Chapter 4

Her bath was longer and the water hotter than usual as Maya tried to cleanse herself of all the anger, resentment, confusion, and reluctant arousal. It burned her that Angelo's kiss had felt good. It burned her that Harper and the Drones were suddenly associating with her. It burned her that they wanted her to become yet another Drone. It burned her that they thought she was stupid enough to have lived for sixteen years as a witch without knowing it. And it burned her that a part of her wanted to believe it...to believe them.

The lure of having Dawson and Jason back was so tempting...and damn it, who would have thought that annoying quarterback was actually a really good kisser on top of everything else?

Finally, she emerged from the shower and pulled on her underwear and an old, oversized t-shirt. She gazed at her reflection in the fog-covered mirror, telling herself to be strong, to not give in to cultic brainwashing. Everyone wanted to believe they were special. Didn't mean they were.

Shaking her head at her sad reflection, Maya emerged from the bathroom and nearly screamed when she realized there was someone in her room. It was only the fact that she recognized that large, looming figure that kept her from screaming for help.

"Dawson?"

He turned at the sound of her voice, looking sheepish. "Uh, hi."

"What are you doing here?" She frowned, storming into her room. "And how did you get in? I made sure this place was locked tighter than Fort Knox when I came back."

"I noticed." He nodded, avoiding her gaze, rubbing the back of his head. "I, uh..." He cleared his throat, clearly awkward. "Jason's planning on ambushing you at school tomorrow to talk, and Harper thinks we should all give you time to adjust...but I need to talk to you now before things get worse between us."

"Why?" She folded her arms over her chest. "You haven't acted like that lately."

He flinched. "I have."

"Yeah, I can see that." She went to her bed and sat down, shaking her head.

"I really have. Maya, you're my best friend. I've missed you so much." Dawson sat next to her, a little uneasy at being on the bed with her yet obviously determined. "Clarissa said that we couldn't let those who weren't part of the coven yet know. It's imperative that our powers remain secret. Harvest Grove nearly became another Salem, and even though people these days are more understanding when it comes to witchcraft, it's safer for us to keep our craft secret. There are people out there who still hunt witches, the real ones."

Maya frowned as she turned toward him, sitting cross-legged. "Witch Hunters?"

"Yeah." Dawson nodded. "They're the ones who were behind the Salem burnings, and they're still out there today."

"You can't really expect me to believe this..." Maya started, her voice trailing off as she saw the sincerity in his eyes.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Dawson said softly. "But it's true. We've all been through this awakening process. We didn't choose it; it chose us. And now that you've awakened, we want to help you. You're not alone, Maya. You're part of something bigger."

Maya felt a pang of longing at his words, but she quickly buried it. "This is insane. You realize how crazy this sounds, right?"

"I do," he admitted, looking at her earnestly. "But it's our reality. And now, it's yours too."

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay, so let's say for a second that I believe you. What now? Am I supposed to start chanting spells and brewing potions?"

Dawson chuckled softly. "It's not quite like that. It's about learning to harness and control your powers, understanding who you are and where you come from. We'll be there to guide you."

Maya stared at him, her mind racing. "I just... I don't know if I can do this."

"You can," Dawson said firmly. "And we'll be with you every step of the way. You don't have to face this alone."

She looked into his eyes, seeing the unwavering support there. For the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could do this. But there was still so much to process, so much to understand.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice steady. "Okay, I'll try."

Dawson smiled, relief washing over his features. "That's all we ask, Maya. Just give it a chance."

As they sat there, side by side, Maya felt a strange sense of comfort. Maybe she wasn't as alone as she thought. Maybe, despite everything, she had found a new kind of family.

"Maya, you believe in Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Jersey Devil, but not witches?" Dawson's voice was laced with frustration as he watched her pull a strand of hair out of her face.

"Not witches," she said, making a face.

Dawson's gaze shifted to her bruised knuckles. "Does it still hurt?"

"A little, but not much anymore," Maya shrugged, gazing at her bruised knuckles.

Taking a deep breath, Dawson extended his hands, palms up. "You won't believe me until you see magic, right?"

"That would be a start," she agreed, eyeing him warily.

"Okay, I want you to pick something in this room. Anything."

"Okay...I'll play." Maya looked around her room before deciding. "The string of butterflies Dad gave me."

Dawson's gaze followed hers to the string of colorful butterflies hanging from the ceiling next to her desktop computer. "Perfect," he said, grinning. "Now I want you to close your eyes and repeat after me. 'Fabric wings, take flight.'"

"Fabric wings, take flight?" Maya raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Are you serious? No Latin? No rhymes? Just...that?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, silently challenging her skepticism.

"Fine," she relented. Closing her eyes, Maya felt somewhat foolish as she took a breath. "Fabric wings, take flight."

Dawson joined in on the second chant. "Fabric wings, take flight."

Something began to stir within her, a strange energy sparking to life. "Fabric wings, take flight."

The room seemed to grow warmer. "Fabric wings, take flight."

A shiver ran down her spine. "Fabric wings, take flight."

Just as she was about to question how much longer, Dawson squeezed her hands. "Maya, look."

She opened her eyes and gasped. The string of butterflies was fluttering in the air, their fabric wings flapping as if caught in a gentle breeze. They circled gracefully around the room, casting colorful reflections on the walls.

"How...?" Maya's voice trailed off as she stared in awe.

Dawson's eyes twinkled with satisfaction. "Now do you believe me?"

Maya watched the butterflies, her mind racing to reconcile what she was seeing with her stubborn disbelief. "This is... I mean, I don't understand. How is this possible?"

"Magic, Maya. Real magic," Dawson said gently, his hands still holding hers. "It's inside you, just like it's inside me and the others."

The butterflies continued their dance, a mesmerizing display of vibrant colors and delicate movement. Maya felt a strange sense of wonder, a part of her yearning to accept this new reality despite her doubts.

"This doesn't make sense," she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction. "It can't be real."

"It is," Dawson assured her. "And you have the power too. You just need to embrace it."

Maya's gaze returned to Dawson, searching his eyes for any hint of deceit. All she found was sincerity and a glimmer of hope. "So, what now?"

"Now," Dawson said, smiling, "we teach you how to use it."

As the butterflies settled back into their original positions, Maya realized that her life had irrevocably changed. The world was no longer the mundane place she had always known. It was filled with magic, mystery, and the promise of something extraordinary.

Slowly opening her eyes, Maya initially saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then she followed Dawson's gaze, and a gasp escaped her lips. The butterflies were no longer hanging from her desk. Instead, they had separated from their strings and were fluttering around the room, their movements so realistic it was hard to believe they weren't alive.

Dawson grinned brightly, eyeing the butterflies with the same fascination she felt.

Maya turned to Dawson and giggled, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Dawson smiled back, his thumbs caressing her hands gently. A shiver rolled down her spine, and a warm sensation bloomed in her stomach, darkening her cheeks.

Their eyes locked—baby blue meeting sea green—and for a moment, everything else faded away. That connection, the feeling she had always had with Dawson, deepened.

Dawson began to lean forward, his grip on her hands shifting as his fingers intertwined with hers.

Maya's heart raced, her eyes widening.

Suddenly, a phone rang, loud and jarring, pulling them back to reality. The butterflies fell lifelessly to the ground around them.

Dawson cleared his throat and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Hey, Dad..." he flinched. "Yeah, I'll be there." Hanging up, Dawson stood. "See you tomorrow at school?"

Maya nodded, watching him climb out of her bedroom window—the way he must have come in.

It wasn't until she remembered that she was on the second story, with no trees near her window, that she got up and raced to the window—only to find him nowhere in sight.

Taking a deep breath, Maya let it out slowly before turning her back on the window. A witch. The word echoed in her mind, a sliver of doubt still lingering.

Her gaze shifted to the fallen butterflies. She whispered, "Fabric wings, take flight."

The colorful butterflies rose as if on a gentle breeze, their wings flapping gracefully as they returned to the air, flying around her bed.

She tightened her grip on the windowsill behind her. "Oh. Boy."

Turning around quickly, Maya drew the curtains shut, her heart still racing. She hurried to bed, slipping under the covers and leaving the light on. The butterflies continued to dance gracefully above her, their wings flapping in the nonexistent wind, casting soft, colorful shadows on the walls.

A witch. The realization settled over her like a heavy blanket. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

She stared up at the butterflies, her mind whirling with questions. How had she not known? How could something so extraordinary have been hidden from her for so long? The thought of Harper, Jason, and Dawson all sharing this secret life made her feel both isolated and oddly connected.

As she watched the butterflies, she felt a mix of emotions. Fear, excitement, confusion. The world she thought she knew was shifting beneath her feet. She thought about the way Dawson had looked at her, the gentle touch of his hands, the undeniable connection between them. And then there was Angelo—annoying, persistent, and strangely captivating. His kiss had sparked something inside her, something she couldn't ignore.

Maya sighed, rolling onto her side, her gaze still fixed on the fluttering butterflies. Her life had just become infinitely more complicated, but maybe, just maybe, it had also become a lot more interesting.