My heart beats sluggishly. I glare at the ball of fire struggling to live between my palms. I will it to grow, to shift, to do anything. But I’m tapped out. Sweat drips from my brow and onto the flame, extinguishing it. 

I groan and look up to find that Grandmother’s lips are pursed with disapproval.

“Again,” she orders.

“I can’t,” I say, trying not to whine.

“Artemis,” she snaps. 

I wince and bring my hands together again, cupping them enough to create a hollow. More sweat forms, sliding from the crease between my eyebrows to the tip of my nose. I focus hard on my hands and, miraculously, a few sparks erupt between them, as if I were physically striking stone with a flint, but that’s all. No fire blooms.

Grandmother’s face is pinched when I give up and drop my hands to my knees, bending over to catch my breath.

“It’s just as well,” she says curtly. “Your chauffeur is here anyway.”

Tires crunch on the gravel driveway outside, confirming her words. My heart rate picks up significantly.

“He’s not my chauffeur,” I mutter. Hurriedly, I push my dark bangs out of my eyes and wipe the sweat from my forehead.

“Oh, really? So your mother doesn’t pay him to drive you around?”

“Just to and from here.” I quickly reach for my bag as I hear heavy footfalls on the ancient front porch.

“Come in, young man,” Grandmother calls before Dev even has a chance to knock.

The screen door creaks open and my breath catches as he steps inside. 

Devereaux LaTour is my idea of perfection. At eighteen, he is just south of six feet and packed with lithe muscle. His dark hair is short on the sides and long on top, curling gently over his forehead. 

His grey eyes settle on me.

“Hey,” he says, and I feel his voice all the way down to my toes. “Ready to go?”

I nod and hoist my bag up on my shoulder.

“And how are you this evening, Mr. LaTour?” Grandmother asks, busying herself with cleaning up after our training session. A few scorch marks decorate the drop cloth she’d had the foresight to spread out.

I wonder what Dev thinks she and I do when I come here. I once told him that it was piano lessons, but I’m not sure if he believed me or not.

“Just fine, ma’am.” He gives her a charming but tight smile. Only showing a peek at those dimples that I love so much.

He’s always been like this around Grandmother. Never quite daring to look her in the eye. Maybe he is afraid of her. She is the rich and mysterious Bia Adelfi, after all.

I grasp the strap of my bag and rock forward on my heels. “I’ll see you next week, Grandmother.”

“Yes. Goodnight Artemis.” She follows us out onto the huge, white wrap-around porch. The house, Moonhollow, is an old plantation house that has been in our family for generations. It’s ancient and rife with magic.

As Dev and I make our way down the stairs Grandmother leans against a post.

“Devereaux LaTour, don’t forget what I told you.” Like everything else about her, her voice is stern.

This warning is something she says every time the two of them part ways. I’ve always burned to know what the hell she’s referring to, but neither of them have ever given up that information. It has been like this since the first time she met Dev, when he moved next door to Mama and I when he was twelve and I was ten.

“Sure thing, Ms. Adelfi,” he says without turning around. It’s what he always says.

The night is clear as we careen down the Louisiana back roads in Dev’s large black truck. Stars cover the sky like we’re under a big blanket with pinholes in it.

Every week we do this. He brings me out to Moonhollow and five hours later picks me up and brings me back into town. Back to Crescent Creek. 

We hardly ever speak during these interludes, and we absolutely never speak outside of them. Mama pays him twenty bucks a week to cart me to and from Moonhollow, but other than that, he acts like I don’t exist.

I assume this is because I’m considered weird. 

My witchy ancestry makes me an outcast. People aren’t quite sure if it’s true or not but just the possibility that I might be something unnatural makes people shy away.

Which is a shame, because Dev really is the prettiest boy in town. He’s a senior and a football player at our school. Like every other teenage girl within a five mile radius, which encompasses almost all of our small town, I am hopelessly in love with him.

Well, not love, maybe. Because while I have lived next door to him for six years and spend a total of an hour in a car with him once a week, I can’t claim to know him all that personally. Sure, I’ve been in his house. His little brother, Jules, is my best and only friend, besides my Mama. But Dev is a pretty private person. So no, not love, I guess. But I’m definitely in lust with him.

However, I know my chances are abysmal, so it’s something I’ve just accepted as a fact of life and am trying to move past.

Tonight the truck windows are halfway down and my brown-almost-black hair cyclones around me, forcing me to gather it and try and tame it into a rough braid.

“Someday,” I tell Dev as I divide my locks into three sections. “You’re going to tell me what she’s talking about when she says that.”

He snorts. “Not likely.”

I stare out the window as my fingers work on my hair, because it’s that or stare at him and drool like an idiot. I assume their shared secret has something to do with my Grandmother’s precognition. She probably saw something all those years ago and for some reason needs to continuously warn him against it. Which is weird, because Grandmother is a pretty selfish person. She only cares about things like that if they affect her or the family. I know I shouldn’t pry, it’s probably something very personal, but I can’t stop my curiosity from raging. Whatever it is, he probably doesn’t even believe her.

It’s a half hour drive each way from Crescent Creek to Moonhollow. Dev has been driving me ever since he turned sixteen and got his license. Mama and I had had a car up until that point, but almost on the same day that he’d come home with his truck our Honda had crapped out beyond the point of salvation. Like it was kismet.

I enjoy our car rides together, even though he barely looks at me and we hardly ever speak. Soft music plays from the radio and the bucket seat is so worn in and comfy that sometimes I doze off. Nights like tonight especially, when I’m exhausted from training and the cool fall air caresses me from the open window.

Once my hair is restrained, I lean my head against the glass and let myself drift off, savoring the feel of having Devereaux no more than three feet from me. I imagine what it would be like if he treated me like a friend and not just a vaguely annoying acquaintance. It’s a nice fantasy to fall into.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I jump awake to the clearing of a throat and the cutting of an engine.

“Thanks,” I say with a yawn as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

Dev doesn’t respond, just opens the door and climbs out. We pass one another in the driveway as I head to my house and he goes to his. The quick brush of his arm against mine gives me goosebumps.

Mama’s nose is buried deep in a romance novel when I come in and drop my bag by the door. She jumps and smiles widely up at me.

“Hi baby. How was your Grandmother’s? Want some tea?” She stands, dropping the book to the couch and hurrying to the kitchen.

I follow, glad to be home. Mama and Grandmother have been estranged for years. I’m not certain about why, exactly, and trying to get a straight answer out of either of them is like trying to teach a cat to pour tea. But even Mama agrees that I need training to hone my witchy powers, so my trips to Moonhollow still happen weekly. Sometimes I think Mama made our car break down on purpose, so she wouldn’t have to take me out there anymore.

I sigh, remembering the disappointed tilt of Grandmother’s mouth. 

“Why can’t you train me up?” I drop into one of our mismatched kitchen chairs and slump against the table as Mama puts the kettle on to boil.

“Because I’m not as mean as your grandmother,” she says with a chuckle. She sits down across from me at our small table. “Training takes time and discipline. And I’m terrible at discipline. Thank the goddess you’re a good kid or you’d be runnin’ amuck in this town and I’d have no say in it.”

I smile, trying to picture myself as a delinquent instead of a straight A outcast. It isn’t an image that comes easily to the mind. 

“I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think I’m cut out to be the powerful witch that she thinks I am. I’ve been working my butt off and I’m still on basic elemental stuff.” 

“Time and discipline,” she repeats. “And we’re a family of psychics anyway. The elemental stuff, while useful, is not our strong suit. You’ll understand once you move on to omens and stuff like that. How to read cards and runes and even bones and tea leaves. Your Grandmother’s an expert in all that.”

I blow upward, making my bangs fly. “I haven’t even had a real vision yet. Maybe I’m not a psychic like you two.”

She laughs, placing a hand over her heart. “Baby, it’ll come. And some days you’ll wish it hadn’t.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

She purses her lips thoughtfully. I don’t tell her how the expression reminds me of Grandmother. 

“This morning at the grocery store I touched Mae Weatherby’s hand and saw an affair in her future.”

I gasp. “Mr. W is gonna cheat on his wife?!”

“See now, I don’t know. It wasn’t that specific. Maybe she’ll be the one cheatin’ on him.” 

Mama’s visions are usually pretty vague like that. Grandmother is the one who can pinpoint exact dates and events most of the time, when she bothers. Probably because of all her time and discipline.

 “That sounds awful.” I rub my eyes. “I think I’ll skip the tea tonight. I’m beat. Night Mama.”

“Goodnight baby. Don’t stress yourself about your powers. They’ll come in full force when you get deflowered.”

I learned about that from Grandmother. For young witches, losing their virginity is just the push most powers need to manifest. But I have no plans to experience that in the near future, not even for the sake of power.

I head back to my bedroom, stopping off in the bathroom on the way. 

Our two bedroom house is small and ramshackle, nothing compared to the three story behemoth that is Moonhollow. But I love it anyway. My room has a slanted ceiling on one side above my bed and a set of shabby french doors that open up onto our back patio. Mama fixes up the house a little bit at a time but she’s also a business owner and most of the money she makes goes back into her bookstore. The rest feeds us.

My window faces the window of the luscious Dev LaTour. Our bedrooms are separated by a small, tiger lily lined grass alleyway. Normally he keeps his blinds down, so it’s quite a surprise after I’ve stripped down to my bra and panties to turn and find him staring at me. His mouth hangs open in surprise.

I should grab the first thing I can find and use it to cover myself but instead my eyes drop to his bare chest and narrow hips. His pecs, abs and adonis V seem to fry my mind, cutting off all chances for logical thought.

He wears tight blue boxer briefs, the athletic kind that are meant to breathe in all the right places. When my eyes drop to check out what’s below the waist, so do his hands. He covers himself and clears his throat. 

I lift my eyes to his and feel a blush start in my cheeks and work its way down my neck.

“Your window’s open,” I blurt dumbly. 

His eyebrows raise.

“It’s just.. Your window is never open.” I glance down at my olive green bra and panty set, suddenly grateful that I matched today. Slowly I reach for my robe and pull it on.

“Our air conditioning’s broken,” he explains, eyes still on my face and hands still covering his junk.

“My condolences,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else. I tie my robe closed. Our air conditioner has been broken for years.

Our staredown is interrupted by his little brother,  Julius, barging into his room.

“Dev, have you seen my - Oh, hey Emmy. Wow. Your room is like, right there.”

I smile at the sight of my best friend.

“Has it always been so close?” Jules tilts his head.

“No, the houses have crept closer together over the years,” Dev says dryly, rolling his eyes.

“Dude. We should switch rooms,” says Jules, ignoring his brother’s sarcasm.

Dev narrows his eyes. “Why? So you can have an even easier time sneaking out? No way.”

I’m relieved. Not because I don’t want to be closer to Jules, but because the thought of possibly never catching a glimpse of his brother’s abs again is devastating.

Jules harrumphs.

“What did you need, little brother?”

“My math book.”

Dev gives up covering himself and instead pulls on some plaid pajama pants. 

“I have no idea, Jules. Can you get out of my room?”

I suddenly feel like I’m intruding and turn away, busying myself with finding something modest to wear to bed.

Instead of listening to Dev, Jules strolls to the window. “Can I borrow yours, Em?”

I blink up at him, shorts and tank top clutched to my chest. “What?”

“Your math book.” Jules looks amused. “Can I borrow it?”

“Oh, sure. Meet me in five.” I don’t have to specify where. We have a meeting spot over the fence that divides our backyards, underneath a shady mulberry tree. 

Dev grumbles and Jules hurries out of his room, clicking the door closed behind him.

“I’ll just go change in the bathroom,” I mumble.

“Or you could close your blinds,” Dev suggests gruffly.

I laugh in surprise. “No way! Mine were open first. And we haven’t had a/c since 2014. You close yours!”

He wrinkles his nose in a look that I hate to admit is almost unbearably attractive. 

“Look, let’s just be mature about this.” His eyes slip down my body again, as if picturing what I looked like underneath the robe. “We’ll just both do our changin’ in the bathroom before we go to bed. No big deal.”

Heartbroken as I am to miss out on a show like this ever again, it seems like the best solution.

“Fine. Uh… I have to go meet Jules, so, goodnight?”

“Don’t keep him out too late.” His stern tone reminds me that he is really the caretaker of the household. Their father is a single parent and a trucker, so he’s gone more often than he is home.

“Okay,” I say.

The night is still just as clear as it was during the ride home when I meet Jules under the mulberry tree. I hand my calculus book over.

“So how’d everything go with your … extracurriculars?”

Jules knows my secret. He once walked in on me trying to summon enough water to put out a small fire that I’d accidentally started in my bedroom waste bin. That was two years ago and he hasn't’ said a word about it to anyone, so I figure I can trust him. 

“Exhausting. Me and fire don’t really get along.”

He snorts, tucking the textbook under his arm. “That’s true for most people.”

“Jules?”

“Mhmm?”

“How come you never come with Dev when he drops me off or picks me up from Moonhollow?”

Jules leans against the fence, putting more faith in it than he probably should. “I dunno. He’s never invited me. He usually just takes off without warning.”

I mull that over. Some silly little girly part of me hopes its because Dev cherishes our alone time as much as I do.

Jules yawns. “I’m off. See you in the morning.”

“Sweet slumber,” I say with a smile and then a yawn of my own. I make my way back inside.

Upon my return, almost involuntarily, my eyes sweep the dark recesses of Devereaux’s room for him. I find him sprawled on his back on his full sized bed, still topless with sheets gathered around his waist. One arm is thrown over his eyes, probably to block out the light given off by my little bedside lamp. 

I turn it off and slip into bed, but it takes me awhile to fall asleep. Even though I’m exhausted from training all evening, I’m restless now. Resisting the urge to sit up so I can watch the slow rise and fall of Dev’s chest has me tossing and turning. Gods, am I really that obsessed? I pride myself on my uniqueness. My ability to be different from everyone else at Crescent Creek High. But in my longing for Devereaux LaTour I feel just like every other girl in town.