“You don’t smell that weird,” Billy whispered, looking after him.
I laughed a little, very quietly. “It’s not … it’s spellwork, on my feet. I’ll explain.”
His brows went up and his hand tightened around mine. We moved like a two-headed animal up the stairs, to a linen closet with a squeaky door. I should’ve been down where his dad wouldn’t see me but neither of us wanted to let go. On the way out I took a windbreaker from a hook, something with a pocket to tuck the golden box inside.
There was no ladder to the tree house, you had to climb the tree itself. I went first and Billy threw the bedding up piece by piece. It was damp inside and strewn with dead leaves but it smelled the way I remembered. A little like my old cigar box, plus rain and must and that dense green scent at the base of a leaf stem. I layered two comforters over the old boards, arranged the uncased pillows, and waited for him.
I was right, this was the best place we could be. It was built with skill and love and it was even weatherproofed, one shed-size room with a peaked roof and three windows and a doorway you had to kinda swing yourself through. Better than that, it was nestled in the branches of an old oak that had held me so many times as I grew. We would be safe here.
Billy pulled himself inside. He looked at me, then around the little house. “This was a good idea.”
“I know.”
Of course I used to pretend this was our actual house, his and mine, and around the time I hit ten I dreamed it as a wedding house, the place we’d live in when we were married. Not that I ever told him that. The air shimmered with the ghosts of our younger selves, our secrets, our heads side by side on the wooden floor. All the times I wanted to kiss him or hoped he’d kiss me. The walls and our faces were patterned with leaves turning under moonlight.
“Come here.” I reached a hand out and tugged him down, the last of my energy tipping out like spilled salt as we went horizontal.
“You asked me what happened,” I said. “All the things I couldn’t remember—everything about you, about magic—my mother stole them from me. And she locked it all inside a golden box.”
I could feel the whole warm line of his body beside mine. “That’s not a metaphor, is it?”
I shook my head, slipping the box briefly from my borrowed jacket pocket to show him. It felt like a loaded gun. “I do believe she thought she was protecting me. I just don’t know if that’s good enough.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “That’s … I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t sleep yet,” I murmured. “The person I thought was in my house the other day, she’s someone my mother knew. Another witch. My mom and aunt have been gone for days and I’m sure she has them, or hurt them, I don’t know. We’re safe while we’re here, but I have to find them.” I pressed my fingers to my eyes. “I can’t even keep track of what I know, what I could use to find them. I could scry, I could sleep…”
He nodded. “You should sleep, you need it. I’ll stay awake, I’ll watch over you.”
“No, I mean, I could sleep to dream.” An ache filled my rib cage as I made another connection. “I’ve spent years believing I didn’t even have dreams. But that was one more thing the box took. When I was a kid, I could do anything when I dreamed. Even pull people in with me.”
“Ivy.” His eyes were so soft. “I know.”
He did know. I remembered now. When Billy was a kid, he had nightmares. They tended to start up after his mother called the house, erratic bursts of maternal interest that never lasted long. When the nightmares got bad, I’d pull him into my dreams.
We smiled at each other, and when he kissed me we were still smiling.
Until we weren’t. He was beside me, then above me, propped on one arm. He ran a hand firmly down my body, rib cage to thigh, then held me there and pulled me up, closer. We kissed and kissed and it wove the air to silver and the silver touched every part of our skin, until he sighed against my mouth and said, “Oh, my god. Finally.”
“Second kiss,” I said.
“It was better. It was even better.”
We laughed together in the dark. Everything outside was a barbed-wire knot, but we were in here. I didn’t know joy and sorrow could lodge together so tightly. I didn’t know how to accept all my mother had taken from me, how to think about everything I’d gotten back.
He was running a hand over the sleek flank of my borrowed activewear. “Shit. I’m gonna have an exercise video fetish now. Tell me to do a push-up, okay?”