Every Kiss the Prelude to a Broken Heart, by Matthew Cote

Every heart pulsed a lazy rhythm one rainy Friday evening as I stood huddled in the mass of commuters waiting for the Red Line. Every heart, that is, but one. Tendrils of my magic, invisible to everyone but me, picked the owner out from the crowd.

He was so unlike the other commuters: a kid like me, probably in university, all alone in the big city. Rain sluiced from tangled hair. Dark eyes reflected the cityscape. Fingernails painted the color of blood drummed on his jeans. His cheeks flushed a rosy pink. 

It would’ve been so easy to steal his heart with a spell right there and then. A few whispered words, some waggling fingers, and it would be mine with no more fuss than a few confused looks from the spectators. But I didn’t do it. Never steal a heart, not by spell and not by brew, lest the same or worse be done to you, my old warlock master told me.

Despite having given up witchcraft for med school—magic’s a fun hobby, but there’s no money in it, and I needed something to pay the bills—the lesson was sound. If I wanted his heart, I’d have to steal it the old-fashioned way.

I sidled towards him. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He gestured towards the book clenched in my hand. “That’s one of my favorites.”

I glanced at my tattered copy of Frankenstein, then stuffed the book into my coat pocket. He appeared so beautifully healthy. I blushed. My heart thundered in my chest.  

“You like horror?” he asked.

“I love horror, but this is science fiction. I’m hoping to fix the doctor’s mistakes.”

He laughed as if I was joking. Then the train arrived, shrieking and trembling to a halt, doors hissing as they swung open. I boarded and found a seat, and my breath caught when he stopped beside me.

“Mind if I sit with you?” he asked, and offered another crooked smile. I smiled back and moved over.

“I’m Josiah,” he said.

“Victoria.”

We talked as the train accelerated out of the station. He told me about his band and the lit class he was taking. We talked about how Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster, and how the monster wasn’t the monster at all. Not really.

Too soon, brakes squealed. The train slowed. “You’re cool,” Josiah said. “I like you. Want to get a coffee sometime?”

My heart caught in my throat. I knew what he was up to, that dirty thief. He wanted to steal my heart before I could steal his. Let him try. There was no magic in his words—just chemistry, which may be tenfold worse and far messier.

I smiled and took out my phone. “Give me your number.” He did, and I texted him so he’d have mine. Then, on a whim, I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” he said, as the train groaned to a stop. He let me out of the row and I shot him one last glance before shuffling out into the rain.

I lived over a mile from the train station, in the basement of a three-story tenement that stood alone in a sea of old warehouses. It was a good place for an erstwhile witch to live, without any neighbors snooping around. I didn’t mind the walk or the solitude. In fact, I was glad for it. Tonight’s commute had been an eventful one and my heart was still my own, even if it beat a little faster than usual. I hoped Josiah would text tomorrow. If things went well over coffee, maybe I’d invite him back to my place.

I locked the door behind me, hung up my coat, and went to my laboratory. The fluorescent light hummed to life, revealing the shrouded cadaver on the workbench and walls lined with jars of the supplies I’d gathered so far: kidneys, a liver, a tongue. Many of those jars stood empty.

I took my worn, leather satchel down from the high shelf, withdrew the ancient, ceremonial dagger my old master gifted me, and began to sharpen it. Stealing Josiah’s heart would be dangerous, but I was sure I could manage it. Later, I’d have to find a good pair of eyes.

There was nothing in the rules against using magic for that.

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For as long as he can remember, Matthew Cote wanted to be a writer. When he’s not writing, you can find him traipsing through the hills and forests of New England with his wife, kids, and dogs, teaching them all the rules of magic so they stay out of trouble.