She had no idea how right she was about that.
She unloaded boxes beside me quietly as we ignored the awkwardness lingering between us like a third person. In the short time she was here, she easily became a part of our family. Even Grammy treated her like a granddaughter—probably better. She was my best friend. But she also had allegiance to the group of men who stood to lose the most by my gifts, and neither of us could shake that fact.
Right after everything happened with the Movement, she had asked me how to tell who was in Watchtower coven. I didn’t really have an answer. It was just something we always knew, and there weren’t any telltale signs of a coven member. Now, Watchtower members greeted her like family as they passed, grateful for her role as Counter after all this time without one.
Somewhere along the way, Storie had abandoned the role of tourist and made Beacon Grove her home. I was sad that I missed that transition with her. Sad that I had allowed my own issues to come between us for so long. And I hated this unpleasantness. We’d never been this way before, even when we first met. It was like one day, I was friendless, and the next day, I had her.
“I don’t want to let this stuff come between us anymore,” I declared aloud, never one who was good with words. I'm sure my words seemed random to her, but I couldn't contain my thoughts any longer.
Storie lightly chuckled at my forwardness. “Okay. I agree. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant.”
“It’s okay. I understand. I’ve struggled with all these changes, too.”
She stared down at her hands as if they were foreign to her, twisting and turning them.
I knew why. The magic coursing through her veins felt unnatural. Like a parasite feeding off of you.
“Well, now you’ve got someone to ride the struggle bus with you. But I have to warn you, I only accept the window seat.”
She laughed again. “Deal.”