miles away, nowhere near me or my butterflies or my ocean. The water was perfect. It swirled between my toes as I sailed straight in, rising around my ankles then up to my knees, the ripped hem of my shorts already damp and darkening. Somewhere in another life, Wyn was yelling my name but I was too busy listening to the waves. I saw him rushing past worried onlookers as they lined up along the sand but I couldn't work out why they were so worried. Couldn't they see I was exactly where I needed to be? Beyond the swarm of people was another familiar face. A tall, pale-haired woman in a long white dress. She gazed out at me, worry written all over her face as she moved, invisible, through the crowd.

Emma Catherine Bell , she sighed, words for only me to hear. Return to me .

But I didn't want to go back.

The water was up to my waist and the butterflies just out of reach. One more step and I'd be able to touch them …

‘Emily!'

A hard slap struck me, a massive wave taking my legs out from under me and dragging me down beneath the surface. I snapped back to myself and panic set in right away, my arms and legs kicking in every direction, but instead of driving me up, I seemed to sink deeper. The water coiled itself around my limbs, no longer liquid but solid, sentient. It wanted me for itself. Just as the light above began to narrow into a long dark tunnel, something else grabbed me around the waist, pulling me up and out with determination.

Seawater burned in my eyes as Wyn dragged me into shallower waters and I swiped at them with useless, salty hands. Overhead, the butterflies disappeared, replaced by sudden storm clouds, threatening the sunny day.

‘You're OK, you're OK,' Wyn repeated over and over when we were back on the sand, well away from the waves. ‘Can you hear me? Can you say something?'

He knelt down at my side as I struggled upright, spluttering out a mouthful of water in response. The crowd melted away, returning to their friends and families without anything too exciting to report, and as they dispersed, I searched the beach for the woman in white. Just like the butterflies, she was gone.

With one hand, Wyn peeled wet hair away from my face, and held on to my wrist with the other, as if he was afraid I might hurl myself back under if he looked away for so much as a second.

‘I'm sorry,' I croaked as the menacing clouds faded back into fluffy white cotton wool. ‘It must have been the tidal shelf, like you said.'

‘The waves went crazy,' he murmured, fingers still combing through my hair. ‘Didn't you see the storm coming in? I thought we were going to get another like yesterday and you don't want to be in the water when the lightning hits.'

A harsh worry line that had embedded itself deep between his eyebrows smoothed out as his hand curled around my cheek. I tried to concentrate but the way his thumb caressed my face left me ragged and breathless.

‘What would I do if something happened to you?' he asked himself so quietly I had to strain to hear him. ‘I can't imagine the world without you, Em, I don't want to. Even if this is the last thing I expected to find in Savannah.'

‘None of this is what I expected,' I whispered back. ‘But I'm so happy I found you.'

‘I think we found each other. I think we were meant to.'

He gazed at my lips and slid his thumb down the side of my face, tracing my cheekbone, my jaw, finally resting underneath my chin. Was this it? Was it finally going to happen? His eyes darkened with desire and locked on mine, until something else caught his attention.

‘Em,' he said softly, turning his face to the sky. ‘Look up.'

I was afraid to, terrified I would see another cloud of inexplicable butterflies, but when I made myself look, I gasped. It was so much better and so much worse. A bold and brilliant rainbow, unbroken from end to end, shimmered in the air, stretching from one end of the beach to the other. Everyone was back on their feet, mouths hanging open, awestruck.

‘I didn't even feel it rain,' Wyn said. ‘Did you?'

‘No,' I replied. ‘I didn't.'

We hadn't felt it rain because there wasn't any rain. This rainbow had nothing to do with sunlight refracted by water in the air and everything to do with the way I felt about Wyn. All eyes were on the rainbow, shining even brighter against the bright blue sky, but I was too busy staring at a miracle of my own.

‘It's beautiful,' he said, squeezing my hand so tightly it sent a rush of golden sparks up my arm and straight to my heart. ‘I wish it could last forever.'

‘Me too,' I replied, squeezing back just as hard. ‘Me too.'