Your Intuition Never Lies
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The first thing I did was try to find out how the two of them had met. It wasn’t an easy search; neither of them was particularly forthcoming about their pasts, and both were careful to avoid answering questions they didn’t want to answer.
“She’s a witch,” she said simply when asked. “A very good one.”
That much was true enough: She was one of those women whose power is subtle, but no less effective than if it were obvious, as my own mother was. Her spells are not flashy and often not even noticeable at all unless you’re a witch yourself, in which case they can be very powerful indeed—and also rather uncomfortable for you.
But I wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything since, from her story, they seemed more like lovers who’d met by chance than a couple of witches working together. And yet … there was something different about him. He was just a little too perfect and handsome to have been born on Earth. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, though I tried.
He had once told me, when I was young, that he had come here from another world. That was his excuse whenever people started asking me questions about him, usually because they noticed my eyes change color. The fact was, he hadn’t wanted me telling anyone where we lived or what we looked like.
His parents had died when he was young, and he’d never really known his family back home. As far as I knew, he didn’t have any friends, either.
I was starting to think the whole thing might be a lie, but he certainly acted like a rich person now, and his wardrobe was way fancier than mine ever was. And I could tell he loved her. It wasn’t just physical attraction; it was a deep affection that shone through everything. She made him happy. There was no doubt about it.
Still, I thought maybe they weren’t so well suited, after all, considering how little they talked and how long it took them to get engaged. Maybe it would be better for him to find someone else, and this relationship was only going to cause trouble down the road.
Or maybe I should leave it alone altogether. My intuition wouldn’t have me running off without knowing why that’s for certain, but I didn’t need to know the truth either. We were just acquaintances.
So I went ahead and got married.
And it turned out they were right about it being good for me.
My husband had always been an honest man, and when we were married, he became an even more reliable friend than I’d imagined. He never lied to me. If he’d wanted to keep our marriage secret, he could easily have done it, and then none of us would’ve been able to tell anyone what happened.
He wasn’t exactly a saint, either, but he always tried his hardest. When I told him I felt bad leaving all of our neighbors alone while we traveled around, he agreed to move somewhere where no one knew us. After a brief period of mourning for our old life, he began teaching me magic so we could go wherever I decided, and we’d live there until I was ready to settle down again.
After three years in the woods, I finally started feeling restless.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like living there: On the contrary, we found some incredible stuff in the forest. Even now, we still use the things we gathered during that time, and many of the magical creatures who lived there are now part of my charm repertoire. The wood itself is also full of enchantments and healing powers. So we moved to town and bought a house.
Our neighbors all thought we were eccentric, and I suppose they were right about that. I used a lot of odd ingredients for my spells and made potions in my kitchen, and my husband helped me out by using his engineering skills to turn my ideas into reality.
Some people found it strange that a woman had so much knowledge of such a male-dominated field, and others thought we ought to be careful because, as witches, we had special enemies. (They didn’t bother coming to talk to me themselves.)
But it was fun trying new recipes and making up spells. I learned so much from my neighbor, who was a wizard. It wasn’t so unusual to hear that word these days since most kids were raised in the coven from birth. I was lucky because we lived in an area that embraced the supernatural, so there were lots of people who understood me. But if I’d lived anywhere else, I’m sure we’d have gotten more attention.
I’d been a witch for twelve years when, in one of the towns we visited, I met a man who changed everything.
There he was, sitting at a corner table with a beer bottle in front of him. He looked tired and bored, staring straight ahead. No smile, not even a glimmer of recognition from anyone passing by as they walked past the bar. Not that he was particularly memorable in any way. Just a man waiting for the bartender.
That’s why I couldn’t believe he was real when I first saw him. He was beautiful; his hair was long, black, and shining. Every woman in the place stopped to stare at him, and their eyes widened. They didn’t want to leave before they’d seen him again, which was fine for us because our drinks arrived soon enough.
He ordered two beers, just as we did. We both smiled. “You’re in luck,” I said. “I’m a pretty big fan myself.”
“Oh really? I’m not surprised.”
His voice was smooth as velvet. We exchanged names, and he left without saying goodbye, heading toward another table near the door.
“Are you kidding?” I laughed when he was out of earshot. “Who does he think he is? What a pompous jerk. You don’t see that kind of attitude in Japan anymore—and that guy isn’t Japanese. And he doesn’t look half as good as he thinks he does!”
One of the bartenders grinned and nodded her agreement, as she poured me another drink. “Yes, ma’am! That one’s a total poser.” She handed the glass over without looking away from us. “Don’t worry about it. He’s too stuck up for his own good.
I can barely stand to watch him. All he cares about is himself, and he probably uses all sorts of charms to make other people forget about him once they leave here.” She winked.
This was the first time I’d heard someone speak so bluntly to me. I hadn’t known how badly I needed to hear it, but I was grateful. Maybe this guy really was as awful as everyone said, maybe not. Either way, his arrogance wasn’t going to change anything. My life was fine as it was.
The rest of my evening with friends passed without incident. At last, I headed home.
When I opened the door, my husband was standing on our porch with a small gift wrapped in brown paper. “Happy Birthday, dear,” he said. “I brought you something.”
I took the package from him and tore off the wrapping.
My eyes went wide as I stared at what he’d given me. A wooden sword.
“A katana,” he explained. “Do you know how to use it?”
I shook my head as I examined the weapon, feeling its weight. It seemed solid. The hilt was engraved with delicate patterns, and a few lines of poetry decorated the blade. “It’s exquisite! But where did you find it? This thing looks like it belongs in a museum.”
“Your friend told me you collect swords, and he mentioned he knew someone who could help me make this one.”
“Did he now?” I set aside the wrapping to admire my new toy. It was gorgeous. The perfect present for me. “And he knows the craftsman personally?”
“No,” my husband said, laughing as he came inside. “We bought it from a shop. It would’ve taken forever to make this, though.”
“Not if you had a magic woodworking tool,” I replied. Then I frowned. “What exactly is a katana?”
“An old sword,” my husband said, setting the sword down on top of a dresser and picking up a bottle of whiskey. “Japanese tradition states that every samurai should learn the craft before he’s ready to take up his post.” His lips curved into a faint smile.
“Apparently I’m still young enough to be considered a warrior, so we’ll see how many more times I get to wield this thing before the day comes when I have to settle for just holding a cup.”
I laughed. “Well then, let’s celebrate! Have your way with it tonight. I don’t mind watching.”
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You know, you might be right.” He lifted the bottle to his mouth and poured some into the glass. “Here’s to being twenty-seven again, darling. May it pass without notice.”
With a sigh of contentment, he sat down beside me and put the whiskey to his lips.
***
The next morning, I rose early and headed upstairs to prepare myself for work. As I pulled open the closet door, there was a flash of light followed by a clap of thunder outside. The room went dark, and for a moment everything seemed blurry.
The sudden darkness made me pause. I blinked several times before the world became clear again, and I realized that my husband’s birthday present had gone missing.
I ran downstairs to tell my husband about the theft. When he got up from his chair and looked around the house, the corners of his mouth turned down. “Damn thieves. Damn them.”
I felt a chill run up my spine. Did someone try to steal my husband’s birthday present? Or worse—had they been successful?
As I walked past the dining table, something caught my eye. There were footprints on the rug leading back to the closet, and in the middle of the carpet stood a large, black crow. Its yellow eyes glowed brightly as it regarded me with a wicked grin; its sharp claws twitched slightly as it watched me closely.
It cawed out an unpleasant laugh that echoed through the hallway as I shivered and backed away.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you while you’re resting.”
There was no answer from the crow. Instead, there was a rustle as it turned away and hopped onto the windowsill. I saw it look down at the street below, but then turn its gaze to follow me as I moved closer. It seemed curious about what I was doing.
I stepped up to the window and peered down at the road, wondering what I’d find. Nothing seemed amiss, but as soon as I started moving forward, the crow screeched and flapped its wings angrily.
“Oh, please!” I exclaimed. “Don’t start making trouble now.”
But there was nothing else for me to do. Once I’d stepped out onto the balcony, the crow’s anger grew even fiercer, and it launched itself from its perch. As I darted backward to dodge its attack, I heard a loud thud behind me and glanced over my shoulder to find that the bird was trying desperately to fly after me.
It must not have liked losing the game, or maybe it just wanted another chance.
Whatever the reason, it wasn’t going to let me get away. I kept running until I reached the door, which the bird immediately flew towards.
“Dammit, you little bastard,” I swore. “Why are you acting like such a baby? Don’t you dare come any further?”
Once I’d pushed the door shut, I took refuge in the kitchen. My feet were still wet from the rain, and as my hands shook, I quickly dried them against the edge of the counter before pouring myself some water. I needed some coffee for courage.
While I was waiting for my husband to get downstairs, the crow landed outside our apartment and began to scream incessantly, making a racket that threatened to rattle all the doors and windows. It would probably drive everyone crazy, but as much as I hated to admit it, I actually found it somewhat amusing.
When my husband arrived, he came straight for me instead of sitting down to eat his breakfast.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking concerned.
My cheeks reddened as I shook my head. “Nothing.”
After seeing that I hadn’t spilled my coffee on the table, he set his empty mug on the saucer.
“Come and sit down,” I whispered. “I’ve got some bad news.”
As he approached, his brow furrowed as he took in my face. “What happened?”
“A crow attacked me this morning as I was coming downstairs. It was so aggressive, it wouldn’t leave me alone,” I explained. “Then, when I tried to escape, it chased me to the balcony.”
I watched as my husband’s expression softened. He knew about the crow; he’d seen him himself. But he must have thought we were exaggerating because he simply nodded his understanding.
He leaned down to press a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll talk to it later. For now, I think it might be best if you stayed inside while I go out and make sure it behaves.”
“I’ll stay right here,” I promised, feeling better already. “It won’t bother us again.”
And I knew exactly who to call: Father O’Malley.
The End