Page 5 of Strings Attached
Her lip wobbles but she gives me a nod.
That’s my role here—handling things. Cleaning up messes. Keeping everyone safe, even if they sometimes resent my methods. The weight of their reliance settles across my shoulders like a familiar coat. Heavy, but perfectly tailored.
Let them whisper about the stern council member, the one who has lived here nearly a decade and hasn’t integrated into the Cove’s social life. Let them think I’m cold, unapproachable. It’s easier that way. Clean. Like magical theory—every action has an equal reaction. Stay distant, stay focused, and problems get solved without the messy complications of emotional entanglement.
The envelope in my pocket from my family seems to burn my chest. That’s what brought me here in the first place. Caring too much, getting tangled up and hesitating instead of doing what needed to be done. That led to the problem becoming massive and the hurt mirroring it in size.
Never again. Some lessons leave scars that remind you why walls are necessary. I straighten my jacket, brush away the dusting of pollen over its smooth black surface.
Rachel, a local music teacher, stands protectively in front of her student—Emma, the young witch who started this mess. The girl clutches her violin case like a shield, trembling. This isn’t our first conversation about magic this year. Three times I’ve had to pull her aside after incidents at school. A shattered windowwhen she got frustrated with a difficult passage. Wind that howled through the halls during her solo at the spring concert. Now this. The girl has power thrumming through her veins like a crescendo building to its peak, raw and wild and dangerous. Her extra lessons with Rachel aren’t helping as much as I’d hoped they would.
I recognize that particular brand of untamed magic. The way it builds under your skin like a storm gathering force, how it begs for release, for expression. At her age, I shattered more than windows. Created tempests that made today’s sparkly pollen show look like a gentle spring shower.
It took years for me to learn to control my magic. To learn the costs of having it.
I walk toward them. Rachel meets me halfway, her nose flaring. “Before you start, she was just trying to take part in a normal school activity.”
“Normal?” The word tastes bitter. “Normal doesn’t usually involve enchanted horticulture.”
“We can’t deny her regular experiences just because?—”
“Just because she could expose our entire community?” Pollen settles once again on my black jacket. I brush it off with more force than needed. I’m going to have to break out the microfiber cloth and leather conditioner tonight, though. “She needs control first. Then performances.”
Every time magic slips into the open anywhere in the world it’s the magical community that pays the price. Fear makes people dangerous, and history’s been painfully consistent on that point. Salem comes to mind. Hundreds of innocent people—mostly non-magical humans—lost their lives, and the fallout laid the groundwork for the council system we have now.
I wait in silence until finally Rachel sighs and steps out of my way. All of us have had moments of wishing we weren’t bornmagical, but we also all have to come to terms with what we are at some point too.
“Go easy on her,” Rachel says as I pass. “It wasn’t intentional.”
I gesture for Emma to follow me to a quieter spot near the alley. She does, her violin case bumping her legs.
“I didn’t mean to,” she whispers. “The magic just felt so…”
“Powerful.” I finish for her. I’d had many similar moments in my past. “Yes, I know. But that’s exactly why you need to learn control first.”
“I don’t want control.” She still trembles but she juts her chin up, causing her tight dark curls to spill over her shoulder. “I don’t want magic at all. Music is what I love and what I’m good at. I want to go to Juilliard and?—”
“Juilliard won’t be possible if you can’t manage your magic.” Her face crumples and my stomach twists. But I remember the cost of unleashing that much raw magic without control. What it destroys. Who it hurts. And how long it takes to rebuild afterward—if you can rebuild at all. I remember Nell’s tears. “You have extraordinary potential, Emma. As a musician and a witch. But with that comes responsibility.”
She bows her head and clutches the violin even tighter. “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”
She probably will, but I know she means her words. “All right, then. Better get back to your teacher. I think she’s worried about you.”
The girl scurries away, and I exhale slowly, trying to steady the energy still buzzing in the air. My hand slips into my pocket, reaching for the familiar weight of the medallion I always carry, but instead, my fingers brush paper.
The envelope.
I pull it out before I can talk myself out of it. The seal breaks easily under my thumb.
An invitation, as expected. Cream card stock, gold lettering. Nell is getting married. That leaves me unsteady on my feet for a moment. I don’t even know who my sister is marrying. I don’t even know my sister anymore. But it’s the note from my mother that makes my throat tight.
Dean,
We miss you. All of us. I know you probably won’t come, but we had to try. Maybe it’s time to heal these old wounds. Please attend Nell’s wedding. Let us try to be a family again.
Love,
Mom
