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Dana Evans had been around the block more than a few times and had seen more than a few things. That happened when you worked in the ER long enough to be the charge nurse. She was sharp. She noticed things, noticed patterns, knew when a patient was about to code or when Robby was about to blow a gasket. So, of course, she noticed the peculiar med students who walked in on Pittfest Day.
Victoria Javadi was unique in her age. Dana had seen it before, but it was always rare when such a young med student came through PTMC’s doors. She was also Dr. Shamsi’s daughter, another wrinkle. Typical story, child genius pressured into their parents’ field who either turned out extraordinarily successful (enough to leave the Pitt behind) or completely fell apart with the realization that their life had never truly been theirs.
Jury was still out on which Javadi would be. Maybe something new entirely.
The other two slipped under Dana’s radar at first. Santos was surly and had something to prove, Whitaker kept his head down yet still ended up going through pairs of scrubs like Dana did cigarettes.
Then they disappeared into the hospital after the shift. It was strange, worrying even, and maybe if the shift hadn’t been given by the devil himself, she would’ve investigated.
Luckily, she didn’t have to. They returned minutes later, bickering, holding tiny little plant pots, and leaving together. It was in that moment she knew they’d both be alright.
That moment was also the first of many that let Dana know she might be dealing with witches.
———————————
Dana had known about witches for a while. Real witches, ones that can change the wind with a few words and coax a flower out of a seed in seconds. She first learned about it at her brother’s wedding. The bride, Clara, had a friend named Genevieve, and she and Dana were seated at the same table. They hit it off, both working in the medical field, and exchanged numbers to bitch about anything and everything. A few years of texts, occasional phone calls, and one lucky coffee date later, it seemed Genevieve had found some trust in Dana.
It was their second clandestine meeting. Genevieve was visiting Pittsburgh for her sister’s baby shower, and Dana had a day off that aligned perfectly. They decided on dinner and drinks to catch up, and the night took them bar hopping (oh, when Dana was young enough to do that!) and eventually to Dana’s shitty couch for a movie.
After the movie, in the silence of the muted credits, Genevieve spoke.
“You have a lot of people looking out for you, Dana,” she had whispered.
“Yeah?” Dana replied. “I know my brother and Clara love me, but they’re all the way in Colorado, and sometimes I feel like I’m not really close to anyone here.”
“Not living people.”
Dana remembered thinking that Genevieve must’ve had a little too much to drink. But when she looked at her, her eyes were clear.
“Genevieve?”
“I’m a witch,” she said plainly. “I work with spirits most often, and you have plenty of them bolstering you. I can see them.”
The room felt electric. Genevieve’s eyes traveled around Dana with a faint smile.
“Gen, come on, you’re drunk,” Dana said, but she didn’t quite believe herself.
“Beth says you’re doing a damn good job, but to stop feeding yourself like shit and get out the cookbook. Your suitcase can’t hide it for long.”
Dana had broken down at that. No one knew where she had been hiding her mother’s cookbook. Her brother didn’t even know their mother had a cookbook, much less that it was in her suitcase, in her closet, unmoved since the funeral. Dana had unpacked everything but the book.
The rest of the night was a lot of tears and disbelief and a little more irrefutable proof that witchcraft was very, very real.
Genevieve had moved on with her life, just like Dana had. Last they chatted, Gen was enjoying life in Norway with her wife. They didn’t talk that much anymore. But Gen had opened a whole world to Dana. A small one, one Dana didn’t bump into often, one of witches and hunters and magic.
One that was looking at her again, in the eyes of two med students finding their footing.
———————————
Dana’s first clue after seeing Santos and Whitaker leave together that first day was about a month later when Whitaker brought in flowers.
“I went to the farmer’s market yesterday,” he said, in that understated Whitaker way. “Thought it could brighten up the work room?”
Of course, he hadn’t just brought in typical flowers from the farmer’s market. He brought in a small bouquet for everyone, made with very specific flowers, and one for the table. In return, he received an incredulous look (Robby), words of thoughtful gratitude (Samira and Mel), good old- fashioned teasing (Perlah and Princess), and an invite to another farmer’s market (McKay). Javadi had given him a little side-hug, Donnie said his wife would love them. An overall successful endeavor.
But Dana saw something beyond the flowers. Something familiar.
Each bouquet was specific. Dana looked up the flowers, cross-referencing their meanings. Confidence for Javadi, luck in fertility for Donnie, peace for Mel. All arranged and tied very specifically, all made of flowers certainly not in season and certainly not sold at any local farmer’s market.
She clucked her tongue at hers. White chrysanthemum. Loyalty, honesty, protecting the house, protecting the spirit.
Whitaker was not slick.
———————————
“What’s with the garden in our apartment?” Trinity asked. Dennis had spent the weekend at that farm with that lady whose husband had died. Trinity thought it was a bad idea to cross boundaries with patients, but Dennis had insisted he wanted to help. When Trinity still pushed back, Dennis commented that he hadn’t been out on a farm or anywhere near nature since he moved to Pittsburgh.
Trinity relented after that, but she wasn’t happy about it. Dennis, on the other hand, was over the moon, and left with a skip in his step and magic on his hands.
So now here he was, wrapping bouquets with a slightly embarrassed smile.
“Sorry Trin, I may have gotten a bit carried away,” he said.
“A bit?” Trinity waltzed over to the kitchen counter. She couldn’t even see the shitty fake granite countertop under all the petals. “I don’t think half of these grow on this continent, much less in this state.”
“I thought it’d be nice to bring some back for people at the Pitt, and I wanted to get it right.” Dennis wrapped up another bunch and put them on the kitchen table. Trinity looked over all the completed ones. Names were on the little ribbons tying them together. Dana, Robby, Abbot, Mel.
“Any for me?” Trinity teased.
“You thought I’d forget?” Dennis replied. He pulled out a bouquet he’d seemingly been hiding. It was made of reddish stems with small leaves and smaller flowers dangling off the end like bells. They were colored light reds and pinks.
“What’s this?” She said, turning the stems in her hand. Dennis smiled and moved his hands gently near the flowers, coaxing them to bloom and shed their petals. A whole life cycle in just a few seconds. Behind the petals, small berries revealed themselves.
“Show off,” Trinity mumbled. “Wait, are these—“
“Huckleberries.” Dennis smiled cheekily.
———————————
Another clue came on a terribly cold December 21st. Santos and Whitaker had been working as normal, dealing with the injuries that came from hanging lights and people cutting themselves while wrapping presents. The only thing that had been strange was both of them heading to the roof for sunrise, but Robby and Abbot did it enough that Dana let those two up there to breathe.
However, she noticed that the two stayed together more often. Took more patients together, chatted together, stuck at the hip more than usual.
“What’s with the two of you acting like conjoined twins?” Robby eventually asked.
“Just talking about plans tonight,” Santos said casually. Robby raised his eyebrows.
“Big plans for the 21st?”
“Not, like, big plans,” Whitaker cut in, sending a glance to Santos. “Just like, normal plans. Making dinner. Normal stuff.”
“Right…” Robby replied. “Well, make those plans when you aren’t saving lives, stop chatting start charting.”
Santos rolled her eyes and Whitaker simply nodded. Dana watched as they finally separated, though even then they seemed a bit nervous.
By the time the shift ended, they had gravitated back towards each other. And while everyone was always ready for the shift to end, those two were more eager to get out than usual. Dana found them over at the lockers, changing.
“Are you sure we have everything?” Whitaker asked.
“Yes, we do, all the food and ingredients and components and candles and all of it,” Santos said, shrugging on a jacket. “This is gonna be the best Yule of our lives, Huckleberry.”
“It’ll be nice to actually celebrate,” Whitaker said wistfully.
“Stop being all sad, not a sad holiday.”
“I mean, it is the longest night of the year.”
“So we act all happy and light candles, not mope around. Come on, move it.”
Santos shoved him down the hall, a smile on her face. Whitaker looked happy, too.
Dana watched them leave and shook her head. Not many people still celebrated Yule. It was generally Christmas or Hanukkah. Christmas had absorbed plenty of traditional Yule rituals anyhow. But some people still celebrated what was considered one of the most magical times of the year.
Usually witches.
———————————
Trinity was at the stove, stirring a hot cider concoction of her own making. Dennis was setting their little table around the small Yule decorations they had set up. Fresh sprigs of pine and spruce, berries, pinecones, and small carvings Trinity had been working on all month. Dennis moved smoothly behind Trinity to stir the stew he was watching over, and an alarm went off that had Trinity taking the spiced rum cakes out of the oven.
Soft music was playing in the background. Candles were lit everywhere. The apartment was covered in a cozy haze of warmth, magic, and good food.
“Hot ass!” Trinity called as she pulled the cakes out.
“It’s hot behind,” Dennis said.
“Behind, ass, butt, whatever you wanna call it, mine is hot.” Trinity closed the oven with her hip. Dennis moved back to his spot at the stove. He looked at the stew, sprinkled a little more salt in, and hummed.
“The stew is ready,” he said.
“Perfect, so is the cider. Got the bread rolls?”
“Grabbing them. Roasted veggies?”
“Already on the table.”
They circled around each other easily. Dennis had a sixth sense in the kitchen, easily able to predict where Trinity would be. He had contributed to most of the cooking, but Trinity demanded to be in charge of the cider, and she helped move dishes around from oven to counter to fridge to table.
The dance finally ended with a small feast set out before them on their decorated table. It wasn’t fancy, no beautiful dinnerware, no expensive foods, no velvet tablecloth. But it was cozy and warm and everything that Dennis and Trinity never had.
“My mom always told me when it was Yule, but we were never allowed to celebrate. Dad didn’t like it,” Dennis whispered.
“My aunt and grandma sometimes sent me gifts, but my mom would save them for Christmas,” Trinity replied. “I always felt the solstice, but this is my first time really doing anything for it.”
For a moment, they just stared at everything before them.
Then Trinity held up a glass for a cheers, and Dennis clinked his mismatched one against hers, and they ate and laughed and did rituals by candlelight, celebrating their first real Yule.
———————————
A final clue came when Dana caught them bickering in the staff room one afternoon. She slipped in for a cup of coffee and ran into thing 1 and thing 2. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice Dana’s eavesdropping.
“Trinity, it’s fine, I don’t need it,” Whitaker argued.
“I know you’ve been in your head about that case yesterday, and you wouldn’t accept a single good dream, or even no dreams!” Santos replied. “At least let me give you a little focus, it’ll wear off by the end of the day.”
“I don’t wanna tire you out—“
Santos cut him off by taking out a pen. “I don’t get tired out with one stupid sigil, come here.”
She dragged him forward, lifting up his scrub shirt.
“Trinity!” Whitaker yelped, blushing.
“Your whole issue was with a heart attack, it’s best over the heart.”
“And that’s supposed to make me stop thinking about it?”
“It’s supposed to help you hold the pain until you are at a place where you can hold it yourself, which is not at work, Huckleberry, you know that.”
Dana managed to slip out while Santos scrawled some sort of symbol on a very red Whitaker. She was glad she caught the previous conversation. If it had been any other nurse, she was sure more dating rumors would have spread like wildfire.
She contemplated them over her empty cup. That had been less a clue and more a confirmation. Most people weren’t talking about sigils and drawing them over body parts without being witches.
Dana was at a bit of a crossroads. Should she tell them she knew? They were so attached to each other, like those cats that were bonded pairs. Telling them might freak them out. On the other hand, telling them might let them know someone else was in their corner. Genevieve had told Dana about hunters. Santos and Whitaker might feel better knowing someone else in the ER could help protect them.
An incoming trauma cut off her thoughts (GSW, it was always too early for those). She decided to stop thinking about it until she could give Genevieve a call. It had been too long since they spoke, and it was a good excuse.
———————————
Dennis was sitting on the couch, some stupid reality show he didn’t care about playing softly on the TV.
He still couldn’t sleep.
Trinity had gone to bed an hour ago, and Dennis promised to follow. And he tried, he did! But the devastated look of the parents, the feeling of his arms breaking the little girl’s ribs, desperation for a pulse, to hear her heartbeat again, her mom’s head on her daughter’s chest—
It was all too much.
So he sat on the couch instead, trying to distract his brain from everything. Trinity’s sigil had worked perfectly at PTMC, but it had slowly faded in the evening and now it was fully gone. He rubbed the spot over his heart where the now-useless ink had dried.
“Your trauma is keeping me up.” Dennis startled at Trinity’s voice behind the couch. She walked around it and faced him, hands on her hips, blocking the TV.
“Sorry, I’ll turn the TV off,” Dennis said, reaching for the remote.
“I didn’t say the TV was keeping me up, I said your trauma is keeping me up. You need sleep. You’re going to burn out at a rate even Dr. Robby couldn’t keep up with. So take my stupid charm to take away dreams and go the fuck to sleep.”
She punctuated her speech by grabbing the remote, turning the TV off, and tossing it next to Dennis with a look. Dennis looked away.
“Trinity, stop. I don’t— magic can’t cure me,” Dennis insisted.
“I’m not saying it will! It’s not like a sigil or little charm replaces therapy and coping skills and meds,” Trinity said. “Believe me, I know that. But I guess it’s a coping skill in itself. It reminds your brain that I’m here too, and so is my magic, and you’re safe. A tool until you can do it on your own.”
“You said the sigil was only for work. I can hold the pain here, or whatever.” Dennis still hadn’t met her eyes.
“I know what I said, which I mostly said so you’d actually accept help. Yeah, sigils and magic and shit aren’t cure-alls. You know this, it’s not like magic can turn something burnt into something edible. Right?”
“I mean, mostly, yeah.”
“And if you give someone a drink for an energy boost, they aren’t always energized but also don’t need it every day, right?”
“Trin, I get what you’re saying,” Dennis interjected. “It’s a tool. I just… I don’t want to feel like I’m running away from it.”
Trinity slumped onto the couch next to Dennis. She leaned against him slightly. He returned the weight, letting her support part of him.
“I won’t say I’m some kind of master witch,” Trinity began. “And I don’t know what your shitty dad and brothers had to say about it, but magic isn’t evil. It can be bad, but it can also help heal. It can’t solve every problem, but it can do its best. Sort of like medicine, actually.”
Dennis let more of himself fall on her.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve the peace,” he whispered.
Trinity thought about all the times she had refused to use any sigils to help with bruises or pain. How she let nightmares taunt her because she felt like if she didn’t, she was running away. That she had to experience all the pain to its fullest, or it didn’t mean anything. It hurt, which meant it was real.
She gently traced the scars on her thighs. Dennis had seen them and didn’t run or mock her. He made a salve for her that helped strengthen the skin, so it wasn’t so fragile.
“My mom made this for me on the farm,” he had said. “I got a lot of scars from my brothers wanting to ‘roughhouse’ or whatever my dad called it. It helped them fade. It probably won’t do that for yours, cause they’re older, but it’ll still feel better.”
“I know what you mean,” she said, back in the reality of the two of them on the couch. “I’ve always been a baby when it came to accepting help. I mean, you know that.”
“Maybe a little,” Dennis murmured.
“But I’m gonna say to you what you once said to me: we can’t be afraid to heal just because the hurt is familiar.”
“This hurt isn’t exactly familiar, it’s just—“
“Shhhhh, Huckleberry.” Trinity put her finger to his lips. “I’m not good at perfect metaphors. All I know is that you’re hurting, and it is my job as a medical professional and witch to help you. You need sleep. Now take the stupid charm and go to sleep.”
Dennis wasn’t happy about it, but he took the charm. Trinity hadn’t noticed how much tension she was holding in her shoulders until it released. With Dennis finally sleeping through the night, Trinity could too.
The two witches sighed in their sleep.
The apartment sighed with them.
———————————
The day Dana scheduled a phone call with Genevieve after her shift was the same day that Whitaker carried Santos into the ER. It was before handoff, but Dana was a little early. Ok, more than a little. Some days were like that. Hard to sleep, hard to get over the nicotine cravings, hard to keep your hands still. Dana was in at 6, much to Lena’s chagrin.
It had been a slow night (though no one would admit it, Dana didn’t need to know about magic to know that there are certain words you don’t say), and Dana was trying to annoy Lena into starting handover early and letting Dana take charge.
The breezy air of the morning was rudely interrupted by a familiar voice.
“HELP! HELP!” It was muffled, coming from outside, but still sounded sharp to everyone. Abbot and Robby stopped talking. Shen and Ellis straightened from where they were leaning on the counter. The four doctors moved in tandem towards the noise.
Dana rushed from Lena’s side and ran through the ambulance bay doors. She caught the doctors crowding two figures. One was completely limp, carried by the other. Shen and Abbot relieved one of carrying the other, bearing the weight instead. Robby and Ellis assisted, moving back towards PTMC.
By the time they were at the doors, Dana had realized who they were.
Whitaker and Santos.
Questions were called and answered, rooms provided, shouts about bruised necks, a collapse, and an attacker.
Dana had guesses about who would attack those two.
She did her best to help, keep her cool, help the other patients while Whitaker and Santos were treated. Whitaker was released first with a few bruises and a clean line of stitches on the arm, and was insistent on seeing Santos.
“I’m her emergency contact, I want to see her!” he yelled, more authoritative than anyone at the Pitt had ever seen him. His eyes seemed to be burning, less of his usual ‘oven-warm’ and more hellfire.
Dana watched a combination of day-shift and night-shift try to placate him. Idiots. Keeping those two separated was like ignoring the sign at the pet shelter that said “bonded pair.” You were going to get your eyes scratched out.
“Let Whitaker see her for God’s sake, he’s a doctor, he won’t cause trouble,” Dana said. That effectively stopped the argument. Whitaker looked at her gratefully before vanishing behind Santos’ door. The attendings couldn’t get a word out before he was gone.
“Dana, you should’ve let me handle that,” Robby began.
“If that was handling it, I’d like to see it un-handled,” Dana interjected. “Keeping them apart isn’t doing either of them good.”
“He barely got his stitches, he shouldn’t be worrying about Santos,” Abbot said.
“Shouldn’t be, but is. Best way to get him to sit down and rest is have him do it in her room. Case closed. We have handoff to do and we’re down two doctors.”
The flow of the Pitt returned with Dana’s proclamation. She caught every doctor and nurse peeking into Santos’ room. Dana wasn’t innocent of that either, so she let it slide. At one point, she caught Dennis sneaking into the staff lounge and coming back with some sort of tea, slipping back into Santos’ room before anyone could notice he was gone.
A few hours later, Perlah was giggling and calling them all over to their room.
“Look, look! Aren’t they adorable?” She cooed.
They were. Santos and Whitaker were curled into each other, cuddled up in tangled limbs and thin hospital sheets. The room felt lighter, warmer, and, if you knew what to feel for, distinctly magical.
Dana smiled, smacked Abbot when he suggested drawing on them, and thought carefully about what to tell Genevieve that night. It had been an eventful day.
———————————
“Dana’s been by like, ten times,” Trinity complained. She was sitting up, sipping on another cup of tea she had demanded Dennis fetch.
“She cares about you,” Dennis replied.
“Us. She’s checking on you too. Or did you forget the strangulation and the stitches?”
“I’m not the one who burned out and collapsed.”
“I’m not the one who almost died of asphyxiation.”
“Whose room are we in? Who was already released?”
Trinity smacks him on the arm.
“Ow! Stitches!”
“Oh, so you are injured? You do need checking up on?”
Dennis shot back another complaint, Trinity parried it and whined some more, and it went on and on like that, until they could forget they were in a hospital after having been attacked, and could pretend they were home.
Trinity traced the outline of a sigil on Dennis’ wrist and sighed into her tea. She hated today, but at least the worst was over.
———————————
“It’s lovely to hear from you, Dana!” Genevieve said. Her voice was light despite it being six in the morning in Norway.
“You too, Gen, I’ve missed our chats,” Dana replied. “How’s Hanna?”
“She’s fine, she’s fine. She finally wore me down and we’re getting a dog. I don’t know how well Oscar will react, but we’ll see!”
Oscar was Genevieve’s familiar, a friendly little rat who loved to nestle in soft material and appear in unexpected places.
“Get a fluffy dog, Oscar’ll be cozying up to it in a day.”
“Good idea! We need a dog with a lot of fur anyway, it can get pretty damn cold in the winter.”
They held a comfortable back and forth for a while. Dana didn’t have work the next day, allowing her to stay up well past midnight. International calling was never easy.
As the small talk wound down, Dana decided it was time.
“Gen,” she began, “I have a bit of a magical situation I think you could provide some help with.”
“Oh.” It was silent for a moment over the line. “Dana, yes, yes, of course, I’m here to help. What’s up?”
“There are these two med students, Santos and Whitaker. Close as peas in a pod, or more like unhealthily attached alley cats. And they’re witches, I have no doubts about it.”
“Santos… I think I know who you’re talking about.”
“You do?” Dana couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Witches are a small community,” Genevieve said. “We stay connected, get gossip, tips. I heard what happened to the Guintos, specifically their matriarch. I heard that one of the daughters married a Santos, she didn’t practice, but had a daughter who did.”
“There are probably a million Santos’ out there, how are you so sure it’s her?”
“Hm. Intuition.”
If it were anyone else, Dana would’ve called bullshit, but it was Genevieve.
“Nothing on Whitaker?” Dana said instead.
“Nope, can’t remember anything. Witches try to be connected, but we can’t get everyone.”
“Figures.”
“So, what’s the deal with the med students?”
“Well, I’m wondering if I should tell them I know. They’re each other’s emergency contacts, they live together, and I have my own ‘intuition’ that neither of them has much besides the other.
“And then today, well, some shit went down, an asshat attacked them, left Santos concussed and Whitaker with some nasty bruises, stitches for both. I can’t help but think it had something to do with them being witches. If I can help them, be someone they can go to if there’s danger that others won’t understand, I want to. But I also don’t know how they’d react.”
Genevieve hummed over the line. Dana ran a hand through her hair, closing her eyes. She wanted to help. She was a nurse, it was in her blood. See a problem, solve the problem. She was hoping Genevieve wouldn’t tell her to keep her distance, but if that’s what happened, Dana would listen.
“Poor kids,” Genevieve finally said. “I can’t guarantee it was a hunter, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“So what should I do?”
“Look, I know I have intuition, but I’m not much of a diviner. What I would say is tell them. No clue how they’ll react, if they’ll ever go to you for help, trust you, if they’ll run away tail between their legs, but it’s like you said: if you can help them, you should try.”
“How would you react, if someone did that to you?”
“I’d probably internally freak out a bit, call people, get a background check to be sure you’re not a hunter trying to kill my coven,” Genevieve listed, “but if you proved yourself, I think I’d feel a lot safer. Especially if my coven was just one other person.”
“Then I guess I better prove myself.”
“Tell them you know me. Genevieve Sownain. Make sure you say Sownain. That may help.”
———————————
The day after the “incident”, Trinity warded the apartment so strongly, Dennis was afraid that non-witches would be able to sense it.
“You’re one to talk,” she snipped. Dennis tried to guiltily cover the amount of baking and potion-making that had happened behind him. Homemade granola bars for energy, potions for dulling pain during work, cupcakes that practically gave you spider senses, and a very complex bread recipe that allowed you to see intentions.
And that was just on the kitchen table.
They had a few days off, what with the stitches and the collapse from exhaustion. Once they had burned out even more magic in their panic on the first day, they spent time resting and eating and cuddled on the couch, yelling at reality TV.
No one came to bother them, which was a godsend. Even footsteps from other residents passing by set them both on edge. They got plenty of get well soon messages, though.
“Mel says, work is boring without you guys, crying face crying face get better soon pink heart pink heart heart hands smiley face smiley face.” Trinity choked at Dennis’ deadpan reading.
“Oh, Melanoma. Tell her she’s being Melodramatic.”
“I’m not saying that, she’s being nice!”
“I’m also being nice, in my own special way.”
“So, mean.”
“You get it, Huckleberry.”
Mel received a “thanks!” with a smiley and a heart. Trinity texted back on her own phone “enough with the MELodrama.”
And added a heart.
Just in case.
———————————
When both Santos and Whitaker were back at work, Santos didn’t let Whitaker out of her sight. Which worked out, because Whitaker was clearly anxious about letting Santos get away, too.
The rest of the department got the hint pretty quickly and called them over together to work on cases. Even when they were pulled apart, they were always checking over their shoulders.
“Santos, Whitaker! Incoming trauma, car versus pedestrian!” Dana called out. She was the first to see their co-dependency, and while that certainly couldn’t last forever, she’d at least indulge it for one day. It was slow anyway.
Plus, she wanted to talk to them later about their… thing. So it was better that she was in their good graces.
They zipped by her, communicating in that way they do where they just look at each other and know exactly where one is moving, filling space so easily.
Dana wondered if that was magic, or just them.
By the time the day was over and handoff was underway, Santos and Whitaker had managed to do a few cases alone. Nothing time-consuming or too far away from one another, but separate. She figured they knew as much as everyone else that they couldn’t be attached at the hip forever.
“Santos! Whitaker!” Dana called out as they were leaving. “Hang back a second, I gotta talk to you.”
Another shared look. Dana could practically see the magic passing between them. Then they both headed over to her.
“What’s up?” Santos asked. Whitaker lingered behind her.
“I’m not gonna beat around the bush. I know about you two.”
Santos’ eyes narrowed. Whitaker stiffened. They shifted slightly, until both had a point of contact on the other.
“What do you know?” Santos snarked. “That we live together? That’s not big news. Everyone knows that.”
“No. I think you both know what I’m talking about. I won’t say anything to anyone, the only reason I know is because I’m close friends with Genevieve Sownain.”
That got a reaction. Santos’ usually suspicious eyes widened in recognition. Whitaker didn’t seem to recognize the name, but recognized the change in Santos.
“Sownain?” Santos asked.
“Genevieve Sownain,” Dana confirmed. “Known her for a while, noticed some things about you two that I remember from her. Gave her a call, she told me I should tell you.”
Whitaker took the opportunity of Santos’ stunned shock to finally speak. “So you… know about the whole…” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Witch thing?”
“Yeah, known about it for years,” Dana said. “Not for years about you two, of course, but magic in general. Known about you two for a while, mostly suspicions, but you writing a big sigil on him in the break room sealed the deal.”
Dana took a moment to appreciate their faces: Whitaker red and covering the place the sigil was last week (despite the fact that Dana had no magic and certainly wouldn’t use it to look through his shirt), and Santos’ face pinched in that way it always was when she was caught doing something wrong and didn’t want to admit it.
Santos stepped forward, ready to snap at Dana, but was stopped by Dana’s head shaking.
“Hey, I’m in your corner, kids. If you need something, a place to go do your spells or potions or whatever you do, someone to talk to, someone to make excuses for you, I’m here.”
She let them soak in the information. Santos still looked suspicious, but less murderous. Whitaker looked almost starstruck.
“Thanks,” Santos said shortly. Whitaker nodded at her. Dana smiled.
“If you need to give me a truth serum or whatever, just let me know before I go home. There are things my husband doesn’t need to know.”
That broke enough tension that Santos softened and Whitaker even smiled.
“I doubt that’ll be necessary,” Santos replied. “But I’ll ask Huckleberry to make one, just in case.”
“Trin, those ingredients are really difficult to find- OW!”
A well-placed elbow had Whitaker shutting up and being dragged away by Santos, leaving her to grab her own things and go home.
Thoughts of the two plagued her on the drive back, hoping they would take her up on her offer. Santos seemed too guarded, and Whitaker too anxious. Could they trust her?
That doesn’t matter now, Dana thought. Trust takes time. I’ll just have to keep proving it’s there.
———————————
A few days later, Dana found a small Tupperware on her desk full of homemade seven-layer bars— her favorite. On top of the Tupperware was a note reading To Dana and a simple necklace with what looked to be a handmade wooden pendant.
Dana smiled, taking a bite of the bars and putting on her new pendant. She could guess who the gifts were from.