Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

12. Yaroslava

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"How can one use Morox as a drug?" I ask as we return to the hall. The party seems to become only louder closer to midnight, the laughter wilder, the air hotter.

"What, your sorcery books didn't teach you to have fun with magic?" Mir chuckles, stopping on the staircase corner, by the banister overlooking the dancefloor below.

"No," I say plainly. Two lights fall over his face, one purple, another blue, and Mir's profile is sculptured between them, like a canvas you surreptitiously descry through a keyhole at dusk. Painted by deceitful morning haze.

"Most people here don't know it's magic, for them it's just a nice party," he continues, his right hand adjusting the cufflink on the left sleeve of his gray shirt. He still doesn't look at me. "Let's say, Morox prevents your mind from thinking nonstop. If you use it right. Take only enough to dive into a good dreamless sleep while you're still awake enjoying the world with no consequences. Be whoever you want and with whoever you want. No expectations, no judgment. And forget everything--if you wish-once the sun rises." He flinches as his fingers squeeze the cufflink too hard. "Shit."

We both stare at the bead of blood on his fingertip. The only thing that holds our gazes linked.

"Wait here, will you?" he spins around, heading downstairs without waiting for my answer.

Where would I go? I watch as he makes his way down and over to the bar, reaching for a cocktail napkin to wipe the blood. The bartender offers him a drink, Mir refuses but then says something that causes the bearded man's face screw up in confusion.

Languid, I look around the club again. Now, taking a closer look, I think I know what Nilam was talking about people coming here for magic. Everything here is ordinary, but behind the veil of tipsy recklessness, there is something...delicious. A taste you get when you walk at night when nobody listens, nobody watches, nobody cares for your missteps. Of freedom--at least that's how magic always tasted for me.

Most drinks in people's hands are lucent, faintly twinkling from inside. And every face is a little bit too cheerful, too confident. No expectations, no judgment. How much yourself would you dare to be if you know nobody's here to question your choices?

This is not the kind of magic I used, this one is safe, playful. It's candies and flowers and mermaids while mine was blood and murk and death. Yet this is the underworld I was so desperate to find. Where everyone belongs.

And I still don't.

Peeling herself away from the dancing crowd, Laverna appears by the bar, her cheeks flushed, her hair rumpled. She swings her arm over Mir's shoulders and babbles something into his ear.

Mir shakes his head.

Lav loops her hands around his arm then and pulls, drawing him to join her. When he stays rock still, she sighs, gliding onto a stool beside him, and begins all over again.

"--never!--until--now." Lav's voice reaches me in clipped fragments as songs change.

Along with his answer, Mir motions at me. My breath catches as Laverna's eyes dart up to my shadowy corner. She doesn't see me, but I do see the irritation numbing her face.

Her? she levels her finger up while looking down at Mir again. I suddenly feel defenseless, a little girl dodging from a stone thrown at her behind the school.

Mir nods.

Her what? The girl who ruins the night? The girl who will save us all? I want to be none of those. Sour despair sticks to my tongue at the thought of it. I dreamed about getting rid of my powers for fair three years as it'd been poisoning my life, and now I want it back? I fall into my old ways, longing for strengths, for support. I'm weak. Scared.