Page 26 of Prodigal Son

“No. The fire.” Juniper leaned closer. The crackling flames hissed softly, building into the low roar of a wave, louder and louder until it sounded exactly like the surf of the ocean, ebbing and flowing with a rhythmic static.

“I don’t hear anything. You wanna fool around before we go back to the car?” He pulled his zipper down.

Juniper rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the fire. A steady drizzle fell through the branches, tapping softly on the leaves overhead. The wind pushed through the trees. The flames breathed to the measure of a conch shell whispering into her ear.

“Watch it, Juniper!” He yanked her back. “You’re gonna catch your hair on fire.”

She looked up, finding the sky strangely clear for rain. It was a new moon, so it should have been darker, but twinkling stars peeked from above the dancing branches as the leaves curled upward as if catching the droplets. Yeah, maybe she was pretty high.

She could feel the energy of the moon pulling her as much as it pulled the tide. Usually, she hated any tingles of pagan instinct or symptoms of her weird gene pool, but at the moment she felt calm and compelled to feel whatever this was.

Typically conflicted by her family’s faith, she was oddly at peace in this moment. At peace and strangely attuned with nature. It was enough to remove her usual resentment for being raised a witch.

Her upbringing didn’t consist of an early education like other little kids might experience. While most toddlers played with blocks and mastered their ABCs, Juniper’s aunts taught her about herbs and crystals and all the reasons they celebrated the pagan sabbats.

She used to love her aunts’ stories about the Oak and Holly Gods and all the powers of the Goddess, until she went to kindergarten and realized other kids worshipped some guy named Santa. No one knew who Odin was, and they all looked at her like she was crazy when she tried to explain their family’s strange holidays.

Aunt Venus said Christian holidays were all originally pagan holidays before the burning years, but that didn’t stop Juniper’s classmates from ostracizing her. Aunt Bel told her to be proud of their heritage, but Juniper just wanted to be like everyone else. She wanted to be accepted and asked to birthday parties and sleepovers.

Zoey was her first friend on account of their unifying diversity. In their private grade school, they were given free-choice art projects while the rest of their classmates colored pictures of easter eggs during Ostara, a spring sabbat when Juniper’s family celebrated the goddess Eostre. Zoey’s relatives only observed Muslim holidays, so she would often get paired with Juniper. By high school, she and Zoey accepted they would likely always be outcasts and stopped giving a shit what others thought.

“It’s really starting to come down, June. We should head back.”

And then there was Trent, the first guy to ever see past her dorky reputation that followed her since kindergarten. Switching to a public high school helped, because it was bigger and she wasn’t the only weirdo. Boobs also helped. Trent actually made her feel pretty, and the more she let him compliment her, the more she began to see her own beauty and embrace her authentic style.

He hung out with the cool jocks, a clique Juniper found outwardly obnoxious, but she envied their social status all the same. Having sex with Trent wasn’t so much an act of desire as it was a social experiment. She and Zoey got an instant upgrade and found themselves invited to parties and lunch tables that never spared them a passing glance before.

But Zoey didn’t trust Trent or his jock buddies. She didn’t want to be like the kids that spent years making fun of her and could give a shit about their acceptance, which was why she never cut Trent any slack and the two of them bickered constantly. Zoey tolerated him simply because Juniper was her best friend.

“June, are you coming? Zoey’s waiting in the car.”

Ignoring Trent, she spread her palms over the earth, her fingers splayed wide. All the elements were present: water, air, fire, earth. She could feel the spirit awakening around her. It wasn’t usually this obvious. Typically, it was subtle.

The hair rose at the nape of her neck and goosebumps prickled her skin as the flames hissed in a tempo that matched her heartbeat. She shut her eyes, feeling the vibration of earth below her and her connection to every root and tree.

“Juniper, I’m getting drenched.”

The rain fell in a steady stream but it wasn’t bothering her. Nor was the cold. On the contrary, her insides felt warm and her skin alive, sun kissed by the warmth of the fire and replenished by the fresh air.

She kneeled on the ground, fingers forked through the earth, turning her face upward to the sky. “Can you feel that?” The clouds opened and the rain fell harder, soaking her hair and face like a baptism.

“You’re high as a kite and getting soaked. You’re gonna get sick. Come on.” Trent grabbed her arm and she flung his touch away.

“No!”

“What the fuck, Juniper?” He cradled his wrist, his brow kinked in disbelief.

Startled out of her trance, she looked at him. He pulled his hand away, revealing his fingers, one twisted unnaturally at a gnarled angle.

Startled, she gasped. “What happened?”

“You hit me.”

“I didn’t hit you. I just…” She shook her head, unclear on how she hurt him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you.” Mortified, she stood, brushing the dirt off her palms and legs. “Trent, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. I’m heading back to the car.” Protectively holding his injured fingers, he marched back toward the road.

“Trent, wait.”

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