Shadow Kissed

Chapter 4

Four

Gray

Normally I liked to take the long way home after dropping off Waldrich’s van, strolling along the Bay’s narrow beach as neighboring Seattle blinked awake. The scenic route was a three-mile walk from Waldrich’s dock at the Hudson Marina to the house Sophie and I shared in South Bay, and a good way to unwind after a long shift.

But this morning, as sunrise turned the sky the same milky shade as Bean’s eyes, I took the shortest route possible, zipping home to lock myself inside.

A hot shower washed off the blood and grime, but as I leaned against the countertop in our cheery red-and-yellow kitchen an hour later, Sophie’s annoying fox clock ticking above the stove, guilt and confusion lingered.

What the hell happened out there?

I’d gone over it a hundred times, played it back from every angle… It didn’t make sense. Necromancy wasn’t something that just happened—it took years of dedicated study and a fondness for the darker arts a thousand miles south of my personal comfort zone.

And if I had done it…

No. I couldn’t go down that road. That road meant living in fear. It meant running, starting over in a strange city, abandoning the people I cared about.

Again.

For the fourth time since I got home, I checked all the doors and windows in the house. I was pretty sure no one but Bean had seen me use magic tonight, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

On my way back to the kitchen, I heard Sophie’s keys in the front door.

“About time,” I called out as she stepped inside and kicked off her silver platform heels. She was late getting home from her overnight shift at Illuminae, the fae club where she tended bar. “Rowdy night with the faeries?”

My familiar teasing brought me back to reality, grounding me. Suddenly, the alley felt like a bad dream.

“Don’t even ask.” Joining me in the kitchen, Sophie dropped her bag on the table and flopped into a chair, her sequined micromini riding up her thighs. Her normally straight red hair was woven into intricate braids, each one pulsing with light that changed colors as I watched. Whorls of silver, blue, and teal danced across her bare shoulders like a living tattoo of the sea.

The fae loved their parlor tricks.

Sophie caught me staring and looked down at the oceanic designs undulating across her freckled skin. “It’ll wear off soon.”

“As if you don’t love to sparkle.”

She shrugged, a cute smile lighting up her face. “Sparkle is my color.”

I returned her smile. “All you need is a unicorn, and you’re all set.”

“If Kallayna thought it would bring in more business, she’d make it happen.” Sophie slid her fingers into her hair, trying but failing to unravel the braids. “How was your night?”

I took the seat across from her and blew out a breath. Guilt and fear sat heavy on my shoulders, but I didn’t want to get into it with her—not until I was certain what it was.

From a small wicker basket we kept on the table, I picked out one of the dozens of beach rocks Sophie had painted, a black palm-sized stone decorated with a red-and-purple mandala. On the other side, she’d written just breathe in glossy white script.

Rubbing my thumb over the smooth paint, I was so focused on just breathing that I’d forgotten my face looked like I’d gone six rounds with a sledgehammer.

Sophie gasped when she saw it. “What happened to you?”

I set the stone back in the basket and pulled my hair forward, hiding the messed-up part of my face. “Some guy jacked me on the last delivery.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” I waved away her concern. “Chased him off.”

Sophie reached across the table and grabbed my hand. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, scrutinizing me from beneath several layers of shimmery blue eyeshadow. “Gray Desario, you are completely full of shit.”

“Nah.” I slipped from her grasp and headed to the sink to put the kettle on. “Only half full of s**t. The other half is pure liquid sunshine.”

Sophie grunted. “Doesn’t feel like sunshine to me. It feels like magic.”

Sophie could sense energies by touching people or objects—emotions, motivations, intentions, history, things like that. She’d always said it was like her intuition dusting for psychic fingerprints. The more intense or traumatic the situation, the stronger the vibe. It meant that all of our furniture came from Ikea—thrift store finds had too much history.

It also meant she was a human lie detector.

Still eyeing me warily, she pulled a deck of Tarot cards from her purse and began to shuffle. “Start talking.”

I took our mugs out of the dish drainer and righted them on the counter, then rummaged through our well-stocked basket of teas. “Dreaming of Chamomile, Lavender Honey Sweetness, Chocolate Bliss, or Merry Mint?”

“How about a big mug of Stop Dodging the Damn Question?”

“We’re fresh out of that. You’re getting mint.”

She sighed, cutting and reassembling her cards.

I let her stew. I still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced it’d actually happened. Hanging out with Sophie in our sunshiny kitchen, pouring hot water into the chipped blue mug she’d painted for my birthday last year, the whole magic scene started to feel like a hallucination. A trick of the mind brought on by the stress of being jumped, the fight, the proximity to vampires—yes, that had to be it. Their presence had always made me lightheaded—something about my blood reacting to the threat.

You did this to me, witch.

You.

You did this.

To me.

You.

“Gray? You okay?”

“Huh?”

“What’s going on?” Sophie asked, her voice heavy with fresh worry. “Really?”

“I… Nothing.”

The silence that fell between us was so complete, I could practically hear the tea steeping. The tension made my insides itch.

“Sophie, seriously. I’m cool.” I grabbed our mugs and sat down across from her. “I’m just—”

“Full of s**t, like I said.” She rolled her eyes, but at least she was smiling again. “Where’s Ronan?”

The sound of his name sent a shiver down my spine. The good kind.

“Haven’t seen him in a few days.”

“God, I hate when he does that,” Sophie groaned. “Are you planning to tell him about this?”

“No. And neither are you.” The last thing I needed was an overprotective demon trailing me on my deliveries. It was bad enough he made me spar with him once a week, just to keep my reflexes and fighting skills sharp. If he saw me like this, I’d never hear the end of it.

“He’ll find out,” she said. “He always does.”

“Not from you.”

She blew across the top of her mug and arched a brow, steam curling up around her face. “Speaking of your s*x life—”

“Nice transition, and no, we aren’t speaking of it.”

“Exactly my point.” Sophie's eyes lingered on a cut above my eyebrow. “You do realize that you’ve been in more fights in the last month than you’ve gotten laid in, like, years?”

“Really? I’d totally forgotten about my pathetically lonely nights and desperately unfulfilled longings! Thank God my best friend is keeping track for me!” I nodded at the Tarot cards stacked between us, eager to get back on neutral ground. “Draw your card before I fall asleep. I'm beat.”

“Classic Gray Desario redirect.” Sophie smirked and pulled a card for herself, setting it face up between us.

Her smile vanished.

I glanced down at the card—Seven of Pentacles. The image showed an apprentice witch using a rusty nail to draw blood from a tree. Seven silver pentacles bloomed on otherwise barren branches.

I knew right away what it meant, and despite the fact that the tree looked eerily similar to the ones I’d seen in my magic place, this card was not about me.

“Sophie,” I whispered, “you’re practicing magic again.” It wasn’t a question—just the first thing that popped into my mind. As soon as the words were out, I knew they were spot on.

Using magic was dangerous. It left a signature, and if enough witches left enough signatures, it could create a hotspot—one of the primary ways hunters tracked us. How they’d been tracking us—for millennia. The last time they’d rallied a few decades back, they wiped out thousands of witches and drove the remaining covens and solitary practitioners underground.

These days, most witches were firmly in the broom closet, if they admitted their magical heritage at all. Sure, other witches and supernaturals could identify us, but humans? Hunters? No way. Not without the magic.

“I guess I have a confession,” Sophie said.

“About the magic, or the fact that you’ve been keeping it secret?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she met my gaze across the table, unwavering. “Both.”

I felt it then—a crack in the once solid foundation of our friendship, just wide enough for a secret to slip inside.

Seven years ago, in this city of the lost and the damned, Sophie and I had found each other, young and scared, both looking for a safe place to anchor, a safe place to stash our secrets. It was our identity as witches—as magical outcasts—that brought us together, made us instant friends and perfect roommates. Now, the thing that had so powerfully bound us was the very thing I wanted to shove into a box and lock away.

I’d always thought that's what she wanted, too.

“Hear me out,” she said.

I sipped my tea, reining in my anger. “I’m listening.”

“No, you’re judging. That’s not—”

“I’m listening, Sophie.” Trying to, anyway, which was all I could promise.

She nodded and picked up her mug, eyeing me over the rim. Then, in a soft voice laced with guilt, “I’ve been meeting with Bay Coven.”

“With… I don’t… Wow.” Damn it. I knew she was friends with some of the Bay Coven witches—a few of them regularly hung out at Illuminae, and I’d even gone with Sophie once to a potluck dinner at the leader Norah’s house—but I had no idea she was actually involved with the local underground.

Practicing magic.

And keeping it from me.

“Why?” I struggled to keep the sting of betrayal from my voice.

“They need me. The witches are strong, but Norah keeps everyone on a leash. If there were more of us, we could—”

“Us?” My head was spinning. I didn’t even know Sophie wanted to do magic again, let alone with other people. “Where is this coming from?”

Sophie shrugged, her rainbow braids lighting up as they brushed her shoulders. “I want to know who I am, Gray. What I can do.”

“What you can do is get yourself killed.”

“We’re witches,” she said plainly. “Hiding our magic doesn't change that.”

“No, it just makes it a hell of a lot harder for the hunters to find us.”

“You’re doing that thing,” she said, pointing at my chest. “Putting on your tough b***h act, hoping you can fake it till you make it.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“Stop shutting me out.”

“I'm not the one keeping secrets.”

“Bullshit.” Sophie grabbed my hand again, her thumb skating gently across my scraped palm. “This wasn’t some random fight. There’s something inside you, Gray. I can feel it. What happened?”

Heat flickered in my gut, embers from a fire not quite finished burning. I closed my eyes and sucked in a cool breath, willing the feeling to settle. To go away.

“Whatever it is,” she said, “you can trust me. We’ll deal with it together.”

I opened my eyes and met her kind gaze, but I still couldn’t bring myself to confess.

Necromancy? No one f****d with that s**t. And no matter how desperately Sophie wanted me to open up, I wouldn’t lay that on her. She was one of the good ones. If she was smart, she’d turn me in to the Fae Council—not because she was disloyal, but because those were the rules we lived by. The ones that kept our supernatural communities secret and safe.

Putting her in that position, well… Maybe one day it would come down to friendship or morals.

And maybe I didn’t want to see which one she’d choose.

I pulled away, wrapping my hands around my mug to keep from fidgeting. “How long have you been using magic?”

She glared at me a moment longer, then relented. “A few weeks. A month? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wanted to feel it out first.”

“With the coven?”

“Yeah.” Sophie’s smile brightened. “Haley—you remember her from the potluck, right? She's teaching me blood magic and helping me reconnect with my earth energy. It’s amazing, Gray. It’s—”

“Dangerous and stupid. The more witches using magic together, the greater the risk.”

She frowned. “Togetherness is the whole point. If and when the time comes, we shouldn’t have to fight alone.”

“We shouldn’t have to fight at all. That's the whole point. The point of not using magic.”

“Is that so?” Shaking her head, she glared at my chest as if she could see the darkness swirling there. “It's destroying you. The more you hold back, the more you repress and deny your true nature, the worse—”

“Sophie? Stop. Seriously. I said I'm fine.”

True nature? No way. This morning was a freak accident, that's all. It wouldn’t happen again. Period.

I whipped the next card off the top of the Tarot deck and tossed it down in front of me, hoping for a Three of Cups, maybe The Sun, something bright and cheerful to chase away the gloom of this conversation.

But… nope.

On the face of the card, a mother stepped on a small child as he tried to climb back into her pregnant womb. Both figures had sleek, ebony bodies, but their heads were bare skulls, elongated like wild horses. A doomed ship sank into the depths of the oil-black sea behind them.

Trump thirteen. The Death card.

“See? See!” Sophie pointed at my chest again, her mouth stretching into a smug grin. “You are so not fine. Even the universe agrees.”

“The universe is obviously drunk.” I picked up the card for a closer look, suppressing a shiver.

Tarot wasn’t magic—it was intuitive. The moment I drew a card, no matter how distracted I was, I always got an immediate message.

But that was just it—there was no message now.

I sensed nothing. Oblivion. A great yawning blankness that stretched on endlessly, devoid of warmth or hope.

Sophie's eyes widened. “Gray, you’re freaking me out here. What’s wrong? What are you sensing?”

“Nothing. It just means… a transition.” I tossed the card back onto the pile, reverting to the Death card’s generic book definition. “Big shakeup. It’s probably about my job. I need to figure something else out—something safer. Maybe even something with health insurance and profit-sharing and, I don’t know, other benefits…”

I was babbling, but Sophie let it slide.

“Being Waldrich’s delivery girl is taking a toll on you,” she said. “That’s something else the universe and I agree on. Pretty sure Ronan does, too.”

“All three of you are overprotective.” I stood up and stretched my arms over my head, forcing a yawn. I had to get out of there, away from the card and the lingering tension. “I need to crash. See you for dinner? Maybe we could try the new Thai place on Fourteenth Street? I got paid today—my treat.”

It was my peace offering, and I held my breath, waiting for Sophie to take it.

Please say yes…

“I can't tonight.” She glanced at the fox clock, her shoulders slumping. “Everyone’s meeting at Norah’s before my shift.”

A grumpy sigh escaped my lips.

“Instead of huffing and puffing,” she said, “why don’t you join me? I know they’d love to see you there. And maybe they can help you figure out—”

“I don’t need their help.”

“Fine, okay, you don’t need anyone’s help—you’ve made that abundantly clear. But maybe… Maybe I need yours.” Her next words were no more than a whisper. “Please, Gray. Something’s going on with them. I can’t put my finger on it, but I—”

“Sophie, it’s not—”

“God, you're so stubborn!” Her multi-colored hair pulsed brighter, her skin turning pink beneath the freckles. “Will you at least think about coming before you shoot me down?”

I didn’t have to think about it. Any desire I’d had to belong to something bigger, to learn about my origins and my magic, to be a witch… That was taken from me nine years ago, burnt to ash in a house 3,000 miles from here.

My life in Blackmoon Bay was far from perfect. But it was just that—a life. A chance at normalcy—at least at what passed for a closeted witch’s normalcy—and I wasn’t about to wreck it by delving back into the very thing that had nearly destroyed me.

Not even for Sophie.

The incident in the alley was a wake-up call. Didn’t matter how comforting and familiar my magic place had felt, or how much I’d welcomed the touch of that warm, blue light. I needed to stick to the plan and stay far away from all things magical.

Permanently.

“Sure, Soph.” The lie left a bitter taste on my tongue even as it brought a smile to Sophie’s face. “I’ll sleep on it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!” She stood up from the chair and came around to my side of the table, squishing me in a strawberry-scented hug.

The stack of cards slid across the table, burying Death from view. But I still felt its icy finger trailing down my spine, teasing the darkness inside me to life.