Blood & Wine

7 | Dasher

Calla uncorked our third bottle of wine, a grin on her face. "Do you know what elemental affinity your mother had?" she asked, pouring me another glass of wine.

Eden should've been home by now, but Calla didn't seem concerned. I kept checking the clock, though. She was twenty minutes later than when she said she would be back. What if something had happened to her? "She liked gardening," I answered, trying not to think of Mom. "She had a green thumb. Anything grew or revived under her touch."

Calla handed me my glass back, and I dutifully took it. I wasn't going to turn down wine, although she did warn me beforehand it was only alcohol they kept in. "Most witches do, but we'll start you off with some Earth magic tomorrow," she replied, sitting next to me on the sofa.

"What's your element?" I asked, taking a long sip. Eden had shared a glass with us before leaving.

Calla gave me a blank look. "Fire? Duh? Did you miss my display yesterday?" She drowned her glass in two gulps.

I shrugged. "I thought all witches could control all elements. My mom never really explained that." Thinking about her made my stomach twist painfully. I put her out of my mind—her long, dark curls, and her olive skin, shades darker than mine. That beautiful, rounded face I hadn't inherited.

"To a degree, I guess we can," Calla admitted, "but we're stronger in one particular element. Coven Mothers, like Eden, they get full control of all the elements. I guess it's so they can teach people."

Of course Eden could control all the elements. What couldn't she do? Why wouldn't she be able to do everything?

"If I wanted to, I guess I could learn to control water and air, earth and spirit, too," she continued, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass. "I like fire, though. It's hot. It's wild. It's uncontrollable."

"Kind of like you."

"Exactly like me."

We clinked our glasses together, and she started drinking again, settling into a comfortable, tipsy silence.

Alcohol numbed the pain. It didn't erase it, it didn't hide it. It just numbed it. I could feel the pain there like a sharp knife, but the alcohol dulled it, rounded off those sharp edges so it was a consistent ache instead of sharp, angry cuts that dug deeper and deeper until I—

Calla sighed—loudly. "I can feel your pain, remember?" She tapped on my shoulder, giving me a serious look. "Just this one time I'll take it away, how you feel. Because joining a Coven is supposed to be a big deal with a big celebration. A happy time. But eventually you'll have to deal with it."

I rolled my neck out. "Don't take it," I told her. "I'm happy."

Liar. I was happier than I had been yesterday, but that didn't mean anything. I had been at my lowest then. Actually, it seemed each day I sunk a little bit lower, except my eyes were closed, and I wasn't able to see how far I was going. Eventually I'd hit rock bottom and be forced to climb out.

But, until then, I'd drink.

"Pour me some more," I told Calla. "Why didn't we have a big celebration today?"

I hadn't wanted one—I hadn't even known it was a big celebration. I didn't want one now either. The thought of being around people right now mad eye nervous in a way I didn't recognize.

Calla sighed. "There's... a lot going on," she explained, grabbing the bottle and uncorking it. She poured as she spoke. "With the Coven being so-called cursed, a lot of witches don't want to visit us or participate in rituals with us. Which is just fine because they usually suck anyway, and if they don't, they're not powerful enough to join. Even if we did do a whole shabang for you, only a few would've came, and only so they could report back to their Coven Mother about what was going on."