Legacy by Molly Cochran

moved toward me. His light merged with mine, creating what looked like a tunnel of starlight, bright enough to be seen by ships at sea.
    “I can’t believe it,” he said.
    “Shh,” I said. “Don’t think. Just be here. With me.”
    The light intensified, brightening until it was something more than visual. It almost seemed to hum with magic, a low buzz that filled me like warm honey. It was moving out of me,yet coming into me at the same time, and through it all, Peter was with me. Not just beside me, but
there
, in the hum with me, in the honey.
    I felt my breath coming faster. The whole Meadow was alight now, the white mayo jar shining like a July moon. My skin was tingling. I felt a thousand times bigger than my body. And Peter was no longer separate from me, but another part of my being, around me. Inside me.
    And then his lips were touching mine, soft as roses.
    For real. It took me a moment to realize that this wasn’t part of the magic, that Peter Shaw really was kissing me, and I was kissing him back.
    The glowing jar in the distance exploded, and a fountain of sparkling glass fragments showered the night sky. Our fingers touched, extinguishing the light that had come from them. There was nothing now but the night and the Meadow and Peter and me. I held on to him for my life. My life.
    “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away from me. “I have to go.”
    Go?
“Why?” I was so confused. “It’s all right.”
    “No,” he said.
    “We can’t do this. Not ever again.”
    “But . . . the magic . . . You did it. You’re not cowen.”
    “You can’t understand,” he said. “I should never have let this happen.”
    “Don’t . . .” It was so hard to ask. “Don’t you want me?” My hands touched his face. He held one, kissing my palm.
    Then he left. Just like that, into the dark.
    I looked down at my hands. They glowed faintly, as if remembering the touch of him. I could still feel the heat from his mouth on mine. But he was gone.

C HAPTER
•
F OURTEEN

YULE
    My cell phone rang at five in the morning. It was my dad.
    “Are you all right?” I asked.
    “Of course. I’m calling from the speakerphone in Madison’s London office.”
    Ah. That must have been why he’d forgotten the six-hour time difference between us, I thought grouchily. “Well, all right, Dad. What’s up?”
    “Honey, I have great news.”
    There was a long pause. “Are you talking to me?” I asked finally.
    “Of course!” He laughed out loud. “You’re not going to believe this, Katherine.”
    Don’t say you’re getting married,
I thought fervently.
    “You’re going to join us!”
    Another pause. “Wh—what?”
    “Madison has agreed to buy you a ticket. Don’t worry about missing classes. A week here with me would be wortha semester of school. That is, if medievalism is even taught at Ainsworth.”
    “Uh . . .”
    “I’ll have to be at Cambridge for a few days, but Madison would love to take you shopping, or doing whatever women do.”
    “Um, I don’t know, Dad. I’m in the middle of a lot of things here, and—”
    “Oh, come on! Where’s your sense of spontaneity? You haven’t seen us in months.”
    “Yes. That’s why I sent you an email. I have to talk with you.”
    “About what?”
    “About changing your name. I need to know, Dad. People here—”
    “You’re spoiling everything, Katherine,” he growled. “Hold on.” Sweet-sounding talk in the background. “Fine, fine,” I heard him say before exhaling noisily into the mouthpiece. “Madison would like for you to pick up some things from her office in New York before you come.”
    “What things?”
    “What things,” he repeated.
    Mim came on the line. “A bottle of nail polish, love. Crucial Fuscial. And a couple of other things. Some pills I forgot to bring. My secretary will get everything from my apartment. Just take a bus into the city and pick them up at the front desk. I’ll give you the address.”
    “You want me