Page 103 of De-Witched

“I guess talking to a fourteen-year-old about sex could be awkward.”

He cringed.

It made her laugh. A small laugh, but it brightened the air like golden sparks. “Typical brother. You know she’s probably going to start dating soon.”

“Stop.” He ran a finger around his neckline, tugging at it like it choked.

Her smile faded and she took a moment to look at him. Something soft, pleading, reflected in the blue. “It really has nothing to do with me?”

He’d assumed Leah was confident in her appeal, that she knew he was wrapped around her little finger. But something wounded lurked beneath the pretty surface.

It called to his own aches, his own scars. And he wondered how deep the scars went, if her desire for constant company—be it animal or human—in fact stemmed from not wanting to be alone with whatever the voices whispered to her.

He knew what that was like.

He wasn’t an eloquent warlock, at least he didn’t think of himself that way. But he knew what he said next meant everything. “Anyone that makes you feel less than the incredible person you are isn’t worthy of your time. You’re a gift, Leah.”

Clearly uncomfortable, Leah ducked her head. “Yeah, well... Sorry to ask, it’s just with the whole...magic thing between us, it’s hard not to feel like I’m not being kept out for a reason.” When he went to speak, she hurriedly added, “I know it’s for my protection. Bad consequences, etc. But it sucks sometimes, you know?” She gazed out at the view, twin flags of color on her cheeks as she spoke her truth. “Being on the outside, looking in.”

The words lodged in his gut. He heard what she didn’t say. The feelings of not being worthy, of being found wanting. Maybe that’s even why she pushed so hard to know more about their world—because it hurt to be kept out. It tore him up, shredded something inside him, knowing she felt that way. Bright, bold Leah with more shadows than he’d ever guessed.

“God, shut me up now.” She made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, leaning out over the railing to look at the ground below. “I wonder if I could make that.”

He tugged her back, unsure if she was joking. Words jumbled in his head, along with a fiery burn in his throat. But he knew he wanted to fix this, ease her pain.

With one hand on hers, he led her to the striped outdoor couch Mrs. Q had conjured for him. He gently pushed her down and stepped back against the railing. He needed some space for this. The breeze ruffled his hair, felt cool against his skin.

“My parents,” he said, a hitch in his voice, “were the first Goodnights in hundreds of years to make a mark. They’d come from generations of pampered aristocrats who used their—” he hesitated, forced himself to say it “—magic for nothing but their own convenience. An attitude many of the Higher families share today.”

She sat still, hands braced on the cushions. He focused on her fingernails—pink and yellow, happy colors—as he continued. “They wanted to be different, make a difference, and forged a completely unique company.” His thumb smoothed his signet ring. “They wanted to help. Nobody dared to naysay them; when you have bloodlines like ours, you can get away with almost anything.”

“Even being a jackass?”

“You’d have to talk to Kole about that,” he said pleasantly.

She shot him a semi-warning look. “Go on. Your parents formed the company.”

“Yes. As I said, they were determined to help. And they did—we do, in the company that carries their name.” He tightened his fingers, took a breath. “But they met a stumbling block in me.”

It felt like wrenching open a rusted door without magic: painful, a lot of effort. But he wanted, needed, to do this for her. “I was their firstborn. Their living legacy. They hoped to have a child to be proud of. I did not live up to their ideal.”

“You?” Doubt underscored the word.

“Yes. I slacked off, pulled pranks. Generally, I behaved like the spoiled, proud warlocks they’d wanted nothing to do with. They despaired.”

“Sounds like a typical teenager.”

“Except I behaved that way up until they died.” He lifted his chin, prepared to take her disgust. “They wanted more from me, but I couldn’t be bothered to fulfill their wishes. I didn’t want to go into the family business.”

“What did you want to do?”

Her question made him stop. “I’m not sure.”

“Nobody ever asked you?”

“They made it clear they expected that I follow their footsteps.”

Her painted fingernails tapped. “When did they—can I ask when they...passed?”

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