ursula.

Devon

Some time ago, Devon asked Rafael if he could help her get a laptop. This was an interesting turning point in their relationship, an axis they have been turning on lately: one where she doesn't just go out to buy herself something with his credit card without asking, and (perhaps more notably) one where she asks him for something without it seeming to eviscerate her to do so.

Neither of them are particularly adept at asking for help. Neither of them like to feel indebted. Rafael handles it his way; Devon handles it hers. But tell your partner you might have a kid with that you need help with something and ask directly if they will help you has not, traditionally, been how they handle things.

This is likely how he discovers that she has either been using something of his lying around or the library or just her phone for internet access, and that it has not made much of a difference in her life as it is, but, you know, lately she has sort of wanted her own computer. And she's saving but the good ones are expensive, right?

So he helps her buy a laptop. This is not like the car: she already has picked out what she wants, and then one day after shipping and handling: Devon has a laptop. She begins putting stickers on it, and gets a sleeve for it, and carries it around in that satchel they share. He begins to see her sometimes, tapping away at it. They still watch Netflix together in the living room, though.

Well: once or twice on her laptop, in his bed, because they are lazy.

--

It's early evening. Rafael is just waking up, or has been up for a while and is eating, or is simply: somewhere. And Devon comes over to him, carrying that laptop on her forearms, looking tense.

No, not tense: excited. Restrained. But almost solely from the look in her eyes, he can tell her heart is pounding.

"I want to show you something. All right?"

Rafael

She wants a laptop.

She gets a laptop pretty much immediately. They go to Best Buy and they pick one out, and then they buy it. Actually, they buy two. It turns out what wolf has lying around is some ancient cheap beater-machine from before he was Rich (tm), sole benefactor of his savage, kingly, late mother's vast estate.

So: two laptops. One for him and one for her. No cutesy his-and-hers cases. Just two sleek, silvery, shockingly expensive surface pros, top of the line, half computer, half tablet.

She has a laptop after that. And she puts stickers on hers, protects it with a sleeve. He leaves his bare, but he leaves it at home and uses it rarely enough that it hardly suffers any wear or tear. She uses her laptop with greater frequency. He never spies on what she's doing. Never even occurs to him.

Occasionally they watch Netflix on it. Because they are lazy. And because they are in bed. And because he's a voracious one; likes to fuck her. Why would he leave the bed?

--

Early evening. Wolf's eating. It's a burger, meaty and red, coarse-chopped fries on the side. His chef is learning his taste: nothing fancy, plenty of red meat, potatoes. Occasionally something finer, more exotic, more healthy still appears. Wolf's chef hopes to expand his horizons. Or maybe hopes to keep things interesting for girl. Or maybe wants to prove to girl, to wolf, to himself, to everyone, that he's capable of more than just ... this stuff.

Anyway. Wolf's eating and girl comes over. He puts the burger down when he sees the look on her face, but it's not bad. He thinks it's not bad. He wipes his mouth and holds his hands out for the laptop.

"Yeah. Let's see."

Devon

He gets a sleek, silvery, shockingly expensive surface pro, top of the line, half computer, half tablet. Devon gets the one she picked out. Stubbornly, even a bit defiantly, she gets the one that she picked out that she can pay for half of, and then puts stickers on it, and

watches Netflix on it with him, even though his is nicer. But his is all the way over there.

--

Devon sets her laptop down on the island, past his plate, rather than putting it into his greasy hands. She sits beside him on the barstool, tapping the space bar to make the video queued up on the screen start playing.

It looks like some sort of home-made music video. Rather good production quality, for a DIY, but that's getting surprisingly common these days. The technology is available; the means to learn the technology is accessible. Some surprising people are churning out surprisingly good content.

The song doesn't matter; Devon has the volume so low it's barely audible as anything other than 'some kind of song'. The video is already half over at the point she had it paused at. There's a young woman on the screen, a little younger than Devon, with auburn hair and a white, Victorian-esque dress on. Her face is mostly obscured by camera angles and her hair, but she's walking across a grassy field, and the grass is springing up around her bare feet. Little wildflowers are springing up from around her bare feet, too, tiny sprouts that unfurl into blossoms in a flowing timelapse.

The girl in the video kneels down at a dry, brown, dead flowerbed, picking up some of the fallen stems in her hands, cupping her palms around them. As the song crests through Devon's laptop speakers and the girl opens her hands, the flower inside bursts forth, petals radiant with new color and life.

It is a super hippy-dippy music video with the sort of imagery best left to a basic bitch's secret wedding Pinterest board.

Devon taps the space bar again, the enormous purple blossom still filling up the video screen.

"So..." she begins, exhaling: "that isn't an effect."

Turns to look at him, gauging his reaction. "I mean the grass and flowers. It's not special effects."

Rafael

She shows him... some sort of DIY hipster music video. Wolf is frowning. He doesn't get it. Not until the camera catches the plants growing beneath the starlet's feet. There he flicks a glance at girl. Back to the screen.

They watch the rest in silence. Until the pause. Until the blooming purple flower.

He leans back. Still frowning, though she knows him well enough by now to know it's only because he's thinking. "How do you know?" he asks.

Devon

"Been talking to her," Devon tells him. "For a while. Since I've been... looking for others."

There's a pause, and then she just launches into it: "Her name is Ursula. I just... came across her on Tumblr, and then her Instagram, and we started commenting and messaging a lot, and then emailing, and... we just gradually got more honest about our witchcraft.

"Plants grow when she touches them," Devon says, sounding a bit in awe of it, despite her own abilities. "And like in the video: she can even bring dead plants back to life."

A heavier pause, then a breath: "She can heal. She said she's only done it a few times, and usually it doesn't work, and it takes so much out of her she's scared she'll end up in a coma or something. But the way she describes... energy. The flow of it. How things happen when she doesn't mean for them to, and how she makes things happen when she really means it. I know she's not lying. I don't think anyone could describe it the way she did if they haven't felt it."

Like Devon has felt it.

"So... can we go to Wisconsin?"

Rafael

Wolf huffs softly. Might call it a laugh, except it's a sound more of wonder. Maybe even admiration.

"Found yourself another witch," he says. "Yeah. Course we can go to Wisconsin. When do you want to leave?"

Devon

Devon shrugs.

Rafael

"We can go tomorrow," he says. "Give you some time to pack. And prepare."

Devon

Now Devon grins. "You sure?" she asks. Her excitement has less tension in it. Now it's just energetic, vibratory, filling her voice.

She doesn't give him a chance to answer, though. She leans over, her hands coming to rest lightly on either side of his face. She kisses him, softly. Sweetly. Smiles at him when she draws back.

"I'll tell Ursula."

And she's off, swiveling around on the barstool and pulling her laptop over to send a message to her new friend,

the other witch.