The Last of the True Luna

Chapter 5

"I tried asking my mom about Art's mother's contact number," Juliet said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she bent down to zip up the last of my bags. The faint hum of early morning filtered through the window behind her, casting soft amber light across the room. “She doesn’t have the number, but she does have their email address. We'll drive you to the airport, and while we're on the road, why don't you try to contact them? Maybe they’ll reply in time.”

Her voice was calm, as always—steady like the eye of a storm. But beneath that practiced calm, I sensed her worry. It clung to her voice, soft but unmistakable, like the last note of a song that refused to end.

"Okay. Thank you so much, Juliet. I can't do this without you," I said, barely able to keep my voice from cracking. The words felt too small for what I meant. There were a million other things I wanted to say—how much she meant to me, how much I already missed her, how terrified I was. But instead, I smiled through the weight in my chest.

Juliet gave me a small, understanding smile, then reached out and squeezed my hand. It was a simple gesture, but it said everything that words couldn’t. That I wasn’t alone. That even when everything felt like it was slipping away, she was still there, grounding me.

She had always been my anchor. Ever since we were kids, Juliet was the one who steadied me. When I cried the first time I got stung by a bee, she was the one who made me laugh through the tears. When I failed my first math test, she stayed up all night tutoring me. And now, as my world turned upside down—when I didn’t even know what was real anymore—she didn’t run. She stayed. No questions. No doubts.

I knew she wanted to ask me about Nana. About the strange things I said. The ritual. The night that split my life into a before and an after. But she didn’t. She respected the silence between us like it was sacred. Like she knew I’d speak when I was ready… if I ever would be.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure myself. That night haunted me like a dream you couldn’t wake up from. I remembered Nana’s voice, the fireballs, the vampires, the frantic escape through glowing magic circles. But I also remembered how surreal it felt, like something out of a fantasy novel. It couldn’t have been real—could it? Yet Nana was gone. The house felt emptier than it ever had. That was real. Her absence echoed in every corner. No dream could mimic that kind of hollow ache.

“Let’s go,” Juliet said, gently tugging on my sleeve. “My parents are waiting for us outside.”

I looked around the house one last time—the creaky floors, the chipped paint, the family photos lining the hallway. Everything felt smaller now, like a place I no longer fit into. I reached out, touched the doorknob, and whispered, “I’ll miss you.” Not just to the house, but to the version of me that still lived in it.

Then I stepped outside and didn’t look back.

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The drive to the airport was quiet. Not awkward—just heavy. Juliet sat beside me, scrolling through her phone in case Art’s family replied to the email. I watched the trees blur past the window, their branches bare in the late winter chill. I didn’t know what I expected to find in Pennsylvania—closure? Answers? Safety?

I wasn’t sure. I only knew I had to leave.

When we pulled up to the departures area, Juliet’s mom got out of the car and gave me a quick but fierce hug. Her dad carried my suitcase to the curb without saying much, but he gave me a small nod—the kind that meant “take care” without needing to speak.

Juliet hugged me last. She clung to me longer than I expected, her breath warm against my neck.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll call when you land?”

“I will,” I said, even though neither of us was sure where I’d be going once I landed.

I waved goodbye until the car disappeared in the crowd of travelers and blinking lights. Then I turned around, squared my shoulders, and walked into the terminal.

The flight was long, cold, and oddly quiet. I kept glancing at my phone, refreshing my inbox over and over, praying for a reply. At one point, I think I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a burning tree and a moonlit path with glowing footprints that led somewhere I couldn't reach.

When we landed in Pennsylvania, the air was colder than I remembered. I stepped outside and pulled my coat tighter around me, the chill biting through the fabric like tiny teeth. There were snowflakes drifting lazily from the sky, the kind that melt on your skin before you can even see them properly.

I checked my phone again. Still no new message. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. What had I been thinking? Running away without a plan. I didn’t even know if Art remembered me. It had been what—ten years? Maybe more?

I wandered to the bench near the pick-up area, hugging my bag. I didn’t know where else to go. I sat there for what felt like an hour, watching people reunite—some with tears, others with flowers, laughter, joy. I tried not to let the loneliness seep in.

Then, I heard a voice I hadn’t heard since I was eight years old.

“Lilla?”

I turned, and there he was.

Older. Taller. His features more defined, but still familiar. Art had grown up. His hair was longer, darker, messier than I remembered, and his jaw was more angular. But those eyes—they were still the same hazel eyes that used to follow me and Juliet everywhere.

“Art?” My voice came out like a question and a whisper all at once, the name tasting strange on my tongue after so many years. I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat, unsure if my tired mind was playing tricks on me. The years had stretched and blurred his memory, but as he stepped closer, the pieces of the little boy I once knew fell back into place.

He broke into a grin—wide, boyish, and undeniably him. That same crooked smile I remembered from the time we spent chasing fireflies and splashing in creeks. His arms opened without hesitation, and instinct took over before thought could catch up.

We hugged.

For a moment, just one brief heartbeat, I forgot about witches and vampires and spells whispered beneath the moon. I forgot the ache in my chest and the hollow in my gut. All I felt was the simple safety of someone who had known me before all of this—before I became someone even I didn't recognize.

“You have no idea how surreal this is,” I murmured against his shoulder.

He pulled back slightly, still smiling, though his eyes shimmered with disbelief. “My mom forwarded me the email. We came as soon as we could,” he said, his voice low and steady but full of emotion. “I thought—hell, I didn’t think I’d actually see you again. You look… exactly the same. Well, a little more grown-up. But still you.”

I blinked quickly, trying to push down the unexpected heat rising behind my eyes. “You, on the other hand,” I said, trying to steady my voice with humor, “look like you swallowed the little version of yourself I remember.”

He laughed, the sound genuine and rich. “Puberty hit me like a freight train, what can I say?”

I let out a breathy chuckle, then reached for my bag, but he beat me to it, slinging it easily over his shoulder. “Come on,” he said, motioning toward the parking lot. “Let’s get you out of this cold. Pennsylvania in winter is no joke.”