Page 32 of Luna Ascending

Apparently not everyone 'expresses' the gene, although it can be forced with a spell, but only if you have the gene to begin with and normally there are obvious 'tells' you've got it.

I ask Tavey if the gene can skip a generation, not that I recall my grandparents. My dad's parents were dead by the time I came along and my mum and her sisters were in the care system- no-one knows who my grandparents were on that side.

Neither Liz nor Tavey know anything about the witching gene skipping generations, but I remember the skipping thing from biology class, so maybe it's a rare variant?

We all agree my hippy aunty is the closest to a witch we can come up with, and that's clutching at straws. She was always a law to herself. She turned up unannounced, whisked us kids off on trips into nature, smoked funny cigarettes, and told hilarious stories – always managing to make the mundane exciting and special somehow. And then, she just stopped showing up any more.

Maybe, we mused over spiced lattes, she had been a witch too, and somehow she got the skills but the gene skipped right over my mum and came to me.

It's turning into a really pleasant morning, allowing our thoughts to ramble between witchcraft and genetics, the extraordinary and the everyday, when Tavey's phone erupts in a klaxon-like alarm. Both he and Liz shoot into the next room, returning only moments later looking tight lipped and drawn.

Liz hustles me to door and towards my car explaining there's a shifter emergency. She looks only slightly apologetic when she blurts out “I can't tell you much more... the shifters don't trust you – you're engaged to the problem. The De Vaudou's are causing major issues” Liz sighs “I trust you Freya, but you're just not yourself around that sleaze-ball”

Liz just shrugs at my hurt expression, mouthing 'sorry' as she shuts the car door in my face.

Sitting in the back of my car, being driven home, I can't work out my emotions at all. I ought to be absolutely spitting at Liz, not just for refusing to trust me but for insulting Marc. The chauffeur, who must have heard Liz's parting shot catches my eye.

“Tough day when friends are that brutally honest”

I find myself nodding, then immediately worrying that he'll retell the conversation to Marc. Despite the fact Marc's spending more and more time away on business, I really don't want the hassle of his petty rage if he finds out.

The more time Marc spends away, and the more I discover myself, the weaker my obsession with him is. Sort of like the time apart gives me space to work out what I really think, without his intoxicating presence.

It's disconcerting to find myself head over heels for him one day, willing to do anything he asks, and genuinely apathetic about the relationship and downright grumpy at him the next, after he's left again.

Obviously, it's all balance – of course it feels different when he's actually here and I'm no longer alone. When he's around all my worries about him, about us, are magicked away. I don't know who the fuck I'm trying to convince; I'm probably just chronically lonely.

I empty some luxurious bubble-bath into the steaming water of the jacuzzi bath and pad around the en-suite lighting candles, getting ready for a soak. I'm just starting to feel more relaxed when I hear Marc arrive home unexpectedly. He crashes through the apartment and into the bathroom. His face is a thunderstorm. A small gasp escapes me, and I'm suddenly acutely aware of being naked.

“You said you were going to the library” he spits, his eyes raking me up and down hungrily “why the fuck do I have an alert about parking for the Merc over in Finnieston where bloody Liz lives then?”

I pick up a towel and wrap it tightly around myself, feeling my body betraying my nerves - my eyes widen and my hands shake slightly.

“I... changed my mind, wanted to see Liz” I stutter trying to edge around him to get my bathrobe. Before I can register what's happening Marc's hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, twisting it until I drop my towel and yelp in pain.

“Don't lie to me babydoll” he leers “I hate it when you lie.”

“Marc... stop! You're hurting me” tears spring to my eyes.

He gives a final harsh twist before he lets my wrist go.

The red imprint looks livid against my pale skin. I just stand in front of him, unsure if I should make a grab for my bathrobe, wary of his twitching hands, and feeling incredibly vulnerable in my nakedness under his inscrutable stare.

“I don't like you hanging around Liz. You know that. You and I need a little 'talk' once I get back” he snarls “you, I and that delicious little body of yours. You need to behave, and do as you're told. If you don't, you need to learn there are consequences.”

He turns and storms out the bathroom and my whole body starts shaking. It's not fair, I just went to see my friend. I shouldn't need permission for that. He bangs around the apartment shouting about an emergency, and instructs me in no uncertain terms to stay put, and not cause him any more trouble before slamming out the front door.

I take a deep, trembling breath in. Slipping quietly into my robe I walk, wet toed and dejected, into the living room. It isn't the first time I've been the subject of Marc's quick temper, but it is the first time he's laid hands on me hard enough to bruise.

I rub my wrist ruefully and realise my aunties charm and my engagement ring are still in the bathroom with the abandoned bubble bath. I start back to get them, but a surge of indignance runs through me and I throw myself down on the sofa instead. How bloody DARE he?!

It hits me like a bucket of cold water – this is the first time I've let myself be angry at Marc since we got engaged. Normally, I end up angry with myself for making him cross.

∞∞∞

I turn over again in bed, frustrated with the bedsheets tangling themselves around my ankles, frustrated that my mind wont settle. I can't stop thinking about what this emergency might be – an emergency that my best friend and my fiancée are likely on the opposite sides of.

My wrist aches, and inside I feel raw.

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