To Shape the Night

A Conjure woman lives a peaceful existence in her reclusive cottage until a stranger seeking help comes to disturb her peace.

When a woman comes to my cottage requesting an impotency jar, I don’t ask questions. But when she wants a jar to make a man, who she’s never spoken to, fall so deep in love that he won’t know his ass from a stray cat, I need answers.

“What do you mean he doesn’t know you exist?” I stop grinding herbs, pestle hovering over ancient stoneware. Blended spices burn their way up my nostrils and speckle my sequoia-brown hands in pinks, yellows, and greens.

Yemmi rakes me with a withered gaze. “Stop staring like I grew another pair of tits.”

Her words force my eyes to the ample cleavage on display. Skyfire, I’m no better than a man. Face tingling with heat, I smooth my frizzed-out edges and cut my focus back to the mixture of pink savory and fresh tarragon. Tears prick as I add a second pinch of turmeric.

“I don’t do love jars.”

I ignore her groans. The Complete Encyclopedia of Obscure Plant Species lies open on the counter. I lick a finger and turn the page, still not finding anything identifiable. Maybe if I search under species with teeth.

Yemmi reaches over the wooden workspace and clasps my arm.

“Are you even listening? Lovella, please.” Her nails dig in.

Tugging free from desperate claws, I ease back.

“Not happening.” I carry my supplies to the kitchen counter. A fresh breeze gushes in through the open door and circulates stale air. Bone chimes croon on the breeze. I send a revenant thank-you to the skies for small blessings.

“How about I make you a nice self-love jar instead?” I say, hoping to change the subject.

“What in horned god’s hell am I gon’e do with that?”

“Don’t you ever speak it. Not in my house you don’t.” I spin to face her. If Momma heard that talk, she’d rise from the dead and mutate us both to star-nosed moles.

“You Arrent women are too superstitious. The horned god ain’t real.”

If only she knew.

“Which one of those boys got you out of sorts now? You better not be starting any mess.”

Her auburn-brown skin lights.

“His name is Harlow Ren.” Yemmi practically purrs.

I can’t suppress the groan that rumbles from my throat. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that name. Many girls have beaten down my door for a jar to make Harlow sniff their way.

“If I don’t marry him, I’ll die.” She melts onto worn cedar.

I want the quiet sanctum of my cottage restored. “There’s a nice patch of azaleas out back. A spade over there in the corner. You’re welcome to start digging.”

“Just because your cunny is a dried-up well doesn’t mean the rest of us want to end up old and alone.” She doesn’t hold her punches. “Because you’re an Arrent you can’t leave the forest, and have to stay shuttered in this creepy old hut?”

Twenty-six is hardly ancient, but by Hollow standards, women without conjure, I am practically a cadaver. I glance around my house. Everything I own fits in this single room. It held such charm moments ago. But now, I inspect my home as Yemmi and the women from town must.

Arrent Cottage is built from the bodies of Arrent Women. Their petrified organs cobble together to create its walls. Their dried sinew wefts its curtains. Their bleached bones make mantle, shingle and frame. Painted skulls form bookcases, candleholders, and bookends. When I die, the next Arrent will add my carcass as adornment.

We waste nothing.

Glass jars wink from afternoon sun pouring in through the windows. Dried herbs clutter the expanse of one wall.

But this is home. This is safe. Nobody can touch me here.

A hollowness opens in the now tight space. The already close walls threaten to swallow.

Yemmi tucks dark curls behind her ear. “How long have I been coming here? Five years? Six? Are you going to die in this room or are you going to go out there and get you some of this life?”

The air hangs thick with static. What does she know about my life? I’m a conjure woman—an Arrent woman—and I belong to the woods just as much as they belong to me. Before I allow evil to use me, I send a silent prayer to the ancestors for endurance.

They don’t answer.

Picturing all the ways her greasy organ meat could create potent pestilence jars, I snatch the broom off the wall, and start sweeping her bad juju out the front door.

“Get out,” I hiss, patience drier than that damned well.

She stands, huffing like I just insulted her great-grandmother. I have a mind to conjure that gnarled corpse if Yemmi doesn’t hurry her boney behind out of here.

She doesn’t turn her back to me. Who’s the superstitious one now? Her modesty wrap falls to the ground, but she doesn’t stop to retrieve it. I trample all over the rich fabric as I stalk her to the door.

As soon as she crosses the threshold, I fist a handful of salt from a pouch nailed to the frame and blow the black crystals with conjured strength. She yelps as salt pelts her backside.

Just as she turns around, eyes slitted with rage, I slam the door in her face.

---

“With service like that, you’ll be the first Arrent begging on the streets.”

I storm through the house, not bothering to acknowledge Lukyan. Wind snuffs the light jars in my wake. Tension shivers from me in rivulets; the power to destroy right at my fingertips.

He chatters in the background, but my mind is a haze.

“If you want, I can eat her fingers. Or anyone’s fingers, really. Just set me on your workstation and I’ll do the rest.” Lukyan wriggles in his pot, black soil spilling onto the floor.

I duck beneath the crisscross overhang that droops heavy with blackened bones to the counter. Then I’m flipping through the pages of the encyclopedia again. Lukyan isn’t a normal house plant. Hells, he’s not a normal any kind of plant.

“All this is useless.”

“You’re right, a finger is too much. How about a pinky toe?” A slimy inhuman tongue lolls out of his mouth between serrated teeth. “A nail?” His voice is a desperate whine. “A fleck of dried skin that falls off naturally?”

The thought of Yemmi losing a toe to Lukyan drags a lopsided smile from my lips. “If we eat the customers, they’ll really send the hunters after us.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’? I’m not sharing.”

I roll my eyes and start shoving supplies back into cabinets. There has to be another book that can describe what kind of creature he is. “Are you gon’e tell me?”

Lukyan puckers what could be called lips and blows a kiss with wet smacks. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

Footsteps crunch gravel in the front yard.

“Don’t be selfish this time! Let me lick an elbow.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, tossing him a dried worm. His plant body stretches, stem thick as my wrist, with huge red petals that fan out to capture any debris.

I grab Yemmi’s shawl. If she apologizes, then I’ll accept. She doesn’t haggle like the other women.

I open the door, resolved to be the bigger person. Loose gravel shifts beneath my boots, the crunch swallowing the forest song. Blinding light has me shielding my eyes as the figure approaches.

“Before you take another step, apologize,” I say to her silhouette.

She stops, height blocking the sun. “And what am I apologizing for?”

My heart stalls, tight pressure in my chest. That is not Yemmi’s voice. Too deep—too resonant, a rattle that shakes my bones.

They step into an angle where shadows fall away and a jagged white scar slices down one eye.

A scream bubbles in my throat but won’t release.

He takes another step, reaching toward me, a frown creasing his brows.

A man. A man got through my wards.

Without a word, the scarred man walks right into my space like there isn’t supposed to be miles and magic between us. He’s all height and dark skin. None of the outer house wards so much as flicker at his invasion.

Our eyes collide. I am adrift, rooted to the spot by one midnight eye and one honey.

The satiny shawl slips from my fingers. “Harlow Ren.”

His brows crease, eyes flickering like I shouldn’t know him, but how couldn’t I when every woman in town has his name on her lips. This exact face is etched in my memory from countless descriptions. A jaw to cut diamonds, eyes that make a woman feel like his only, a mouth that holds the ghost of a smile, and skin so dark it rivals night.

“You got through the wards?” I want to ask how but, “Why?” slips from my mouth first.

He brings his hands to his face, examining shaky fingers.

“I-I don’t know. There was a trail, a string of smoke and it gripped me like the noose chokes a dead man. It didn’t let go until it brought me to you.”

Not possible. What he’s talking about is conjure and men can’t access that power.

“Leave.” My voice is weak even to my ear. Cold sweat breaks out over my spine. I back up several steps until I bump into the bone door.

He takes two forward, hands up as if his presence alone isn’t a threat. “Please, I need your help.”

“Don’t go falling for the tricks of men. Don’t no man ever need a woman’s help.”

“My momma taught me better than that.”

Confusion clouds his eyes, but before he can touch me, I invoke the ancestors. Conjure tingles within myunder the layers of skin and flesh and blood. With a flash of black light, I thrust that energy into him. Enough to make the lights outside the house flicker.

Dense smoke fills the woods, acrid with the stench of conjure. The air clears in a slow pulling haze. “That should do it.” I dust my hands on my hips and admire my handiwork.

My intruder is now a sprout. No way he’s unbinding that spell. But to be cautious, I grab a towel hanging out to dry and use it to lift the little plant.

“I think I’ll put you next to the azaleas. Not surprising such a pretty boy makes such a pretty plant.” I caress vermillion petals.

One second, I’m walking with my plant-man, and next he’s not a plant anymore, and he’s on top of me.

Harlow hovers over me. Body so close we are almost touching. His hands bracket either side of my head, thick thighs straddling mine. I thought I felt something, but the pulse of my conjure still tingles beneath my skin.

I don’t dare even breathe.

If I move, we’ll touch and if we touch, I’ll no longer be a conjure woman.

“So, you think I’m pretty?” His breath is a phantom across my cheek. Lips mere inches from mine.

A fist tightens in my chest. This is the closest I’ve ever been to a man. Fading sunlight limns the curls framing his face.

That thread, I think I feel it too. I can’t breathe.

He’s beautiful in a way that makes my body taut, and that is so dangerous. This is why Momma told me to never let men near.

My eyes can’t help but chart the scar through his right eye. The urge to trace the jagged line has my hand rising to meet skin even though it shouldn’t.

His eyes lock on my mouth.

My lips part. I can’t seem to get enough air.

He leans in as if to kiss.

I conjure the strength of the ancestors and blast him to the other side of the clearing.

* * *

Since Harlow arrived, two things are clear: one, my conjure doesn’t completely work on him and two, he’s not leaving.

I’ve mutated him into a snail, a rat, a shrub, even a bobcat—and looking back, that was dumb, but I was stressed—and each time he unbinds himself. Each time the same word passes over his lips, “please”.

Whatever he wants, l claim no parts.

Men don’t do nothing but take.

“I just want to talk,” he yells from outside. He’s in the lawn, legs crossed, determination furrowing his brow.

I watch through the window. He’s stubborn as a weed. Once he understands I’m not playing his games, he’ll leave. And I can pack my house up and take it somewhere he won’t find.

Thunder rolls deep in the distance. My eyes tug toward the graying sky.

“Ancestors wash away everything that impedes my path. Let no enemy falter my steps.” I smooth a length of braid at the root. This man will not tempt me.

The answering rumble is a sign that Harlow won’t be here long.

I kick my feet up and wait.

Rain pours in sheets, so dense it obscures the yard. An icy chill ripples my spine as the deluge pounds petrified organs. Chimes on the front porch rattle, the moan of bone against bone.

I light the hearth and tuck myself into bed. “Everything will be back to normal by morning.”

* * *

Everything is not back to normal.

Before I rub the sleep from my eyes, I rush to the window. Harlow is curled in a fetal position, smashing my collards. I’m out the door and stomping barefoot down the lawn.

He shivers, likely to catch a chill, but that’s not my problem. His eyes crack and that stare pierces me to the core. This feeling, I don’t know what it is, and I shift on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable under his steady gaze.

With a groan he sits, arms wrapped tight around his middle. It’s so cold out that frost has crystalized on the tips of his curls.

“If you want to kill yourself, do it somewhere else.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. His eyes trail the length of my body. Everywhere his gaze lands feels kissed by lightning. By the time his eyes rest on my face, taking painfully long on my lips, we’re both panting.

“Morning.” His voice is gravel on silk. A rogue smile tugs the corner of his mouth.

I shudder as his baritone vibrates through me and grit my teeth to stop the jitter.

He leans back on his hands, legs still trembling and takes a moment, tasting his words before he says them. “Are you tempting me, miss?”

My brows pinch. “What’re you talking ‘bout?”

All he does is nod toward my chest.

I look down. Mortification spreads in waves.

It’s a chilly morning, and this shift is thin. Now I’m the one crossing their arms. I should have thrown on my robe, but I’m so used to it being just me.

“Either you talk, or I leave you to freeze.”

Harlow straightens, lazy smile gone. He moves to stand, but I put a hand to stop him.

Hells, this man is doing something crazy to my senses.

“I want you to remove this.” A thread of gray smoke curls from his palm and slithers over my fingers.

The immediate sensation is warmth as the vapor floods my hand, spreading deep into me. Then that thread clamps down, tightening over my wrist. I flinch and bite back a yelp. And now I’m panicking because what in Skyfire was that? So much is wrong here.

“That’s not possible. I can’t remove it.” My voice is no heavier than the mist undulating over my skin.

A muscle flutters in his jaw like he’s trying to hold back that same feeling that’s overwhelming me now.

Curiosity pricks the back of my mind. The urge to ask him why he wants to remove the ancestors’ greatest gift is strong. But that ain’t my business. And what’s worse, I don’t understand what I just felt or why my body already craves more.

“Then at least show me how to hide it.” He sways to his feet.

The urge to help him is fierce enough that I tuck my hands into my armpits. “And if I say no?”

“I can’t live like this.”

That pleading gaze forces tension from my shoulders. I’m too soft or too dumb. Maybe both. “One day,” I say, walking back inside, toes tingling from frost.

“Wait, that’s not enough.”

“Make it enough.”

***

He asked for a week of training, but there was no way a man could stay that long. The risk is already insane. If he so much as touches me, that’s it. My powers are gone. One day was all he’d get.

I get his blood oath that he won’t come back and that seals the deal.

Early morning sun slants through the window. I busy myself, plucking herbs that will help find his affinity.

Harlow leans a hip against the counter, relaxed, as if this space was made for him. I wonder if he walks into every room like he owns it.

“When did you first notice your…abilities?” I say, inhaling spice and wood-smoke that’s completely him.

He sets his teacup down and leans both hands on the wood surface. I can’t help but notice his nails are trimmed and clean. Separating the manifesting herbs into five stone bowls, I force my attention from the enormous slab of man.

“What’s your name?”

I startle as his voice vibrates through me.

“It’s only fair, since you already know mine.”

My brows pinch. “Let’s focus on what’s actually important. You aren’t going to be here long enough for names to matter.” He looms even further over the table, his shadow on my skin like a brand.

“Something tells me you’re the most important thing in the world right now.”

Heat flooding my cheeks, I look up at him.

And what a colossal mistake.

“Lovella.” My name spills like libations over my tongue.

A smile breaks out across his face that crinkles his eyes. “Lovely, Lovella.”

I’m a hare in a trap, too stunned to save myself.

He continues as if my heart isn’t loud enough for the both of us to hear. “Since I was a boy. But it got worse about a year ago. If my father found out… Well, let’s just say he’s not a tolerant man.” His gaze is a force, stripping me down to bare bones.

“How old are you?”

He scrunches his face as if surprised by the question. “Twenty-five.”

“When a conjure woman—person reaches maturity, their powers amplify. Something to do with the brain, that’s what Momma said. What you’re experiencing is that added sensitivity from your power.”

“So, I should learn this relatively quick?”

“I said your power is matured, nothing ‘bout your brain capacity.”

That lopsided grin returns. “How old are you?”

Now, I’m the one off-guard. “Twenty-six.”

“I do like an older woman.”

Wildfire spreads down my neck. “Flirting won’t change my mind,” I say, even as his vapor still twines my skin.

“A man has to try.”

“Put your hand over each one of the piles. Slowly.”

He’s obedient and hovers his palm over each pile. Hissing, Harlow snatches his hand back over the now smoking fireweed.

“Congratulations, Mr. Ren. Your affinity is fire.”

“So that means we can suppress it?”

We. It’s too easy to think myself a ‘we’ with him. I clear my throat and ignore his question.

“What’s your affinity?”

I hold my hand over the bowl of belladonna, water trickles from my fingertips.

He gapes, staring as if seeing into me. Then that sly smile claims his lips before I can decipher the serious expression beneath.

“I knew you’d be my undoing.”

* * *

We work, creating potions that subdue fire affinities. Belladonna teas, willow and lotus tonics. And each time Harlow gets his hands on a mixture it belches up in flame.

Poor Lukyan’s petals are singed but thankfully he’s silent. Which is very much unlike that talkative plant.

“I am trying.” Frustration wrinkles Harlow’s forehead, biceps flexing as he works the pestle.

“That’s too much pressure.” The bowl groans and before I realize it, I’m reaching for him.

“If you touch that boy, I swear I’ll release all this built-up gas. Every fly and rodent for miles will flock to the stench of rotting flesh.”

I falter, lunging for Lukyan instead. Too late, I slap a hand over his pistil, careful to avoid rows of serrated teeth.

Harlow drops the pestle. Stone clatters against bone floors.

Silence stretches taut.

Sweat drips down the curve of my back, heart erratic.

Harlow points a finger at the stupid plant writhing in my hands. “Did that flower just speak?”

Lukyan chomps down on my middle finger. A scream rips from my throat as I stumble away from him. “Vicious little beast.”

“Your boyfriend just called me a flower. Tell him to come over so I can bite him.”

“Boyfriend?” Harlow and I choke at the same time.

“I’ve watched y’all for hours. The shy glances.” He gags, “The flirting. Makes my stomach sick.”

I want to correct him: that one, Harlow is not my boyfriend and two, he doesn’t have a damned stomach. But Harlow’s skin has gone ashen, his full bottom lip a pale orange instead of its usual pink.

“You’re bleeding.” He walks towards me, staring at my bloody finger, hands poised to touch.

I dart around the table.

Hurt flickers over his face, before it’s quickly replaced by something more playful—something false. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

“Then why run every time I get within five feet of you?”

My throat is a fallow, sunbaked field. I can’t tell him. “I am an Arrent woman, and we don’t touch men.”

Powerful arms cross over a broad chest. “Then how do y’all make more Arrent women? Don’t tell me a stork delivers your children.”

He wants to talk about making babies? Heat rushes to my cheeks. “You think because I live out in the woods, that I don’t know the facts of life.”

He raises a brow that says that’s exactly what he thinks.

Mortification doesn’t outweigh my sense of humor. “A man and woman lay real close, and the male’s hormones pollinate her egg.”

Harlow stares.

I glare back.

He blinks slow, pinching the flat bridge of his nose as a muted groan slips between gritted teeth. His mouth twitches at a corner then wobbles.

Laughter fills the house, loud and bursting. It plasters over the cracks, so ripe with joy that it tightens my chest. He stalks toward me, this time not stopping when I shrink back.

I scramble onto the mattress until my spine compresses against a cold wall. It was a joke. Something to force him off the subject of why I avoid him. Because I’ll never have a man the way other women do.

He pushes into my space, one knee dipping the bed, while a hand braces on the wall behind me. “Oh Lovely, when a man puts a baby inside you,” his voice is the rhythm of my heart. The too loud rush of blood through my veins. “It won’t be no accident.”

Fire flushes my body and coils tight somewhere deep in my belly just waiting to unfurl. “What did you just call me?”

“Lovely.”

It takes everything, but I resist the urge to look away. I meet his stare. A slow, wolfish grin overtakes his mouth. My eyes snag on the dart of a pink tongue wetting full lips. I swallow. A doubt can’t help but rise to the surface.

When he’s had so many beautiful women, why come here and shake my peaceful life apart? But I’ll soak my bones in black brine before revealing just how much Harlow Ren affects me.

I force my gaze back up to the most incredible pair of eyes. It’s just a whisper. Something in me, something dangerous wants him to push forward, to close the breath’s distance.

The conjure in him calls to me. The heat of it curls against my skin, more potent than any touch.

“You feel that? The smoke. That thread never left,” he says.

“Are you two going to rub noses? Or whatever the hells it is humans do when they get frisky.”

Lukyan’s voice is a douse of ice water.

Harlow jumps upright, the tension immediately frayed, and ruffles his ample curls. “I’ll keep my distance. Don’t want your plant taking a bite out my finger.”

Ancestors help me if this man doesn’t.

* * *

I place Lukyan out in the yard for some sun—his version of a timeout—and that spoiled plant pouts and shrieks the entire time.

Hours pass at a sprint. I teach Harlow the herbs, their functions and how to create more complex conjures that require containing. Jar spells are dangerous, so I teach him how to properly dismantle a user’s intentions. I teach him how to find that core of energy inside himself. That it’s his ancestors’ love stored up, all the way back to his first mother.

But I learn things from him as well, distracting things. Like how his brow furrows when concentrating. I learn he steals glances when he thinks I’m not watching. And his eyes pull to the swell of my hips when I walk. And how he would rather evade questions about himself and turn the subject back to me.

More instances than I care to admit, I lose thoughts mid-sentence as my attention snags on the deadly allure of midnight and honey. Those dual-colored eyes trip me up every time.

“Why do you live out here?” He grimaces on a cold brew of lotus and lemon balm then sets down the cup.

It’s a common question, and the answer pours by rote. “Momma died when I was fifteen. And I’m an Arrent woman and Arrent women don’t live in town.”

He fists dried herbs laid out on the counter, nearly ruining them. “Over ten years you’ve been on your own?”

“Oh, stop looking at me like I’m a kitten out in the rain.” I scoop the mess from the opposite side of the table, careful our fingers don’t brush.

He traps me with those eyes. “Trust me, Lovely, there are many things I imagine when I think of you, but a kitten is not one of them.”

My skin prickles with warmth. And I don’t know if it’s his conjure or his words that have me so undone. “You’re going to stop flirting with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He inclines his head then goes back to the book spread open before him.

I’m almost disappointed another quip doesn’t follow.

* * *

We try more tinctures, make a dozen jars but nothing subdues his conjure for long. Day wanes into night and we grow tense. The air between us thickens the deeper the sun sinks beneath the horizon. He’s running out of time. And I can’t risk giving him more.

I finally bring Lukyan in and offer him a handful of dead flies and he refuses.

“Next time you plan on leaving me to wither out in the sun to play house with a man, don’t.” With a groan, Lukyan unfurls rumpled leaves. The hundred tiny suckers on each crimson petal flare and hiss a high-pitched scream. “I need replanting. My soil is ruined. It’ll take a month for me to eat again.”

Harlow’s brows shoot to his hairline.

Somehow, I highly doubt that, but I keep my lips folded over themselves. I wipe his leaves with a dry cloth. He licks salt from my fingers as I polish.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new pot. And I’ll even let you have my nail clippings for the month.”

His stem straightens, petals perking. “You’re lying. I can sense it in the air. You get your horny hands on one man and you’re already throwing me to the wolves.”

The air strips from my lungs. Traitorous little thing.

Harlow’s mouth twitches and he straightens his smile before it can slip free.

“You’re the real danger,” I grit.

Harlow rubs his stubble. “Is it always so…talkative?”

Lukyan laps up the flies from a bowl on the table. “You just want me quiet so you can seduce my mistress in peace.”

My mouth falls. Harlow chokes on a cough, but I refuse to look at him.

“That’s right, we’ve heard all about the infamous Harlow Ren.” The thousand suckers on his petals flare, revealing teeth. The sharp points glint in the fading light. “Drawls drop wherever you step. You’ve had a hundred lovers, and your tongue makes women see stars.”

I want to die. Combusting into a million bloody fragments would be less painful.

Harlow’s eyes flit to mine, that smile finally escaping. “You talk about my tongue?” He claims a step forward, brow arched.

I falter back.

A dark growl rumbles from Lukyan; a sound I’ve never heard him make. The hairs on my body stand on end. “You won’t get that disgusting human mouth anywhere near her. ”

I can feel what Lukyan is about to say and I start for him, but I’m too far.

“She can’t touch a man, or she’ll forfeit her power.”

Harlow cuts me with a look that slices to bone. “Is that true?” His voice is low.

Another biting laugh. I want to twist Lukyan’s stem, but I’m frozen in place by the hurt flickering over Harlow’s face.

“You lay one vile finger on her and she’ll never conjure again.”

The floor opens up, the gaping maw slurping me down, deep down. My secrets splatter out like intestines with no way to sew them back in.

I can’t move until Harlow looks away.

Rain falls in sheets outside and I cling to the patter. It’s the horned god’s hours of the night when we finally find a mix to suppress Harlow’s conjure.

* * *

Rain pelts the roof with the hollow tink, tink, tink of water smacking bone. I lay awake. Sleep evasive. I’d mix myself a tonic, but Harlow lays just feet away on the floor. Earlier, we ate in uncomfortable silence. The entire meal he searched my face. And like a coward, I hid in that quiet.

He finally leaves in the morning and I can’t wait to see him go. I’ll watch until he disappears down my gravel path. I’ll watch until his figure is nothing but mist suspended in dawn. I’ll watch until the sun burns it all away. And when he’s gone, I can finally return to my safe, solitary life.

But the thought doesn’t bring the comfort it should.

With the storm bending the wood like fragile reeds, Harlow was forced to sleep inside. And so, I stare at drawings Momma carved into the ceiling.

Some nights we rest, and some nights our minds need extra time to unravel.

Body and mind wound tight, I fear I’ll unravel, and I don’t know where that thread leads.

Thunder rips like the guttural croak of some great beast. An unnatural pulse of lightning illuminates the night.

Harlow shoots up from his pallet like a bloodworm bit him.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a bit of rain?”

“Of course not.” He clears his throat, but I can see the whites of his eyes wide in low jar light. The internal flames flicker and wink with the moan of wind blowing over the house.

“Storms are wilder out here. We’re safe.”

“It’s not me I’m afraid for, Lovely.”

My breath catches. I sit up on an elbow, conjuring energy to funnel into the light jars. The room fills with a muted glow, enough for me to see every line in his face.

Why be afraid for me? This is my life. The woods are my home. “I’m an Arren–”

“Arrent woman,” Harlow finishes on a sarcastic drawl. He sits up, pinning me in place with eyes that will haunt me long after he’s gone. “But is that all you are?” He gestures to bones burning like logs in the hearth, the rug made from human skin, and the array of chipped and broken knick-knacks which comprise my home.

“What do you know about me? About who I am?”

“I know that living in the shadow of someone else’s fears is like trying to shape the night with your fingers. Darkness slips through the cracks, but you can never hold it. It doesn’t belong to you.”

The backs of my eyes burn as the light jars wink out all at once. I won’t give him my tears. Only shadows remain as the hearth burns low. Harlow slips under his blanket, giving me his back.

***

The morning passes in the same uneasy quiet. We have the herbal mixtures to subdue Harlow’s conjure, and he knows how to make more. Nothing is keeping us together.

Except that thread, something intangible that makes this goodbye a thousand knives. He stands at the door like he doesn’t know what to say, but I’m the one bursting with things unsaid.

“You talked about me hiding, about not knowing myself, but what about you? You see through my glass pane so easily but somehow yours is tinted.”

He steps closer. “I may not know why I conjure. But I do know there’s something here,” he gestures between us. Another step.

My heart aches, cracking from my chest because he’s offering me a limb I won’t walk out on.

“And I also know you’re not ready to admit it.”

Harlow smiles like a cat that’s been at the milk. And all I can do is exist in this space with him, throat too tight for response.

“I’ll uphold my oath. I won’t come back.”

That promise already seems like a lifetime ago.

His face is expectant, waiting for me to say something. Anything. But everything inside me is so jumbled up and raw I don’t know my thoughts from the wind.

My heart is beating fiercely against my ribs, threatening to break me from the inside. This pull, this thread between us, I can’t deny it. Both. There has to be a way I can have both. But the words still won’t come.

Harlow takes a breath as if resigned. “Goodbye, Lovely.” He turns, bundle of jars slung over one shoulder, and opens the front door.

Pale sunlight streams in and a disheveled Yemmi stands outside.

“What’re you doing here?” Stepping around Harlow, I walk outside to get a better look at her.

She is silent, wild eyes flitting between Harlow and I. Twigs jut out of her curls. Dirt streaks her dress. She looks like she passed the night in the bramble

“How long you been out here?” The immediate urge to get her inside and warm has me walking toward her, but her eyes stop me short.

“What’s he doing here?” A single tear smears a black trail down her cheek.

At first, I don’t know what she’s talking about and then realization dawns.

Harlow.

“You’ve been watching me?”

She staggers forward, and I take cautious steps back. I want to tell her that there’s nothing between us, that he means nothing but my throat clenches.

“Witch!” Her mouth twists in a snarl.

Everything in me stops, body jerking as if slapped. My limbs move like they’re dragging through honey. That word shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does. After all this time, I thought she might be a friend.

Before my anger can even rise, she lunges.

A stinging slap lands on my cheek

Wind bellows through the clearing, whipping braids violently around my face. It’s energy sent from the ancestors begging me to protect, urging me to hurt. I try to shove my conjure down, deep down, but it’s right at the surface. I won’t use my conjure to harm women. It’s forbidden. No matter how much Yemmi deserves it.

“I think you’d better gon’e home.” Harlow’s voice is steel at my back. That thread connecting us is what keeps me tethered.

Yemmi ignores his warning, anger still burning in her eyes. “You knew I wanted him, and you just had to take him for yourself.” She shouts over the gale. “You think you’re so much better than all us normal women because you can conjure.”

A piece of me shatters, the control I’ve held my entire life splintering cell by cell. One moment Harlow plants himself in front of me, and the next Yemmi is barreling through us both.

Their momentum careens into me, and I’m caught in the sprawl. The collision of flesh against flesh is like the crush of a rockslide down a mountain face. Warm, strong arms cradle my neck, but it’s too late. My head hits something hard just as jets of black light rip from my fingertips. Golden stars burst in my vision. Before I can mourn what I’m about to lose, the world goes dark.

* * *

My eyes flicker open to night. A cool breeze wafts through the cottage, my bed is soft, and I’m grateful for small blessings.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll feast on your bones.” Lukyan’s voice is a low growl.

I try to sit up, groggy, but I only manage to prop myself on one elbow. Immediately, Harlow is at my side, resting me against the wall.

“Get out.” My throat is hoarse.

“I’m sorry.”

“You heard her.” The room is dark, but the scrape of Lukyan’s pot against the floor tells me he’s working his way over.

“Where’s Yemmi?” I ask.

“She’s gone.”

His eyes are sad and pierce through my chest. “Love-”

But I already know what he’s about to say and I need to confirm it for myself. On a shaky exhale, I release my conjure to ignite the light jars. But nothing happens. Not a flicker. A man touched me. “I’m no longer a conjure woman.”

His hands envelop mine. Warm and solid, but I can’t revel in this touch, because the most important part of me is gone.

“Lovely, look at me.”

I find his shadow in the dark, but the shape is distorted and then I realize I’m

crying.

“Don’t worry mistress, I’m coming.” Lukyan is still inching over, pot dragging.

Harlow folds a cool glass between my hands, palms covering mine. “You’re still everything. Nothing was taken from you.”

I want to scream, throw the jar across the room but he holds me firm.

The prickle of his conjure tickles the back of my hands. “Try.”

Hope is a dangerous flame and I dare not ignite it. Like I taught him, I close my eyes and open myself to the ancestors, searching for that coil deep within myself. There is nothing. Only a barren well. Tears burn my eyes. I am about to give up when I feel a pull.

Someone, or many someones, grab my arm and yank me down. Deep within myself. Further than I’ve ever gone until we collide into a spring of power so overflowing with life that I suck in a breath just to keep myself rooted.

Laughter bubbles from my belly, spilling over and filling the room. The jar between our hands glows, brighter than it’s ever been.

All the light jars in Arrent house gleam.

Harlow’s smile is luminous. “You always had the power within you. From that moment we first touched you never lost a thing.”

My brows dip in confusion. When he fell on top of me, I thought I’d imagined the contact in my fear but now I know, for the barest of seconds his nose brushed mine.

He’s right. “But Momma…she didn’t want this for me.”

His jaw clinches. “Her prejudices don’t shape you. What do you want?”

My first instinct is to tell him I have everything I want, but that’s not true. And I think Harlow knows it too.

He sits on the bed, so close our arms press. He keeps my hands like he’s unwilling to let go. His touch is heat and fire, all things right. Heart beating frantically, I lean in, wanting to explore everything, but Harlow stops me, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes.

Breath abandons me in a rush.

“I need the words, Lovely.”

There’s no more holding back. “I want you.” And every word is true.

Lukyan gags in a corner. Harlow’s smile cracks first, mine can’t help but follow.

A rough hand slides across my cheek to grip the back of my neck, and my senses detonate. “That wasn’t so hard was it? Plus, someone needs to defend you from the town crazies.”

From the moment I met those midnight and honey eyes, I felt the connection. I was just too afraid to reach out and take what I wanted. But now there is nothing stopping me.

I reach a trembling hand toward his face. At first contact, my body blazes. So acute is the sensation that the air rips from my lungs. I trace hesitant fingers along the angle of his jaw. Stubble tickles my palms as I cup his face in both hands.

The smile that spills over my lips is unstoppable. “Thank you for being my first touch.”

He leans in, nose nuzzling mine. “And I’ll do everything in my power to be your last.”

Soft lips caress, aching for more, I open, and he shows me why Momma was so afraid of this. The melt of our bodies, of our shared heat, is enough to make anyone lose themselves. I sip the spice of fireweed from between his lips, lap the sting with my tongue.

But I am anything but lost. And I know, the way I know an Arrent woman needs conjure, that I could never be powerless.

Note:

Thank you for reading To Shape the Night. This story was first published in Magic in the Melanin: A Black Fantasy Anthology. I am forever grateful to the editors for seeing value in this little story. It was my first official short story as a writer and I am proud of what I was able to accomplish.

If you enjoyed the story, please consider subscribing to help support works like these and more. I hope you have a very wonderful Valentine’s Day. Sorry there isn’t space for all my usual tidbits.

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1. What was your favorite part of the story?

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3. How do you think Lovella will cope with the outside world after this revelation?

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What’s Next:

Next week I’ll have some poetry for you! For a little more romance you can read A Midnight Tide here.