Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)(37)
After hearing me rhapsodize about Thistle Grove for years—and coming back with me to visit for holidays more than a few times—she’d decided to follow me here after school. Get barred in Illinois and hang out her own shingle close to the one person who mattered to her more than the parade of seemingly interchangeable lovers who never lasted more than a few months.
She’d come here for me, and I’d never even told her what this town really was. What I was.
“And how successful would you say I’ve been at that?” I asked, in the same carefully lighthearted tone. “The whole platonic life partner thing, I mean.”
She paused the show again at that, catching the underlying current of gravity in my voice. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” she said, brow furrowing. “You know you’re my forever Kenzi.”
“Okay, well, I’d say it’s fairly debatable which one of us is which. I just mean . . .” I trailed off, trying to understand what I even wanted to ask her. “Do you feel like I’m available enough to you? Open enough?”
She rubbed her lips together, still clearly a little thrown. “Well, if we’re really going to talk about this . . . I do find it just the slightest bit achy that I never get to spend time with your family. Like, they throw a literal shit ton of parties and galas and whatever else fancy, that’s their main thing. Yet I’ve been over at Tintagel for dinner, what, maybe twice since I moved here?”
“But that’s because they’re obnoxious!” I argued, with such zest that Jake stirred against my leg, disgruntled. “Both my family and all those overblown affairs themselves, for the most part. I only go to those things because I have to.”
This was only partly true. The real reason Jessa didn’t get to enjoy Tintagel festivities with me was because they tended to be witch-community-centric events, featuring the kind of magical displays that would trigger the oblivion glamour. Even our more “casual” family dinners often entailed spellwork, just because it was so natural to all of us to rely on magic, to work it almost thoughtlessly. I could ask my family members to refrain on Jessa’s behalf, but I couldn’t be positive that everyone would remember the restriction, or bother to take that extra care. My family didn’t exactly excel at being that kind of considerate, especially when it came to normies.
Even back when she’d come to Thistle Grove with me for holidays, I’d always insisted we share an Airbnb, ostensibly because I didn’t like being that close to my family for protracted periods of time—in truth, because I didn’t trust them to behave around her.
“I know, I get that. Difficult mom over here, too, remember?” She shrugged a shoulder, smiling a little ruefully. “But you do really love your brothers, even if they’re kind of shitheads. And it would be nice for me to get a chance to know them better, too.”
“I didn’t know you felt left out that way,” I said, the space behind my sternum constricting. “I’m sorry, Jess.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” she said, reaching over to squeeze my socked foot and give it a little shake. The unruly mop of curls perched on her head in the loosest approximation of a bun quivered with the motion. “I would’ve mentioned it if it was. Like I said, only the slightest bit achy. Same deal for how you won’t come over for Seder even though I all but send you an engraved invitation every year. And it hits a little weird that you always have plans, are somehow always busy those specific times.”
I hung my head, letting my hair curtain my face. That one, I had known bothered her. Seder was meant to be a family gathering, and I knew Jessa considered me family, the sister neither of us had ever had. But for me, it was the flip side of the same coin. Even though, technically, I knew Jewish people could be Wiccans, too, it felt dishonest and disrespectful to not inform someone hosting a sacred religious meal that they were breaking bread with a real-life witch.
I didn’t feel like I had the right or permission to be there, because I had no way to ask for it.
Still, maybe that had just been selfishness. A cowardly projection of my own guilt for all I’d been holding back from my best friend, who’d happily arranged her entire life so she could be closer to me. It wasn’t like the Seder food was going to burst into flames if a Blackmoore witch dared eat it or something.
At least, to the best of my knowledge it wouldn’t.
“I’ll come next year,” I said, girding my resolve. “Okay, Jess? And that’s a promise.”
“You sure?” She smiled at that, more fully this time, a sweet brightening that warmed me, too, made that sharp sternum pressure abate a little. “Because I’m gonna hold you to that one, Kenz.”
“Dude. I’m Bo. I am obviously Bo.”
She snorted, picking up the remote and shaking her head. “In literally no world are you Bo, sweetheart. But whatever gets you through the day.”
13
Why Won’t You Just Melt
And you’re sure you being here won’t screw with this?” Gareth asked, for approximately the tenth time.
“Of course I’m not sure, Gareth,” I snapped, already running plenty short of patience. “But seeing as the damn thing won’t tolerate being out of my sight, does it seem like we have a choice?”