practice at
blocking other people’s emotions, she had made it known that she
didn’t like to be touched. If only she could manage physical
contact with people, then Sunday could minimize the pains it took
to control her ability.
“No bloody orgies, or demon worshipping,”
Sammy said. “I mean, can you picture us at a satanic ritual?
I think not .”
Sunday hesitated, half-stammering as she
offered yet another roadblock.
“I really don’t see why it’s such a big deal
that I don’t want to go.”
Sammy narrowed her gaze and sat upright in
her chair. Kayla crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. They were
putting on a united front against Sunday. For her part, Sunday
could do little more than slouch her shoulders and nervously chew
on her lip.
“You never talk about family or any other
friends. You may not think that you need it, but you do. You’re
lonely , Sunny, and as your best friends, we’re not okay with
it.”
Sammy looked to Kayla for acknowledgement,
and Kayla provided a sharp nod in return.
“This is how we can help you. The coven is a
sisterhood. They can be your friends and your family. It’s
like when I tell the kids that the Cub Scouts is an extension of
their support system. That’s what we’re telling you about the
sisters. You don’t have anyone else, and that’s just not right.
Everyone needs a support system.”
Pulling her hand through her short hair and
dropping her head, Sunday considered her options. Neither Kayla nor
Sammy was an innately gifted witch. For that, Sunday was supremely
grateful. What they lacked in sensitivity to the preternatural was
indeed a lucky strike. They couldn’t possibly know what was truly
out there. If they did, they wouldn’t have invited Sunday into
their lives, certainly not into their homes. Sunday wanted her
friends to believe that she was a mundane person, wholly unaware
of, untrained in, and naïve about magic. If they could gauge her
predicament, they would be curious, and in this case, curiosity was
dangerous.
For as long as she could remember, friends
were a pipe dream for Sunday. Being the Incarnate meant
superficiality and secrecy were necessities. Relationships didn’t
bode well given those limitations. For nearly a decade, Sunday ran
from everything that she truly needed: stability, security, and
sanctity. Most of all, Sunday craved companionship. Having finally
found that with Kayla and Sammy, the last thing she wanted was to
disappoint them. Not participating in the coven was doing
just that.
Coincidence or Fate, there was no hiding
from the tendrils of the preternatural world for Sunday. It would
always find her. Were it a book club, Sunday would’ve been there
with bells on after their first invitation. It had taken twenty
million invitations, she guessed, but she finally would accept.
Resignation was less a choice than it was Sunday’s last remaining
option. Not wanting to lose them, Sunday sighed in defeat.
“Okay,” Sunday finally answered. “Give me
details.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek and forced down the
inevitable well of tears rising to the surface. Giving up left a
bitter taste. Looking away from her friends was the only way she
could keep from crying.
Kayla and Sammy sprang from their seats and
pulled Sunday into their arms. The elation radiated from their
bodies and poured into Sunday’s own. She struggled to stifle the
effects of it to ensure that she contained it rather than dispersed
it. Because she was out of practice, she had to work doubly hard to
keep her shields up.
Through the cascade of Kayla’s bleach blonde
hair, Sunday focused on a spot on the kitchen wall, and as if
bracing her hands against it, pushed back into herself. Arms
squeezed her waist and chest, hands brushed over the back of her
head, and their tremendous excitement drenched her. That spot on
the wall. Sunday pushed back. Push harder. Contain it. It was all about containment. Lightning in a bottle.
As the women attempted
blocking other people’s emotions, she had made it known that she
didn’t like to be touched. If only she could manage physical
contact with people, then Sunday could minimize the pains it took
to control her ability.
“No bloody orgies, or demon worshipping,”
Sammy said. “I mean, can you picture us at a satanic ritual?
I think not .”
Sunday hesitated, half-stammering as she
offered yet another roadblock.
“I really don’t see why it’s such a big deal
that I don’t want to go.”
Sammy narrowed her gaze and sat upright in
her chair. Kayla crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. They were
putting on a united front against Sunday. For her part, Sunday
could do little more than slouch her shoulders and nervously chew
on her lip.
“You never talk about family or any other
friends. You may not think that you need it, but you do. You’re
lonely , Sunny, and as your best friends, we’re not okay with
it.”
Sammy looked to Kayla for acknowledgement,
and Kayla provided a sharp nod in return.
“This is how we can help you. The coven is a
sisterhood. They can be your friends and your family. It’s
like when I tell the kids that the Cub Scouts is an extension of
their support system. That’s what we’re telling you about the
sisters. You don’t have anyone else, and that’s just not right.
Everyone needs a support system.”
Pulling her hand through her short hair and
dropping her head, Sunday considered her options. Neither Kayla nor
Sammy was an innately gifted witch. For that, Sunday was supremely
grateful. What they lacked in sensitivity to the preternatural was
indeed a lucky strike. They couldn’t possibly know what was truly
out there. If they did, they wouldn’t have invited Sunday into
their lives, certainly not into their homes. Sunday wanted her
friends to believe that she was a mundane person, wholly unaware
of, untrained in, and naïve about magic. If they could gauge her
predicament, they would be curious, and in this case, curiosity was
dangerous.
For as long as she could remember, friends
were a pipe dream for Sunday. Being the Incarnate meant
superficiality and secrecy were necessities. Relationships didn’t
bode well given those limitations. For nearly a decade, Sunday ran
from everything that she truly needed: stability, security, and
sanctity. Most of all, Sunday craved companionship. Having finally
found that with Kayla and Sammy, the last thing she wanted was to
disappoint them. Not participating in the coven was doing
just that.
Coincidence or Fate, there was no hiding
from the tendrils of the preternatural world for Sunday. It would
always find her. Were it a book club, Sunday would’ve been there
with bells on after their first invitation. It had taken twenty
million invitations, she guessed, but she finally would accept.
Resignation was less a choice than it was Sunday’s last remaining
option. Not wanting to lose them, Sunday sighed in defeat.
“Okay,” Sunday finally answered. “Give me
details.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek and forced down the
inevitable well of tears rising to the surface. Giving up left a
bitter taste. Looking away from her friends was the only way she
could keep from crying.
Kayla and Sammy sprang from their seats and
pulled Sunday into their arms. The elation radiated from their
bodies and poured into Sunday’s own. She struggled to stifle the
effects of it to ensure that she contained it rather than dispersed
it. Because she was out of practice, she had to work doubly hard to
keep her shields up.
Through the cascade of Kayla’s bleach blonde
hair, Sunday focused on a spot on the kitchen wall, and as if
bracing her hands against it, pushed back into herself. Arms
squeezed her waist and chest, hands brushed over the back of her
head, and their tremendous excitement drenched her. That spot on
the wall. Sunday pushed back. Push harder. Contain it. It was all about containment. Lightning in a bottle.
As the women attempted
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