Time Spell by T.A. Foster

end up like this, on the floor in a cabin, naked. And I’d just tell him.
    I would say, “Jack, you know all of those funny little things I do and how I know all of these little stories no one else knows? Well, that’s because I have magic. I’m a witch.”
    And in this little fantasy of mine, he wouldn’t answer, he wouldn’t look shocked or disgusted or angry or scared, he would pull me under him with his strong arms, brush back my hair, and kiss me until we both needed to come up for air.
    The armful of logs Jack carried dropped to the floor, and he grabbed the fire poker to stir the dying embers. Back in reality, I was afraid to speak, afraid he would start yelling again, or worse, afraid he would leave. Once the splintered wood started to catch and warmth returned to the room, he headed for the makeshift bar and poured two more drinks. He handed one to me.
    “Show me.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “Show me, Ivy. I want to see it.”
    I took the glass from his outstretched hand, but I was shaken by his request. “I can’t. It’s not like that.”
    “Show me or I’m calling the police.” His words were firm.
    “It’s not that I don’t want to show you, it’s just that I’ve never shown anyone before. I mean not anyone without magic. This is breaking every rule that I live by, that my family lives by.” I sipped the drink, trying to stall. “You’re asking too much. You have to trust me. I told you everything I know from my Vegas trip. We can figure the rest of it out together.”
    I didn’t want to sound desperate. I wanted to sound strong and like a confident witch, but my pleas came out more like whimpers.
    “We only have a few days to figure this out, or they’re going to start picking off our families one by one. If you really expect me to believe this convoluted story, you show me.” He tipped back his shot of bourbon and looked at me. He planted himself in the doorway of the study and waited.
    I placed my drink on the coffee table next to the letter and stood in the center of the room. My pulse was racing and I bit my lip trying to control my breathing. No non-magical person had seen my magic before. This was a secret not to be broken, not ever to be broken, but I knew lives were at stake and I had already decided to trust Jack when I told him about my Time Spell .
    I focused on my hand and lifted my palm in front of my chest.
    “Illuminate,” I whispered, and a soft glowing orb of light formed in my hand and hovered.
    I let it float in the air for a few seconds, just long enough for Jack to study it. It bobbed up and down, illuminating my face and the space around my hands. Then, I dropped my palm to my side and the orb’s light disintegrated. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet his and I could feel a tear sliding down my cheek.
    I had broken my family’s bond. I had shared my magic.

J ACK DIDN’T move. He stood firmly anchored with his arms crossed. I was afraid of what I had done, afraid that I had terrified him. What did I expect him to do after I showed him a magical glowing orb in the palm of my hand?
    Whenever I was around Jack and I wasn’t deploying flirty tactics on him in the office or participating in relentless arguments over chapter rewrites, I studied him. I loved the way he analyzed the words I had written, the way he could change only one little word and an entire page came to life. He understood great literature and quoted my favorite writers. He was the perfect combination of super smart and ruggedly sexy.
    We had spent late nights cooped up in his office, ordering bad pepperoni pizza, laughing about how tired we’d be the next morning, and trudging through my manuscripts. He had coaxed me out of my shell as a writer. He coached me through chapter after chapter, challenging me to be better, pushing me to take chances.
    Jack was smart and pensive—I’d even dare to say brooding—when it came to novels he was focused on. He was sure and confident about the