Lizzy's Story

 

Chapter 1

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          “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man with a lot of money will also be looking for a love potion.” Mom winked at my younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty, while steam curled around her face like ghostly fingers. The soft glow of the fire under her cauldron cast shadows on the basement’s stone walls.​

          “More like a non-committal relationship,” I mumbled, dumping the pouch of phoenix feather ash into my veritas potion, which hissed and bubbled. Despite Mom’s faith in love potions and her ridiculous declarations, it was highly unlikely that a rich, single man needed help to get women, especially not with online dating.​

          “If you remember nothing else from tonight, remember that men need to be told what they want,” Mom said with a pointed look at me. “It doesn’t matter if they’re fae, human, or any other race they are; they’re all the same.”​

          “Don’t forget the mermaid’s tear for your potion, Lizzy.” Jane, ever the reliable older sister, rummaged among the shelves filled with mismatched bottles of spices and dried herbs. More plants hung from beams cutting across the ceiling, and the air was thick with the scents of mugwort and eucalyptus.​

          Jane squinted at a vial, trying to read the label in the candle’s flickering light. Mom believed that technology interfered with witchcraft and banned anything as convenient as electricity in the basement, so whenever we came down, it was like stepping into the medieval era.

          “Thanks.” I accepted a small vial from Jane, then stirred my veritas potion four times counterclockwise.

          Jane returned to flipping through her photographs, her golden hair bent over the prints.

          As my mixture started to boil, I hurried to add the mermaid’s tear. The potion spewed cerulean bubbles, so different from the pale pink shimmering love potion in Mom’s cauldron, and filled the room with a briny smell that made me wrinkle my nose.

          “Do you mind?” Lydia glared at me, her expression strangely similar to the glowering jack-o’-lantern someone had brought downstairs with a box of fall decorations.

          “Not in the slightest.” I kept stirring.

           “Some of us are trying to work, and you’re going to taint my clothes with that stench.” She gestured to her expensive jeans and lacy top.

          “You know better than to wear nice clothes while we make potions.” I plucked at my old T-shirt and leggings. Not only were they more practical in the cold basement, but they were also easier to replace.

          “Whatever, Lizzy. Don’t be jealous.” Lydia stuck out her tongue, then turned back to watch Mom.

          I rolled my eyes at my youngest sister, who, after graduating from high school last year, somehow grew into being more obnoxious instead of out of it. Lydia and I were as different as sisters could be. I had chocolate-brown hair and blue eyes, while she had light-brown hair and hazel eyes. She was impulsive and frivolous, more focused on her next boyfriend and completely happy to stay in Austen Heights, while I was focused on my future and making a name for myself outside our small town. Or at least I had been.

          Lydia whispered something to Kitty, and they giggled. Those two were thick as witches in a coven. With both of them now working in Cupid’s Confections with Mom, they were even more inseparable than usual. I needed to find them jobs out of the family bakery before Mom filled their heads with any more nonsense about how we needed to hurry and get married before we were too old to attract a man.

          “Is it ready?” Kitty peered into Mom’s cauldron, her braid swinging dangerously close to the love potion.

          “Yes, now don’t mess me up. I have to finish this batch for tomorrow’s orders.” Mom pulled a glass flask from the desk and added three drops of moon water, making the liquid shimmer white and the room smell like apples and cinnamon.

          Kitty coughed—a common enough occurrence while brewing potions, especially considering her asthma and the dank basement air.

          “Please stop coughing, Kitty.” Mom shot her an annoyed look. “You’re making it difficult to concentrate.”

          “I’m not doing it on purpose. I—”

          “And where’s Mary? She should be down here.” Mom steamrolled over Kitty’s defense.

          Jane and I exchanged looks, but neither of us was about to rat out our middle sister. She hated practicing our witch magic. If I had to guess, she was either doing work for her internship with the church or holed up somewhere in the house with her nose in a book. Although considering it was already almost nine, probably the latter.

          “Let’s do it without her.” Lydia linked her arm through Kitty’s. “She doesn’t even like being down here.”

Mom sighed, her green eyes narrowing in a familiar scowl that hinted at an incoming lecture. “Learning to make love potions is no joke. It’s our duty as Bennets and witches to make sure everyone finds their happily ever after—”

          “Even if they only last as long as our potions,” I muttered to Jane.

          Mom gave me a withering look and continued. “And with your father sick, we all have to pitch in to care for this family. My poor nerves can’t take the strain of providing for everyone on my own.”

          “You know we all care, Mom, and we’re trying our best,” Jane said.

          My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I shoved my spoon toward Jane. “Will you watch my potion for me? It needs to be stirred until it turns violet.”

          “Of course.” Jane gave me a sweet smile and took over, leaving me free to fish my cell phone from my leggings with another glance to make sure Mom wasn’t watching.

          A name flashed on the screen. Riley Ellison—a fellow reporter at the Sanditon Chronicle. Hearing from him at this time of night could only mean one thing. He had a scoop for me.

          I turned away from Mom, who was now giving her usual lecture about the dos and don’ts of love potions as if we hadn’t heard it a hundred times. Do follow the directions to a T. Don’t give to anyone with nut allergies. Do use natural ingredients. Don’t mix with other potions. Blah blah.

          I read Riley’s message.

          You busy?

Not at all. What’s up?

Heard something interesting

Thought I’d pass it along as thanks for your last tip

?

          “Is it Riley?” Jane whispered to avoid drawing Mom’s attention.

          I flicked a curious glance her way. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

          “Maybe because of that silly grin you’re wearing.” Mischief filled her blue eyes, causing her dimples—the same dimples all the Bennet girls had—to appear.

          I smoothed my expression to make sure the dimple on my left cheek wasn’t visible. “I am not wearing a silly grin. I was just happy to hear from him because he has a lead.”

          “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you like him, Lizzy.” She shrugged, making her T-shirt slip off one shoulder so she looked like a runway model for comfort grunge.

          “I promise I don’t like Riley like that. And even if I did, it wouldn’t work out because I’m not staying in town. I’m just here until Dad… gets better.” I swallowed past the tightness in my throat. There was no cure for Moonrot—the magical illness that ate at Dad’s health. Everyone who contracted it died. There was nothing to do except enjoy the time we had left with him, which was the real reason I’d left my life in New York last year. With Dad sick, I wasn’t sure anyone would be leaving Austen Heights for a while, least of all me.

          My phone buzzed with another message from Riley, pulling me from my thoughts.

          A group of highborn fae are coming to town. The only one I have a name for is Charles Bingley.

          My mouth fell open. Why would someone like Charles Bingley come to a tiny town like Austen Heights? He’d earned his fortune as the CEO of a security tech company called Haven Corporation, but he was equally famous in the magical world for his proximity to the royal family.

Do you know where they’re staying?

          My phone buzzed again.

No, but I’m sure a journalist as brilliant as you can figure it out.

This could be your chance to find a scoop.

          Butterflies took flight in my stomach, and my fingers shook as I responded.

I owe you one.

I have a few ideas on how you can make it up to me ;)

          Ignoring his outrageous flirting, I thrust my phone toward Jane.

          Her eyes widened as she skimmed the conversation. “What are they coming here for?” she whispered.

          “I don’t know, but do you know what this means?” I couldn’t help my wide smile. “If I can find a decent story and show my editor my abilities as a reporter, she might finally ask me to write about something more meaningful than the Austen Heights’ fall festival or the Woodhouse’s charity events.”

          “I’m sure you’ll do great,” Jane said.

          I pulled out the small notebook I always carried and jotted down the name Charles Bingley. “I would if Maxine would give me a chance. She acts like I’m some girl fresh out of high school instead of a reporter with a master's in journalism from Columbia.” Not that I’d had a chance to prove myself in New York for very long either. With Dad falling ill, I’d come home just a few years after graduation.

          Lydia plucked the phone from Jane’s hand. “What are you two talking about?”         

          “Give that back.” I put my notebook away and tried to grab my cell, but Lydia had already danced away.

          “Mom!” Her voice went up at least two decibels. “Lizzy’s friend said highborn fae are coming to Austen Heights! Can you believe it?”

          “Hex yeah!” Kitty threw a fist in the air.

          “Let me see.” Mom snatched the phone from her so quickly that I almost believed she’d brewed a swift spell instead of a love potion. Apparently, she had no trouble with technology in the basement as long as it provided a juicy piece of gossip.

          I sighed. So much for my insider scoop. Now that Mom knew, half of Austen Heights was bound to know as soon as the bakery doors opened at dawn. While Mom’s scones and baked goods were delicious, at least half of our customers came solely for her gossip.

          “This is our chance, girls. We can snag you husbands!” Mom threw her arms around Lydia and Kitty, and the three spun in a circle.

          “Did you see that he was voted sexiest man alive last year?” Lydia sang.

          “And he hangs with the fae prince, so he’s sure to be loaded,” Kitty added.

          “Hello, sugar daddy.” Lydia giggled.

          I opened my mouth to remind them that no highborn fae would ever want us, then closed it with a sigh. They’d heard my lecture as many times as we’d heard Mom’s. But their ignoring it didn’t change the fact that even though we were firmly middle-class in Austen Heights, we were also witches. And not even regular witches. Thanks to Mom being a witch and Dad being a fae, we were half of both races, which meant we never truly belonged to either. We were just a step above vampires or werewolves, who were illegal in society and could be arrested on sight if they were discovered. Many of the highborn fae in town never let us forget the difference in our social statuses. Mom wanted nothing more than to see us accepted by the rest of the town, and I was pretty sure that in her eyes, marrying a highborn fae would guarantee it.

          “Sorry,” Jane whispered to me while watching our sisters and Mom with wide eyes.

          “It’s not your fault.” I rubbed my forehead, not sure where the others got all their energy. “I should’ve been more careful.”

          Jane gave me a small smile. “At least your potion is done.”

          The liquid had thickened into a viscous violet paste that smelled faintly of lavender.         

          Perfect.

          I pulled a package of ballpoint pens from my purse and dropped them into the mixture, where they sank with a soft plop. After soaking all night, they’d be ready to go tomorrow. While a veritas potion could be drunk, I found it much more useful to soak my pens in. If someone agreed to answer a question and picked up one of my magical pens, the potion forced them to write the answers to my next five questions truthfully.

          The small flame under my cauldron hissed and sputtered as I smothered it, and I shivered in the sudden chill. Now that it was fall, the basement was getting colder at night.

          Jane yawned and put her pictures in her bag. “Ready to go home? I’m beat.”

          “Me too.” I covered the cauldron with a lid to make sure nothing got into it, then reclaimed my phone. After bidding the rest of the family goodnight, I followed Jane up the creaky wooden stairs. We navigated around the worn armchairs and threadbare couch in the dark.

          We checked on Dad, who was resting in a room on the main floor. It was too hard for him to go up and down the stairs these days. His quiet snoring reached us as soon as we cracked open the door. I stared at his gaunt, pale form in the moonlight cutting through the window for a long moment.

          Like the other victims, Dad always needed rest. No one knew what started the Moonrot, but some called it a curse since it never affected the humans, or those unmarked by magic. Only the Marked ever contracted it, and there was no known cure. It was impossible to mistake since all the victims had a silver mark the color of moonlight over their hearts. The larger it grew, the more lethargic the victims became. They had trouble eating and slept more and more while their magic and body withered away. Once the swirl grew large enough to cover their entire chest, they died.

          “Let him sleep,” Jane whispered and shut the door.

          Before leaving, I headed toward the bakery to make sure everything was prepped for tomorrow—old habits died hard, and after years of working here, Cupid’s Confections was a part of me. To get to the bakery from inside the house, I twisted the knob above the door so the dial turned blue. If it showed red, that would bring me to our family kitchen instead. It was a fairly complicated spell, but one that had held for the last seventy years since Grandma started the bakery.

          Moonlight trickled in from the glass display cases along the front, casting silvery shadows over the mismatched chairs and wooden tables, and the scent of cinnamon and vanilla lingered in the air like the ghost of the day’s labor. The faint tick from the grandfather clock, usually covered by the hum of conversations and the clatter of trays, counted down the moments. It was nice to be here when it was closed. It reminded me of the newsroom after printing, when the rush of meeting a deadline had faded.

          A box of baked goods labeled Second-Day Delights sat on the back counter, the leftovers from today that were ready to be sold at half price tomorrow. I snuck a croissant from the box, a classic but still one of my favorites, and split it with Jane before devouring the flaky goodness in three bites.

          “Let’s go home,” Jane said.

          We grabbed our jackets from the hook by the back door before stepping onto the porch. Jane locked the door behind us, and we pulled on our jackets to ward off the cold fog that had rolled in from the ocean and clung to us like a damp hug.

          The small apartment Jane and I shared with Charlotte Lucas was close enough that we could walk there in minutes. While the fog obscured the familiar streets and muted our steps, we never had anything to fear in a town as small as Austen Heights. Although tonight the fog seemed especially thick, almost ominous.

          “It would be nice if someone married rich,” Jane said when we were almost home.

          “Not you too!” I gaped at Jane.

          “I’m just saying it would be nice because Mom would stop worrying about money so much. You know it’s always weighing on her now that Dad’s sick.”

          I pressed my lips together instead of bursting her bubble. She knew as well as I did that the odds of any highborn fae wanting anything to do with half-witch, half-fae like us were practically nonexistent. Technically, we were half-fae, half-human since witches were just humans with magic, but no one in the magical community considered witches the same as humans.

          “I would never fall for a highborn fae, no matter how handsome or rich they were,” I said.

          “What if they were thoughtful and sweet?” Jane pressed.

          For the sake of our hypothetical situation, I refused to point out that they were highborn fae and so, by definition, not sweet nor thoughtful. “I would need more than that. Someone with passion, who will argue with me but stand by my side. Someone to tell me when I’m wrong and admit when I’m right.” I sighed and shot a sideways glance at her. “There’s so much more to life than looks and money.”

          “They’ll need plenty of passion to keep up with you, Lizzy.”

          I smiled at her but let the conversation drop as we made it to the small cottage where we boarded. The sweet scent of vanilla and pumpkin filled our basement apartment.

          Charlotte must’ve been making something again. She was always working on some craft or another, whether it was a new recipe for chocolates, a candle scent she wanted to try, or a holiday craft. It was one reason I often brewed my potions elsewhere. Our apartment was too small for both of us to be making concoctions.

          I followed Jane across the braided rugs covering the floor and down the hall to the room we shared, not bothering to turn on the lights. We changed into our pajamas and brushed our teeth, while thoughts of Dad’s sickness, my family’s money situation, and the highborn fae chased each other around my head.

Despite myself, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

                                                                                                               ~

          In my dream, I stood in the middle of a wide, tree-lined street that cut between large yards. Leaves fell from the branches overhead, drops of ink and ivory drifting to the ground. I sucked in a breath, but instead of a crisp autumn scent, the air was sterile. It was like someone had captured Austen Heights in a series of old photographs, colorless, soundless, and empty.

          I rubbed my itching nose—a sure sign that magic was happening nearby—and sighed. This wasn’t a dream, it was a Portent brought on by my fae magic. While most fae had a host of magic at their fingertips, they usually specialized in one. But my sisters and I had each received only a single fae magic. Mine was the Portents, or the ability to see things happening in the present. Since many of the Marked in town considered our fae magic “tainted” by our witch magic, I refused to practice mine. If I did, maybe I could train it to show me things before they happened instead of just as they happened, like other fae could with their Portents.

          An owl swooped across the sky before landing on a tree branch in front of me. One always appeared to guide me to whatever my Portent wanted me to see.

          The owl swiveled its head to stare at me, then it blinked its yellow eyes and ruffled its wings. It hooted—the only sound in this silent expanse—and stared me down another second before launching from the tree and flying down the street.

          I walked after it, my footsteps silent on the leaf-covered sidewalk. Better to get it over with, since I couldn’t stop it.

          White houses with pitched roofs and black shutters sat back from the road, lined up like books on a shelf. When I turned my head to look at them, they blurred out, a pearlescent mist blocking the details.

          I continued walking, keeping an eye on the owl, which frequently circled back to make sure it hadn’t lost me. Once I focused on whatever the owl wanted to show me, details would bloom to life.

          At the end of the street, I followed the owl again and turned down another, then another. I listened for a noise, a sign of life anywhere, but it was silent. I was still too far from wherever I needed to be.

It felt like I walked forever, but eventually, I reached a gate that surrounded a sprawling estate. Unlike before, I could take in all the details without the mist interfering. A three-story house with wide windows, a gabled roof, and a wrap-around porch loomed in the distance. There was something imposing about the structure, as if it watched me with disapproval.

          A shiver slipped through me.

          I stepped off the road onto a gravel path that cut through a manicured lawn of gray bushes, white flowers, and black hedges. In the distance, a large pond glinted silver.

          The owl, gliding silently overhead, led me down the gravel path toward the house. As I got closer, color bloomed around me like someone had plopped a drop of paint onto a canvas. It slowly spread, dyeing my surroundings with hints of night. The silvery lake turned a sparkling indigo, the lawn a deep emerald, and shadows sharpened the shapes of the hedges.

          A knot in my chest eased. Soon I’d find whatever I needed to see, and I’d be able to go back to sleep—normal sleep. The low hum of voices grew louder in the background, like listening to someone talk while my head was underwater. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t what was important.

          Around the corner of the house stood a beautiful white gazebo with green vines climbing the sides. Red, pink, and yellow chrysanthemums dotted the scene, adding a splash of beauty and filling the air with their floral scent.

          I tensed as more of my senses returned. Whatever the Portent wanted to tell me would be clear soon.

Two figures stood on the other side of the gazebo, talking in quiet, muffled voices. Their conversation had an edge of restrained tension but was too soft to make out. Their veins both had the slight glow that marked living creatures in a Portent.

          The owl circled a few times over the men before it turned and flew off, disappearing into the dark sky.

I moved forward until the first man came into view—a stranger with shaggy blond hair and a cleft chin. I was pretty sure I’d never seen him in Austen Heights.

He narrowed his blue eyes at his companion, who was still mostly hidden. “Admit I’m right.”

          “You were way out of line, Easton,” said a rich tenor. The voice had the perfect amount of huskiness to make my toes curl.

          “You’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” The blue-eyed man—Easton?—stepped toward his companion.

          I shifted to the right to better see Easton’s mysterious counterpart, and my breath caught at how perfectly his face matched his voice. He wore an air of elegance like a well-fitted coat as well as a pair of dark-wash jeans and a cream sweater under a dark blazer. He was tall and well-built with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and thick black curls.

          “If you can’t help but question me, our arrangement isn’t going to work.” The unreasonably attractive man’s green eyes flashed as his voice came out a growl.

          Easton swiped at his forehead nervously, his face pale.

          I moved forward, sacrificing my view of Easton to get closer to the other man. He wasn’t from Austen Heights either—I’d remember if I’d seen that sharp jawline or those mesmerizing eyes—so then what was he doing here? Was he part of that group of highborn fae Riley had mentioned?

          The man shook his head, revealing slightly pointed ears.

          A fae, then. I took back all of my previous comments about his sexiness.

          “You shouldn’t have done that.” The fae’s eyes narrowed to match his gravelly voice.

          What had Easton done? Despite myself, curiosity urged me closer, but I was still a good fifteen feet away. Even though they couldn’t see me in a Portent, getting too close always made me feel exposed.

          “I had no choice.” Easton swayed under the fae’s glare but said nothing. What was Easton’s race? I couldn’t see his ears to confirm if they were pointed.

          The fae stepped toward Easton, blue magic streaming from his fingers and into Easton’s chest.

Easton made a choking noise and collapsed to one knee. His eyes rolled backward, and he slumped forward, hitting the ground with a soft thud.

          The dark-haired fae dropped to his knees and held a hand to Easton’s throat, his expression determined.                   Was he checking for a pulse to make sure he was dead?

          The glow in Easton’s veins flickered out.

          I gasped and stepped back, hiding behind the gazebo once more even though I was invisible. Had I really witnessed a murder? Then again, I wouldn’t put it past a fae to kill.

          Was that what my Portent had wanted me to see?

          I jolted awake in bed and sat up, covered in a cold sweat. Thoughts as turbulent as the bay at high tide swirled in my head while my heart pounded wildly. If only my Portents showed the future instead of the present.           At least then I’d have a chance to save that man.

          But now it was too late. Easton was dead.

          Ice numbed my chest at the callous way that dark-haired fae had stolen a life, but I shoved the fear back and let resolve take its place. It didn’t matter that Easton was a stranger. I couldn’t sit back and do nothing after what I’d witnessed. My fingers curled into fists where they rested on top of my quilt.

          Normally, I hated my Portents, but now I’d love nothing more than to use my ability to bring down that fae murderer.