New Moon
January 12, 2021
16 Days until the Crimson Eclipse
19 Days until the Cantini-Sullivan Wedding
Tragically, I had become a girl who could not stop thinking about a boy.
Through the night and unto the morning, thoughts of a Heathen had kept me awake, and how dare he take up any space in my mind. I hadn’t seen him in a week, and I wished to just see him to smack him and tell him about himself.
And I wished to just see him to smack him.
And I wished to just see him.
I sat at the desk, still in my nightgown, in front of a blank page, watching the dusk yawn its colors across the horizon. After the witching hour, my last new moon would appear. The Crimson Eclipse would arrive in a little over two weeks, and while there was a flood of emotions rising within me to drain onto the paper, I feared it would only send the Shadows to take Stone’s life, should my sister be right.
Even in rage, I wanted him safe.
Which made me want to take my pen and stab myself in the eye.
My chair creaked when I swung my legs to the side to face Alice.
She was sitting in her rocking chair, almost finished reading her novel.
“What’s the cure for heartbreak?” I asked.
She looked up at me as she turned the page.
“Poetry,” she replied. “And books. A lot of books.”
Sometimes I’ve wondered if the sad poets before me sat at their desks in the corner of a dreary room, wishing that their sorrow would one day inspire. And it was possible, I could imagine, the writers had known all along, willing to bear and bleed for the sake of future generations of the broken-hearted, their poetry the only remedy. Yes, I thought, but it was neither here nor there. No one would believe me if I said books and poetry have saved us time and time again.
“What are your plans today, Miss Adora?” Alice asked as I stood to change out of my nightgown. “With the wedding less than three weeks away, I can only imagine all the last-minute arrangements and decisions that need to be made.”
“You’re absolutely right.” I’d wasted weeks sulking, and there was one more thing I needed to do before the eclipse arrived to make sure Kane’s sacrifice carried on smoothly. “I’ll be heading into town.”
And after bundling up, I wished her restful sleep before slipping out the door.
After stepping into the brisk January cold, I began my two-mile walk to Blackwell Apothecary. I took Seaside Street to Town Square, passing Oh My Stars—a dream I’d once lived in that disappeared one morning. Maybe if no one would catch me in Kane’s murder, and maybe if the Shadows were gone, then I could open its doors again. So many maybes with a future up in the air. Maybe I should have appreciated what I had when I had it. Who knew that once your dream comes true, even this could be taken away, too. Nothing ever really belonged to us. Not love. Not talent. Not a man.
I turned the corner, colliding with a crowd of people on the street circling The Bean.
They were cursing and hurling threats into the air.
I tried to peer over heads and peek between shoulders.
A slice of Julian’s face appeared between two bodies.
I stepped back, pulse racing, throat tightening, tears already forming, unsure if I could handle the sight of Stone just yet. If he was with Julian, one of two things could very well happen. Either I was to barrel through the crowd, swipe the Heathen’s steaming hot coffee, and toss the contents into his face, or I could pretend I felt nothing. As much as I wanted to hurt him as much as I was hurt, it only proved I was hurting at all. The one who cared least always won.
The apothecary was only three blocks away.
And I took a step in the wiser direction.
Suffocate, my sweet emotions.
I took another step.
Pretend.
And then another.
Chin low.
Something inside me turned my head—my stupid heart, perhaps—and there he was.
My chest ached, catching glimpses of him between shoulders and arms and heads. He was hunched over, head down, elbows resting on his knees, and hiding behind his coffee clutched between two fingerless gloves. He was hiding behind a cigarette, wearing a gray wool coat and jeans, no longer an antique piece but finding a place in this modern world.
It was the first time the Heathens, except for Zephyr, had been spotted together in Town Square during the day since the curse broke. Tired flatlanders stared at them from the sidelines, leaving a ten-foot radius between them and the defenseless monsters.
Cruel insults spilled onto the streets, empty to-go coffee cups and rocks hitting them. Most flatlanders were no longer scared. The ones who were hid behind their husbands, parents, or neighbors, watching to make sure it was safe to come out. The Heathens did their best to ignore them, indulged in conversation, far too busy to mind the likes of scorned gazes and disapproving comments.
They were making a statement. They had to be.
They carried on as if they belonged here. As if they weren’t killers but ordinary people enjoying coffee on a dreadfully cold morning without remorse in a town where they’d stolen lives. Almost every resident of Weeping Hollow had lost someone they loved because of them. On any other day, I would have taken their bold disrespect to Augustine and demanded something to be done. But after knowing all the torment and isolation Stone had been through, I was torn. I wanted to kill him for being one of them and murder my neighbors for hurting him.
“There’s another one!”
“Where’s Goody’s son?”
“They’re nothing but boys.”
“We don’t want you in our town anymore.”
“Do to them as they’ve done to us.”
“Yeah, hang them from the Weeping Hollow sign.”
Stone lifted his head, his eyes instantly finding mine.
He once was a man who hardly smiled, hardly frowned, hardly showed any expression at all, but seeing me standing here physically affected him. It pulled him to his feet, the chair screeching back, his cigarette-holding hand dropping to his side, almost slipping from his fingertips.
What we shared was written all over his face.
I know, I wanted to tell him. I feel it too.
This time, a cup crashed into his chest, coffee splashing into his face, but Stone never broke his gaze. Julian looked up at him, then followed what had caught his eye, seeing me standing in the middle of the street.
Beck and Phoenix’s attention followed as well.
Do something, my heart begged, but what a selfish thing to beg for. I was engaged. He was a Heathen. I was a Sacred Sea witch. Everything was different. If he walked in my direction, shoved flatlanders aside, swooped me up into his arms, and kissed the heck out of me, I’d only slap him and push him away. It could never revert back to the way it used to be.
Julian leaned back in his chair, eyes sliding between us, waiting to see what Stone would do, too. Then Phoenix slapped Stone’s leg with the back of his hand to get his attention.
“You good?” Phoenix could have asked Stone. I couldn’t hear him, but I’d seen Phoenix’s lips move, and I imagined this was what he’d say. Stone tore his gaze away and scanned the crowd before retaking his seat. He brought the coffee to his lips, watching me again, people moving between our locked gazes.
Even after I walked away, I felt his eyes penetrating my back and fisting my spine.
I felt him all the way to Blackwell Apothecary.
When I pushed open the door, the little bell hanging above rang, and the rubber sweep below caught on to the rug. I used the toe of my shoe to flip the corner of the rug back into place as licorice and nutmeg musk drifted around my face.
I closed the door gently, making sure not to rattle the shelves, relieved to find Cyrus’s stalker and not Agatha behind the counter singing. As soon as Jolie saw me, she gasped, swiping headphones from her ears. “Adora.”
Feelings stored in my eyes like leftovers, and I didn’t want her to see them. I turned and began walking down the back of the store, following the wall of walnut shelving stacked from floor to ceiling, blinking the feelings away. Amber jars lined the shelves, their labels faded, some with ink smeared from the printer.
“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked behind me.
I rounded the wheeled ladder attached to the shelves. “Yes, I’m looking for something in particular,” I said, taking a bottle from the shelf and reading the label. “Witherbane. Ever heard of it?”
“Uh, yes.” She looked at me quizzically. “My mother calls it Nethermind because it’s almost lethal-like to humans.”
“Almost lethal-like?” I laughed, placing the jar back on the shelf.
Silence swelled in the room.
I turned to make sure she was still there.
Behind the counter, she was biting her lip and leaning into her hip, staring at me.
A dark cloud seemed to hover over her features when she said, “Nethermind feels like you’re already dead, but your soul forgot to leave. Almost lethal. Like unrequited love.”
Jolie was a beautiful girl. Youthful skin, a long neck, thick brows, smoky upturned eyes, and heart-shaped lips any girl would kill for. Today, her black hair was bundled on top of her head, and a thick black choker wrapped around her neck.
“Sounds dramatic,” I whispered, caught in her gloom.
“It happens in stages. First, your tongue swells, then your words start to stutter and slur before your throat closes up. Then your arms and legs feel like they’re being pulled down into the underworld. Next thing you know, you’re paralyzed. All you see is him, and you have no control over anything.”
Were we still talking about witherbane? “Him?”
Her eyes grew wide. She shook her head. “You know what I mean.”
I squinted, walking toward her. “How do you know what witherbane feels like?”
“I was six when I ingested it in my mother’s night garden. I’ve never seen her so scared.” She let off her hip and settled back into place. “What’s it for? Did you get a rash?”
“A rash?”
“Sorry.” Her face scrunched up. “Since it can help with most skin conditions and breakouts, I assumed this was why you needed it.”
“Yes!” What an excellent excuse and boldface lie. “Alice mentioned it. I’m getting these splotchy bumps on my hip, and I wanted to get them cleared up before the wedding.”
“The wedding. Right.” Then Jolie slid a set of keys off the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
She pushed through the swinging door into the back room.
I stood on my tiptoes, looking through the small window in the door. A glass case the size of a sideways fridge stretched across a wall. It looked like a fish tank, but a night forest was growing under black light instead of water.
Jolie unlocked the tank and removed a vial before locking it up again.
When she started to come back my way, I landed on my feet and fixed my eyes in front of me. “Got time?” she asked, pinching a tiny apothecary jar-like vial between her fingers. “I’ll need a few minutes to mix it for topical use. I only have it pure in liquid form.”
“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” I rushed to say, reaching for the vial.
Jolie clutched the vial and pulled her arm back. “This stuff can be dangerous.”
I dropped my head to the side. “I’ll be careful.”
“Remember, do not ingest this. Even by accident. My mother would kill me.”
“Jolie,” I said sweetly, maybe for the first time ever. “I know what I’m doing.”
She hesitated, then handed it over. “If for any reason you ingest it, try to relax and just let it pass without panicking. If you panic, it will only make it worse. Kind of like getting trapped in a current.”
“Okay,” I said, pushing bills across the counter, ready to get out of there.
Jolie snapped her finger. “Pistachio nuts,” she blurted.
I didn’t get to take a single step. “Excuse me?”
“Pistachio nuts,” she repeated, dropping and disappearing behind the counter. “I have a pouch. Eat a few a day; it’s heavy on iron and will counteract the side effects, worst case scenario.” She popped up again. “You can never be too careful.”
She slid a velvet drawstring pouch to me, and her hand accidently knocked into her purse that was lying on the counter. An amber vial rolled out of a pocket and rested on the counter between us. Her eyes opened wide, and she rushed to grab it, but I snatched it out from under her hand.
“It’s not what you think it is,” she immediately said.
I read the label. “Desiderium.” I turned the amber bottle over, seeing crimson liquid inside. “What is this?”
“It’s nothing,” she said, and I lowered my eyes with a glare. She sighed. “It’s an experiment, really. Kind of like love venom, a love potion, but I doubt it even works.”
“Love venom. Hmm.” I narrowed my eyes. “Were you planning to use this on my fiancé?”
Jolie’s jaw dropped, and a surprised laugh tumbled out. “No, of course not.”
“How does it work?” I opened the cork and sniffed it.
It had no scent, so I dabbed a drop onto my fingertip.
Jolie studied me, her black fingernails nervously drumming on the counter, ready to pounce and swipe it back from me. “They’d have to drink the whole bottle. And then you’d have to ... kiss them for them to fall in love with you. But like I said, I’m sure it doesn’t work.”
I licked my finger and let the thick drop dissolve on my tongue.
“It tastes a lot like love,” I said.
“And what do you suppose love tastes like?”
“Arsenic.”
Jolie tilted her head with a smirk. “Arsenic has no taste or smell.”
“Precisely.” I pushed the cork back on and trapped the vial in my fist. “I’m taking this with me unless you plan to use it on someone special?”
Disappointment settled on her teenage face. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Good, because if your brother discovered his fifteen-year-old sister was walking around with love potion in her purse, I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy, considering how everyone in Weeping Hollow knows how you feel about a certain Sacred Sea boy. If only you had given it to him before the wedding. Could you imagine? Oh, the wicked scandal of Weeping Hollow.” I collected my things into my bag and offered a smile. “Have a good day, Jolie.”