Page 1 of Witch Upon a Star
1
CALLIOPE
Ping…I stirred, my ears picking up what my brain wasn’t ready yet to comprehend.Ping…Groaning, I turned my face into my lavender-scented pillow. The arm around my waist twitched.Ping…Gods bless it all, I was not a person who was quick to anger, but I also was not someone who liked to wake up before the sun did.Ping…
My next groan sounded more like a pitiful moan. A masculine chuckle vibrated through my body as I felt lips brush the back of my neck. I was a belly-sleeper. I was aware it was the worst position to sleep in, but I rarely was able to fall asleep otherwise. Typical spooning just didn’t work for me. My arms fell asleep and my shoulder always felt cramped. And if I did manage to fall asleep on my side, the moment I lost consciousness, I’d end up on my belly anyway. It was just so much easier to go to sleep in my comfortable position, and then he would lay himself over me. Dosia, my niece who was two years older than I was, asked once if he squished me or if I had trouble breathing with his weight on me like that. The honest answer was ‘no’ to both. Ilovedwhen he fell asleep on me, like he was my personal, heated, weighted blanket.
I felt him stretch for his phone on my nightstand. Today was Moving Day. The last day we would wake up in my parents’ house like this. Would it be so hard to have been able to sleep in just this once? But no, my Marine kept military hours, even though he’d been out of the service for years. Besides, the movers would be here soon.
I heard him fiddle with his phone for a second before he placed it back on my nightstand. Settling himself back down on top of me, he moved my mass of brunette hair that resembled a bird’s nest after our lovemaking last night.
Nipping my earlobe, his low tenor sent a shiver down my naked spine. “Time to wake up, Winnie…”
My eyes shotopen as I gasped. The October sun shone brightly through my open window, nearly blinding me. I had to blink several times to clear not only my vision but also the fog of my dream. People talked of wanting to know the future, of wishing they knew what was going to happen before it did. They were all fools. None of them, not even my own family, would ever understand the pain of knowing what would be and not being able to do a damn thing to change it.
I saw my own sister’s death before it happened, but as a small child, I had no idea what it was I was seeing. At the time, neither I nor my parents had understood the extent of my gift—or my curse. They didn’t understand why I keptasking when my niece and nephew were going to come live with us.
I know how every single one of my loved ones are going to die. I just don’t know thewhen.
I rolled over onto my back. Bracing myself for the pain I knew was coming, I turned my head on my pillow to look at the empty space beside me.
Empty. Always empty.
In reality, anyway. In my dreams, he was always there. My coffee man. My Marine. The man who would one day be mine.
When I was sixteen years old, Gregory Dunham asked me out. I was always the shy, nerdy girl who’d rather have her nose in a book than her eyes on her peers. It was hard to make friends when I knew their intentions. Dosia, my niece and best friend, was two years older than me but only one grade ahead of me. To this day, she was still my only true friend. Her heart was pure, and not just because we were family.
Despite my small graduating class, it was a shock that Gregory even knew my name, let alone showed any interest in me. My family were Pagans, and I was too young to know to keep my visions or intuitions to myself when I started elementary school. By the time we realized the extent of my gift, I already had a reputation around town as a witch. Gregory, though, was a jock. He played tennis, basketball, baseball, and soccer. He was average in school, but wasn’t a bully.
I’d opened my mouth to accept his invitation for a date, but the word that came out was a single, sharp, “No.”
I was as shocked as he was.
I tried again, and again, only for the word “no” to comeout of my mouth instead. Seeing my distress, Dosia was thankfully there to whisk me away, and I told her some lame story about how I could see Gregory wasn’t as nice as he appeared to be. I didn’t like lying to her, but I honestly was too terrified to tell her the truth. I needed to talk to my mom.
My mother, Solstice Hutchins, was a direct descendant of Dorothy Good, the youngest victim of the Salem Witch Trials. At four years old, Dorothy was locked in jail for months with her mother, Sarah. While Sarah was hanged, Dorothy was later released from her imprisonment, though severely, and understandably, traumatized. It wasn’t until later generations, though, that my ancestors embraced their Pagan heritage again.
While my mother was extremely spiritual and was in touch with her roots, she didn’t have a gift like I did. No one in my family did. But I knew my mom could help me. She took me into our sweat lodge, a teepee-like structure in our backyard where we could meditate and enhance our spirituality.
That was the first time I saw his face. His boyish smile with those adorable dimples, his chocolate-brown tousled hair, and those deep, sensual coffee-colored eyes.
I knew then why I couldn’t say “yes” to Gregory, or any other man who would come my way over the years. Because none of them would behim.
I wouldn’t hear his voice for several years, but I knew his face. I memorized it, fell in love with it. I knew every facet. When I was around eighteen, he spoke to me for the first time. I was standing in my apiary and felt his phantom arms encircle my waist, the invisible weight of his chin on my shoulder, and the brush of his ghostly lips against my ear. Hesaid one word, but that was all it took for me to know his voice.“Winnie…”
He always called me that. Winnie. I didn’t know why. One could assume it had to do with the fact that I was a beekeeper and Winnie the Pooh loved honey, but I wasn’t positive.
He would come to me a number of times throughout my life. In my early twenties, I started to get imprints of his feelings, little hints when he was happy, sad, scared, or hurt. I always wondered if he could feel mine.
I picked up on little things about him. While I didn’t know his name, I knew he loved coffee. He loved to run and exercise, but thought salads were meant for rabbits. I would take a bite of pizza and hear his voice in my ear as he balked that there was no meat on it, just extra cheese and vegetables.
It was so insignificant overall. I wanted to knowmore. I wanted to know everything.
Then, about three years ago, I was exitingLoafin’ Around,the bakery on Main Street down the way from the bookstore my parents owned, andbam!There he was. In the flesh.
I was so used to seeing figments of him that I didn’t even realize he was real at first. Not until I walked right into him and felt his skin for the first time. Nearly eight years of dreams and phantom touches, and suddenly he wasthere. I could reach out and touch him.
Thankfully, I didn’t fall on my ass or anything. He apologized for our collision, stepped around me, and headed towards the counter to order. I just stood there in stunned silence. He washere. I couldn’t believe it.
