Page 95 of My Faire Lady

“I don’t know.”

I don’t care.

The moon creeps closer to its peak, and the magic within me wanes, drains, falters as I trace rune after rune. I grit my teeth against the pressure building in the back of my head. It took seven witches to consecrate this land, to draw these runes that I’m unraveling.

But my very being is comprised of their magic, and every witch that came before and after them.

I am the last Murrell witch.

The strongest.

Panting, I brace myself against the edge of the fountain and drag my finger over the final rune. My legs go out from under me, and I collapse against the marble, my knees slamming into the earth.

An arm slings around me. Boden, I think. But I press my eyes shut and lean my forehead against the cool stone as my heart grows sluggish. As if there’s a deep gash in my middle, the runes draw magic from my body. And with every beat of my heart, the blood isn’t circulated to my organs. It’s offered to the magic.

I grimace against the pain, grinding my molars together as flames lick the underside of my skin. My vision stumbles, and death beckons me. But I swallow and dig my fingernails into the stone as the magic pulls from my marrow, unspools from my ribcage.

My body grows heavy, and somewhere in the distance, my name is shouted. Cried. But my lips won’t open or form words.

Lottie’s face fills my mind, her wide smile and sparkling eyes the only thing keeping me from tumbling off the edge. It would be so easy—to let myself slip into unconsciousness.

Fingertips brush over my jawline, and Lottie tilts my head until our eyes meet. Her mouth moves, but I can’t hear over the ringing in my ears. She’s so solid, so warm, that if I were to lean forward and⁠—

She disappears.

A silver light spears into the sky, and the ground beneath my knees trembles, as if it’ll cleave in two. The air spreads thin, and thunder booms in the cloudless sky. Then, like a rubber band stretched too tight, something deep within my very being snaps, splitting in two.

My body pitches sideways, and even before my head hits the ground, I’m certain of one thing.

The magic is free.

34

“Iguess this is where we say goodbye.”

Tears brim my eyes as I yank Kelsey into a hug. We’re like two stones in a river as people stream around us, bustling to their gates with carry-on bags rattling over hairline cracks in the white tiles.

Kelsey sniffs, and I hug her tighter, wiping my tears against her hair. When I land in Edinburgh and she lands in Los Angeles, it’ll be the farthest away we’ve ever been from each other.

“You have everything?” she says, pulling away. She wipes the back of her hand beneath her eyes. “Passport, wallet, visa?”

I let out a hoarse laugh. Between the two massive suitcases I watched disappear down the conveyor belt at check-in, I have everything I could need for my tiny flat in Edinburgh. “I have everything, Kels. They wouldn’t let me through security if I didn’t have my passport.”

“Right.”

She adjusts her backpack over her shoulders, and we shift on our feet, neither of us ready to say goodbye and part ways toward our respective gates.

“Thank you,” I say, blinking against another wave of tears. “I know you probably would have rather stayed in Los Angeles and spent the summer with your friends, but it meant a lot that you spent your last summer of freedom with me.”

She smiles, but it’s the kind that is one step away from cracking. “It was fun, working at the faire, being your model for the contest, even though…you know.” She shrugs, brushing off the sore topic. “I wouldn’t have spent it any other way.”

My chest constricts. The contest. I had sat on the results for an entire week, reading and rereading the congratulatory email they sent after announcing I was the winner. But there was a gnawing ache in my chest—a gut feeling that told me not to take it. That maybe I didn’t deserve it, or that I’d be better off without it. So, the agreement Kelsey and I came to was that I’d try my hand at living in Edinburgh for a year. If I like it, I’ll apply for the program next year like everyone else. If I hate it, I’ll come home.

And in four days’ time, I’ll start a position as an assistant costume designer for the university’s theater program.

My stomach pitches at the thought, but not because it’s scary and unknown. Because it’s exciting. A fresh start. Exactly what I’ve always wanted to do. I won’t be a student earning a degree, but I’ll still get to learn from an expert. I’ll be creating.

Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m leaving something behind here. Something unfinished.