Thirst

THE ONES WHO WATCH

"Cherry…explain yourself. Now."

Juanita’s voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the wreckage of the bedroom like a blade. She stayed curled in the corner, her wide, kaleidoscope eyes locked onto her best friend.

Cherry didn't flinch. Instead, she took a slow, grounding breath and reached for the hem of her oversized neon sweater, pulling it over her head and tossing it onto the floor. She stood there in a simple black tank top, her shoulders square.

"Okay," Cherry murmured, closing her eyes. "Don't freak out. Just watch."

Cherry began to whisper under her breath, a low, rhythmic incantation in a language Juanita had never heard before—melodic, thick, and ancient. As the words left her lips, the ambient light in the room shifted. A warm, golden-orange aura bled outward from Cherry’s skin, chasing away the dark shadows of the corners.

Then, the patterns appeared.

Unlike Juanita’s jagged, chaotic lines, Cherry’s skin bloomed with elegant, fluid transparent markings that unfurled like blooming flowers across her shoulders and collarbones. They glowed a vibrant, steady orange. When Cherry opened her eyes, her dark irises had melted into a rich, glowing orange-brown, and a subtle violet shimmer crackled softly around her platinum-blonde braids. She looked utterly ethereal. Powerful. Beautiful.

Juanita watched in absolute wonder, her terror momentarily forgotten. "Oh…wow."

Cherry’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a familiar, teasing smirk breaking through her mystical facade. She winked. "Gay panicking there, Nita?"

Juanita rolled her eyes, letting out a breathy, defensive huff. "Oh, please."

A collective wave of relief seemed to break over them, and both girls let out a sudden, involuntary laugh. Juanita shook her head, amazed that she could even find the capacity to laugh while sitting in a room covered in splinters and creeping vines.

"You may be very pretty, Cher, but I need actual answers," Juanita demanded, sitting up slightly.

"Well, this is my true form," Cherry explained, looking down at her glowing hands. "I'm a Wica witch. We're elemental—bright, colorful, connected to life. Dark witches are different; they're more destructive, with heavier, darker auras. We stealth most of the time, obviously, so we can blend in with the humans." Cherry stepped closer, her orange eyes scanning the faint, pulsing lines on Juanita’s skin. Her brow furrowed in deep concentration. "But I don't know what kind of witch you are, Nita. I can't tell. Your patterns are red, gold, and violet. It's completely unusual. Plus, your pattern scheme isn't coherent. It’s like two different forces are fighting under your skin. My mom might know, though. She's the head of our coven."

"There are actual covens?" Juanita asked, her brain struggling to anchor itself to reality.

"Yeah. Obviously. Since the beginning of time," Cherry said, slipping her sweater back on, the glowing patterns fading back beneath her skin. "There are three here in London. Ours is the Wura-Ola coven. And um…I guess now I have to tell you that I'm technically on an assignment."

Juanita’s guard went right back up. "What assignment?"

"I'm supposed to watch you. And keep you safe."

Juanita's mind began to spiral all over again. "Huh? Keep me safe from what? It's college for God's sake! Why and how does your coven even know who I am? Why do they want to keep me safe?"

Cherry hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her eyes darting away.

"Cherry!" Juanita pressed, her voice rising with a desperate, emotional edge. "Tell me!"

Cherry let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

"Because of your father."

"My father? What?" Juanita gasped, her heart stopping. "Cherry, what does that even mean? Oh my god."

"Look, I don't know! I genuinely don't," Cherry said quickly, holding her hands up in surrender. "I was just supposed to come to college, live in the dorms, and be normal. But then my mum asked me to watch you and protect you. I don't know how or why your dad knows my coven, or why you have powers. Maybe he or your mom is a hidden witch? I don't know, Nita. Genuinely."

Juanita’s head reeled. A jumbled mess of fierce emotions—fear, confusion, betrayal—thumped against her temples. Who was her father? Witches? Covens? What kind of fever dream had her life turned into?

"I know this is a lot," Cherry said gently, reaching down to help her up. "But you're gonna be okay. I'll Crystalball my mom tomorrow—"

"Crystalball?" Juanita interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Preferred mode of communication for high-ranking witches. Way more secure than w******p," Cherry joked with a soft smile. "I'll talk to her, and we'll figure out what to do. I'm sorry about all this, Nita. I know you just wanted a normal college experience."

Juanita let out a long, thoroughly exhausted sigh. Instead of standing up, she simply collapsed backward, lying flat on her back against the carpet, staring at the ceiling. Cherry paused, then quietly lay down beside her, their shoulders touching.

"So..." Juanita whispered into the quiet room, staring blankly ahead. "You just made friends with me because of your assignment?"

"What? Of course not, Juanita!" Cherry turned her head, her voice fiercely earnest. "I mean, yeah, being your suitemate was the assignment, but everything else? Us? You are incredibly special to me. You are literally my soulmate, girl, and I love you. For real."

Cherry reached over, her warm hand wrapping securely around Juanita’s.

Juanita simply hummed, squeezing Cherry’s hand back. She lay in silence, trying to assemble the shattered pieces of her reality. It made sense now—why Cherry had been so intensely protective and hostile toward Samil at the bar.

Samil…

She hadn't seen him since the night of the party. Since his lips had crashed into hers, triggering a vision of blood and violet fire.

"So," Juanita murmured, a faint, exhausted smirk playing on her lips as she turned her head toward her friend. "You really are a Black woman who casts spells."

Cherry burst out laughing, instantly catching the callback to her venomous exchange with Samil at the bar. "Yup!"

Juanita laughed too, the heavy tension radiating out of her body. "I still have a ton of questions, but I'm literally so sleepy right now. My brain is turning into mush."

"It's okay, baby. You've been running on fumes for two weeks," Cherry said softly, sitting up. "I'll take care of the mess in your room. You're sleeping in my bed tonight. When you wake up, a mountain of cheesy quesadillas will be waiting for you."

"Sounds good," Juanita murmured, closing her eyes with a dreamy, heavy sigh. "But I also want scones, ice cream, and jollof rice."

Cherry laughed loudly, walking out toward the living area. "You and food, I swear. But okay. And hey—I can finally use my powers freely around the dorm. Victory!"

Juanita drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, the safety of Cherry's room wrapping around her like a shield. But the peace didn't last.

At exactly midnight, Juanita woke up with a violent jolt.

Every nerve in her body fired at once, a sudden, freezing chill sweeping over the bed. She snapped her eyes open into the dim room, and her breath completely caught in her throat. Fear and dread filling her completely.

There it was. The figure...

And now she could see exactly who it was.

Perched on the sill of the open window, his dark silhouette cutting into the midnight sky, was Samil D'Amadeo.

Watching.