Chapter 15: Rory - Entities to Lovers

I’m going to burn the apartment down.

I hover over the pot on the stove and gaze into it. This should have been a basic simmer pot spell. My mom makes ones like it at holidays. Usually it’s a combination of herbs and oils, boiled together on the stove. The ones she makes smell like cinnamon, clove, orange, and rosemary, depending on her mood. Temperance’s spell should be basic kitchen witchery.

This, however, is basic decomposition.

The ingredients were simple. Lemon, vanilla, rosemary, and some black peppercorns. Under no circumstances should this spell have created a stench quite like this. It should be strong and aromatic, but not decaying.

The herbs boiled and began to congeal?

I…but I did everything right.

Ezra and I did a preliminary debrief last night, but I’d need a clear head and night of sleep to execute this properly. Besides, how was I supposed to determine which spell would really help us out when I was thinking about the clamp of Ezra’s hand over my lips? I can’t decode Temperance’s messages when I’m thinking about Ezra’s hips rocking against my lower stomach or the protective way he caught and cradled me.

Instead, we settled in and watched a late-night rerun of Cosmic Conspiracies about the Black Plague coming to Earth from space, rather than rats, which pissed both of us off. I especially couldn’t think about spellcraft as we sat next to each other on the couch, far enough away to not touch, but close enough I could still see my faded purple lip print on the palm of his hand.

Now, the next morning, I’m three spell attempts in, and every one of Temperance’s recipes has resulted in catastrophic failure for completely inexplicable reasons.

I can’t find the kind of spell Temperance put on us, so figuring out how to undo it is precarious. Jinxes tend to be short-term and lower degrees of dark magic, but this…it feels different. A lot of her curses and hexes are specific. There’s one that will attract flies to a person wherever they go; another refracts negative energy back on the sender. So I begin with the basics.

Spell 1: A banishment spell. Temperance’s notes dictated this kind of spell would expel any negative energies. I was to find a black candle, a piece of paper, and salt, and burn the name of the energy or entity I wished to dispel from my life. I wrote down Temperance. Then I burned my finger.

Spell 2: An uncrossing spell. It involved lemons and salt, and lemon juice squirted into my eye, so I concluded I am still fucking cursed.

Spell 3: This purification spell.

I am so in over my head. This one doesn’t even include fire. Luna is also nowhere to be found. Even the ghost has fled the scene. Another ghost has taken her place.

I woke up happy, despite everything, with a bubbling excitement in my stomach at the prospect of another day with Ezra. Last night was nice, and dare I say I had fun touring with him. Even the cozy night we spent back at my apartment was simple, but undoubtedly joyful. It didn’t last long before I heard Mara’s words echoing in my head, haunting me.

Mara’s got a habit of finding me when things go too well for me, when I’m too happy. She’ll tell me all the ways this could go wrong, all the reasons I don’t measure up. As the stove gurgles and a horrible, gloppy boil sends a puff of rancid air at my face, I find it hard to doubt Mara’s continued refrain in my ear.

You’ll never be enough.

My gag reflex rebels. I take the pot off the heat and hope that’ll make it better.

That wakes Ezra up.

“Dear god,” he mutters. His voice is still gravelly with sleep and delirium. “What is that smell?”

I spin around, still wielding a wooden spoon. This is a bad look. I’ve got the pictures of Temperance’s book open on my phone, garden trimmings of the supplies I’ve used this morning, and a steaming pot of sludge on the counter. I probably even have dirt smudged on my face.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I say.

His face scrunches up in disgust. Two days without shaving has left a layer of dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw. It makes him look older and edgier. It fits the tattoos, the earring, his crooked smirks well. Ezra Blackwell is proving to be a threat to my well-being in so many ways.

“Yeah, hard to sleep through the smell of death.”

Ezra pulls his shirt up to cover his nose. Instead of sleeping in jeans like he did two nights ago, he was able to change into a pair of gray joggers and pull on a Revere University T-shirt before bed. His sweats hang low on his hips, exposing the outline of a ship above the elastic of his underwear, and the thin strip of hair leading into his pants. I don’t mean to look, but I can’t help myself.

I’m just a girl, after all.

Thankfully, it’s hard to be turned on when the air is thick with the foulest smell I’ve ever breathed.

“It’s not supposed to smell like this,” I insist. Everything feels worse now that someone’s here to observe my failure. When I was alone, those missteps were just for me to know. Now? Ezra’s going to see I’m hardly even good at things I feel I should be good at. “At least I don’t think. I was reading Temperance’s notes and this is a purification potion. She’d even written, ‘This will get rid of anything!’ ”

“I mean,” he says through his T-shirt, “I would like to flee. This smells like literal carrion, Rory.”

“I noticed!” I cry. “I mean, the comment does make sense, though. God damn it, Temperance.”

He disappears into the bathroom, leaving me alone with my boiling Cuisinart Cauldron. My eyes water, and not just because of the smell.

Because I’m fucking embarrassed. And angry. And hopeless.

This was supposed to be the thing I helped us with. It was a foolproof plan Ezra came up with, and I’ve squandered it. I don’t know if he’d be any better at it, but I’ve let us both down. I try to take initiative, but it’s always in the wrong direction. It’s so much easier if I stay still. Temperance is forcing me to move and I hate it.

I bet she’s laughing at me, too.

And now? Right as my mom is counting on me to help The Out There pull off this shoot?

Who do I think I am? Brave or strong or powerful enough to break a curse? Even to love? Never.

Ezra finally emerges from the bathroom, dressed in today’s jeans and a black sweater. The room still smells like rotting meat, but he tries to put on a brave face anyway. He’s clearly breathing through his mouth only.

“I am beginning to suspect Temperance Talbot is an asshole,” he says.

“You don’t say! My whole apartment is going to smell like this. Forever, maybe. Even Luna fled! I scoured this entire damn book, Ezra. Half of it is instructions on her séances, gossip notes about the people who came to her sittings, and a few spells and potion recipes.”

Aaaand, now I’m unraveling.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He stops me. He reaches his hands out and rests them on my arms, shocking me. His touch is gentle and comforting. There’s a protective and sweet side to him that’s only making all this worse. When he brushes his thumbs over the top of my shoulders, I do feel better. “We’re going to figure this out. Are there any other spells in here we might want to try?”

“A lot of them are love spells, attraction—” I say.

“All right, I don’t think we need any help with that,” Ezra laughs suddenly.

I can’t tell if he’s saying it because the idea of being attracted to me bothers him, or if he’s subtly confessing something. I may be psychic, but my propensity to suspect when someone’s into me is low-key nonexistent. We’ve known each other for a year, but over the past few days, I’ve gotten to know a completely different person who lived under the stage makeup, the history fun-facts, and the need to be the smartest person in the room.

But Ezra couldn’t be attracted to…me? Surely I’ve given him plenty of reasons to rethink that.

“I expected you to have this all figured out by now, little witch,” he teases.

“I’m not a witch.”

“I know,” he sighs. “It’s a joke.”

“It’s not funny,” I argue.

“All right, all right,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m trying to bring some levity to a stinky situation.”

“Ezra, please. We’re at a dead end here, right before Halloween, right before the shoot, right before your evaluation—”

His brows furrow and he shakes his head. “You think I don’t know that? You think this is not a massive pain in my ass, too? I literally can’t leave your side!”

Why would anyone stay for you? Another one of Mara’s go-to lines. It’s an invisible snarl in my ear.

“I know. Your worst nightmare,” I reply.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, Rory,” he says, but it’s like a match in a powder keg. The tears in my eyes burst and I toss the spoon onto the counter.

“You know what, Ezra? If you want this curse broken so badly, you could do something—”

Then I’m rudely interrupted by the fire alarm. The pot on the stove smokes. I took it off the heat minutes ago. There’s no logical reason this fucking simmer pot should be steaming.

“You wave something in front of the alarm. I’m opening a window.”

My apartment windows clunk open and a frigid breeze sweeps in as Ezra waves a book in front of the fire alarm. At least the open window might air out the rancid smell. My window opens onto a fire escape, where I put my little herbs out to grow, but today, there’s a bird loitering. It takes ambitious hops forward and flaps its wings. “No, no, no! SHOO!”

I slam the window down and keep our avian interloper outside, but the alarm is still blaring. Then the toilet makes some kind of horrifying bellowing noise. Something’s not right. This isn’t supposed to happen when we’re in the same room. What’s going on? Just as we felt like we were on the right track, we’re back where we started.

“Why is this happening?” I plead and my eyes flood with tears again.

“Rory?” Ezra asks. “Are you okay?”

He drops the book on the shelf as I slide down the radiator in defeat.

“Enough, Temperance!” he grumbles. “You made her upset! You didn’t have to do that.”

Suddenly, the toilet stops yelling, and the fire alarm ceases, and the steam in the pot dissipates. I fill that silence by breaking into desperate, humiliating sobs. I’m angry and frustrated and scared and embarrassed. And I have no idea what to do next. Even worse, I’m doing this in front of Ezra.

I bury my face in my hands and let the sobs come. This is exactly the time where I’d hear a loop of Mara’s provocations in my head, but instead, I hear Ezra kneeling in front of me. He rests his hands on my thighs, thumbs stroking my leggings. “Hey, it’s all right. We’ll…figure something out. I don’t know what, but we’ll work on it.”

He’s stumbling over his words. The professor, the man who knows everything, doesn’t know what to do either, but he knows I need someone to be there for me. I’m lost and out of ideas, but I’m not alone.

I shove back a new wave of tears and lean my head against the radiator. Ezra moves one hand to my shoulder and pulls me away from the radiator.

“I don’t want you to catch fire,” he tells me.

“I’m not a witch. I might not burn,” I argue.

His laugh is soft and tender. “Well, let’s not find out. Come here.”

I have no clue what he’s offering, but he carefully pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me. He doesn’t seem certain of it either, but like he’s compelled by some force to move closer. Temperance? I have no idea, but I sink into the hug with ease, and god, it feels good.

This shouldn’t happen with someone like Ezra, who for so long felt like splinters under my fingernails, who I swore sought to make my life deeply irritating. I shouldn’t find it so natural to slide into his arms, bury my face in the crook of his shoulder, and safely let my tears flow into his sweater.

“I don’t know what to do.” The words are pathetic and watery. It just makes Ezra squeeze me tighter. I grip his sweater and absorb everything about this moment. The minty bite of toothpaste still on his breath, his rings on my back through my clothing, and the steady beat of his heart.

“I know,” he says. “Me either.”

“I feel like a failure.”

Ezra pulls away and sweeps his thumb under my eyelids. “You are not a failure.”

“I fucked up three spells this morning,” I admit.

“So?” he says with a nonchalant wave. “Still better than I could have done. I don’t know what any of those little jars on your shelves are. I would have actually burned the apartment down. I feel like I’m not pulling my weight either.”

He sucks in a displeased breath and defeat hangs in his eyes, too. We’re both out of our depth.

“You know stuff,” I assure him. “Too much, sometimes.”

He gives a half smile. “Much to your chagrin, right?”

“Only sometimes.”

“Maybe we can try some of these other spells.”

I shake my head. “Nothing in the book seems like the kind of magic we’re dealing with. Spells are about intention, and if she was writing these down, she would be clear about what they do, right?”

“I guess so.”

“And up until now, staying together has kept us safe. But we were in the same room and everything went wrong anyway.”

He ponders it. Ezra runs his hands through his hair. “It’s like Temperance changed the rules on us. Do you think another séance would help?”

“No,” I groan. “All she said last time was Be afraid and that was hardly a directive.”

“Temperance Talbot, Vague Queen.”

“Seriously.” I sniffle again. Ezra’s quiet and he reaches for a tissue on the coffee table, passing it to me. He stays silent, running one thumb along the inside of my knee as we sit. Then I get an idea. And it sucks.

“I think…”

“What?”

I shut my eyes again. “I think we need to ask my mom for help.”