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"Love is too big for magic to make or break," Vanna told me when another one of my ‘moving on’ spells failed. It had been a month since Joe broke up with me, and I tried everything to forget. I cried, journaled, immersed myself in my work, slaughtered a dozen Katarus, and ate a gallon of ice cream.
Nothing worked.
At times it got so bad that I physically hurt. It felt as if someone placed a giant rock on my chest. Sometimes, I got angry. I blamed the universe for letting me meet Joe and then taking him away. I blamed my magic for ruining my relationship, and myself for being a bad fiancée. I blamed Grandpa and Tara and my spirit guides. I even blamed the neighbors, for no apparent reason.
Other times, my relationship with Joe seemed like a dream. I wondered if I had been imagining it. Did Joe exist? Was I really engaged? Or was it all an illusion? I’d stare at the finger where my ring used to be and brood.
After the breakup, I had to live through many pep talks and survive the pity in my friends’ eyes. Most days were long and dreadful, but there were a few kind ones—like the day I picked Tara up at the airport.
Standing among the crowd, I saw her walking through the arrival gate, cradling my little niece in her arms while Jackson pushed the luggage cart along the ceramic floor.
A wide grin spread on my face. I pranced towards them, apologizing as I bumped into strangers. "What are you, blind?" one of them yelled, but I didn’t care.
The first time I held my niece, she was a few weeks old. I put my finger inside her palm, and she closed her fist around it. My heart overflowed with love. In her face, I saw my sister—the sweetest, most forgiving person, and I saw Jackson with his lighthearted, down-to-earth self, and I knew right away that baby was family.
***
I listened to the rain drumming on the windshield and the wipers sweeping it off. swish-swish, swish-swish. It was a long ride back home. Jackson and the baby fell asleep in the backseat of my car and Tara in the front one.
Letting out a long yawn, she opened her eyes and stretched her arms. "How I needed this nap. I haven’t slept in a month."
"From now on, you and Jackson can relax," I said. "Auntie Echo will take care of the baby."
"You’re gonna change her diapers ten times a day and wake up in the middle of the night for feedings?" Although she was half asleep, I could hear the sarcasm in her tone.
"Or. We can hire a sitter?"
She laughed and grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. The pine-scented air freshener must have triggered her allergies. "To tell you the truth, the sitter is not a problem," she said. "It’s the pediatrician I’m worried about."
I knew where she was going with that. "You want to talk about Joe?"
"Did you talk to him after the breakup?" she asked with great intrigue like she had been holding herself back for a while.
"There’s no point in talking, Tara. You can still see him if you want, as a pediatrician and a friend. Just don’t mention my name."
Tara scrunched up her face to keep herself from talking. I understood her disappointment. She had always rooted for me and Joe. In fact, she was the one who introduced us.
"He’s moving out of town." Tara finally exploded. "Last week, Jackson’s mom had lunch with Joe’s mom, who said that Joe’s being transferred to West Dawns."
"Oh." My mouth opened, but I kept my eyes on the road.
"Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him, Echo?" she asked, clearly concerned about me, about us.
"No, I’m fine." I managed a grin. "Everything is fine."
***
"Everything is not fine, Echo," Kirby’s voice rose above the rushing rain. The two of us stood on a dirt hill, with the car parked a few feet away from us.
My teeth chattered. I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking warmth, though I had already lost the feelings of my nose and fingers.
Kirby took off his mustard-yellow raincoat and put it on my shoulders. I slipped my arms into it and covered my wet hair with the hood.
"Just tell me," he said. "Why are we standing in this muddy shower instead of fighting these Katarus?" He had a point. At the foot of the dirt hill, a portal whirled. Two Katarus stood guard, doing nothing at all, and we had been watching them for a while.
"Can’t you see something is odd?" I asked. "Why would Jivar open a portal here? There is no one to hunt, yet these Katarus are waiting for something."
"Waiting for what?"
I shrugged. "Beats me."
We waited in silence as the rain poured down on us, our shoes and clothes collecting dirt. It didn’t take long for a herd of Katarus to appear from a distance, marching towards the portal while carrying large wooden boxes.
"How did I miss that?" Kirby smacked his forehead. "They’re taking supplies."
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Check the maps, Echo. What’s the nearest city to this place?"
"Let me see." I pulled out my phone to search. "There’s Witchfield, a mile away. Why do you ask?"
"Cause we just discovered the enemy’s base," Kirby explained that Jivar had allies who provided him with food, clothes, books, and anything he needed from Earth. He and Vanna had known about that for a while, but they never discovered the identity of those witches.
"If the witches who work for Jivar come from Witchfield, they belong to the Morton bloodline," he added. "The Mortons are famous among the witches’ community. Although they have no nobles, they have political and business connections the Magic Board finds useful."
"The Mortons?" I furrowed my eyebrows. "Heidi’s last name is Morton. This is Heidi’s family."
"She works for Jivar?"
"I guess so." I glanced down the hill. "Let’s go, Kirby. There are about twenty Katarus there. This is not a fight we can win. Plus, they’re only taking boxes. No one is in danger."
"Or so you think," a voice broke in. We turned around to see Doyle, the blue-eyed swordsman, standing by my car, drenched in the rain. "I spared your life once before," he said. "Tell me why I should do it again."
"We are not here to fight," I said, opening my palms up in a calming gesture.
"I find that hard to believe." He dashed at me with a punch—an upward punch, right to the nose. My head was snapped back, and I tripped. If it weren’t for the sticky mud, I would’ve fallen off the hill.
The world faded into a blur. I heard blows and grunts and saw two human figures fighting. Kirby was the tall one, trudging through the churring mud. Whereas Doyle, the one with the broad shoulders, jumped, ran, and kicked freely.
With a long, pain-filled groan, Kirby fell next to me and clasped onto his left hand. He had sprained his wrist trying to snatch Doyle’s sword, which ended up on the ground as well.
"Stop it." I flung myself onto Doyle, trying to grapple him, but I ended up with my nose slapped onto the middle of his back. I’m a witch, not a combat fighter.
He shrugged me off, but I jumped onto him again. I clung to his arm and dug my teeth into his skin.
He froze for a second. "Did you just bite me?" The shock showed all over his face. Even he thought I was weird. This is utterly humiliating.
Doyle squirmed his arm out of my grasp, grabbed me from the hand, and struck me on the head. A sudden pain hit me. It felt like my nerves were detached and reattached again. There was a strong flash of light, then I heard voices.
"Echo. Echo," said Ebba. I was too weak to answer.
"How did this happen?" Vanna asked.
"It just did," Kirby replied. "She didn’t cast any spells."
"Even the most distinguished witches have failed to do this," Vanna said.
"Our girl is growing strong," Kirby replied.
I realized I was back at the store when the odor of pet food wafted to my nose. Slowly, my vision returned, and I saw Ebba’s blurry face staring at mine before helping me to sit up. Vanna and Kirby sat on the stairs. Kirby was doused with mud and had his sprained wrist wrapped in a towel.
"What happened Kirby? A moment ago, we—"
"Congratulations, Echo," he cheered. "You teleported."
I pressed my fingers to my aching nose. "I can teleport?"
"How else did the three of us end up here?" he asked.
"The three of us?"
Teleportation was a rare ability only a few nobles mastered. To teleport, a witch had to summon a huge amount of energy, much more than most people endured. I once read about a witch who lost her life trying to cast such a spell, so I never attempted it, not until Doyle gave me a concussion.
To push me away from danger, my survival instincts activated the spell, but a glitch allowed the excessive energy to draw in the two people who were physically close to me. On the floor, Doyle lay unconscious. Without intending to, I had dragged him back with us.
We carried him to the apartment and tied him up to the dining chair. To keep an eye out, Ebba stood guard, holding a frying pan for defense. Kirby and Vanna hurried to the books, searching for a way to fight someone immune to magic. If there was one thing we knew about Doyle, it was that my spells didn’t work on him.
I raced to the kitchen to make some healing potion for Kirby and me, but as soon as I gathered the ingredients, Ebba screamed. There were thuds, bangs, and bumps, and Oscar started to bark.
I ran outside where Doyle had Ebba’s neck trapped between his arms. Oscar stood nearby, ears and tail raised.
"Down on your knees," Doyle commanded.
Vanna and Kirby obeyed, but as I squatted down, Doyle shot me a glare. "Not you. You, open a portal for me and the girl to leave, and I won’t hurt your friends."
"You can’t just take her away," I said.
He tightened his grasp until Ebba wailed and released the pan from her hand.
"Okay, Okay." I waved in surrender. "I’ll open the portal, but please, don’t hurt her."
Doyle glanced at Oscar, who was ready to tackle him. "And take this creature away from me."
"Okay." I let Oscar sniff my hand and petted him until he calmed down. "Go inside." The dog trotted to Kirby’s room.
"Now, the portal," Doyle said.
I pointed at the bookcase. "I need my spellbook for that."
"All right." No signs of suspicion appeared on Doyle’s face. He had nothing to fear anyway.
I browsed through the bookcase, my eyes flitting from one book to another. I thought of ways to fight Doyle. My magic doesn’t work on him, but it can work on Ebba. I can transform her into something. A dragon. No, too big for the apartment. I need something small that can fly. A bird maybe, or a bat. I tried to organize my thoughts, but all I could think of was Nina Simone’s song. "Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know?" Grandpa loves this song. God, I’m losing my mind.
"Dragonfly." I finally burst, pointing at Ebba and transforming her into a buzzing dragonfly with outstretched wings. Doyle flinched when she flew towards his face, and before he could catch her, she swerved and went out of the window.
"Kirby," I said.
"On it." He already knew what I was thinking. Jumping up, he ran out of the apartment to follow Ebba.
From the floor, Vanna grabbed the pan and whipped it at Doyle’s face. He almost caught her wrist, but she was fast.
She struck him on the head hard enough to make him dizzy. But before she attempted another strike, he pulled the pan from her hand and hit her with it.
"Per vires lucis, hoc objectum mihi pareat," I chanted, taking control over the books, which levitated from the shelves and flung onto Doyle. Not only did he walk out unharmed, but he also grew angrier.
I backpedaled to the kitchen. He followed.
I tried to get to the knife on the counter. He got to it first.
And that was when I had an idea. Behind me sat the cupboard where I had stored the spoiled potion Kirby and I once made. I slammed the cupboard door open, grabbed the bottle, and smashed it on his head. The stink spread in the kitchen, making me want to vomit.
My utmost hope was for the glass bottles to hurt Doyle, but when he uttered a long, bitter groan, I realized the leftover potion was doing something to him. Clutching his throat, Doyle wheezed. His face grew blue then purple as he lost his breath.
"Oh my God." I panicked. "I didn’t mean to hurt you." I covered my eyes.
Normally, potions lost their power within one hour of making them—a problem that witches called ‘potency decay.’ That was the first time I encountered a potion that broke the potency decay rule, and I didn’t even know how we made it that way.
***
"We’re back," Kirby said, cruising into the apartment carrying a butterfly net. Ebba followed him. She had one hand pressed to her mouth and another to her belly.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Kirby caught me with a net." She grimaced. "I ate a bug."
"Eww." I wrinkled my nose.
"There’s mouthwash in the bathroom," Kirby told her before turning to me. "What happened to Doyle?"
"I threw a potion at him, and he passed out. Vanna and I locked him up in your room."
"At least you didn’t try to bite him again." He smirked.
"I was trying to save us back then," I yelled.
"And how did that work out for you?"
"You’re a jerk." I crossed my arms to feign irritation.
"Will you two stop bickering and give me a hand?" Vanna came out of the kitchen carrying a bucket and a mop. The two of us hastened to help her clean.
