Aspen Fahey is a non-binary aspiring community witch and failed witchfluencer living in downtown Toronto. When their aunt dies and leaves them her house and witching practice on beautiful, idyllic Vancouver Island, their life unexpectedly turns into a Lifetime movie: early thirties enby leaves the big city (including their toxic partner and the job they hate) to move to a beautiful small town, has meet cute with beautiful stranger before running into The One That Got Away.

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Part 1: Inheritance
Chapter 1

Good morning, Pamela.

Aspen stared blankly at their computer as they considered and discarded several possible responses to the new support ticket. Feeling decidedly undercaffeinated for this level of stupidity, they took a large swig of their coffee, grimacing when they discovered it contained cold remnants of coffee from yesterday. “Ugh. Gross,” they grumbled, questioning every life decision that had led them to accept a magical support job at HexaTech – the largest magical services provider in Canada.

Back when they’d done their witch apprenticeship, they’d had big dreams of doing community work and using their magical talents to make a difference, not knowing that the public sector in Ontario was both massively underfunded and next-to-impossible to enter. Gig work had sucked because they often spent more time networking and looking for clients than they did working. They’d tried to make a name as a witchfluencer™ (and had even had some modest success) but even though it felt like success was always just around the corner, witching as a stable career remained perpetually out of reach.

Unfortunately, since running away to a start a new life as a swamp witch wasn’t an option, they were going to have to find a way to respond to this latest ticket while keeping the implied ‘you fucking idiot’ from being too obvious in their response.

Good morning Pamela.
Despite the name, cursed memes are not actual curses. Someone sending you a cursed meme does not mean that you have been cursed.
Hope that helps.

~Aspen Fahey

They hit send before they could add anything they’d regret later and headed to the kitchen. Tariq was there, dutifully emptying the coffee pot of its last few dregs. Unsurprisingly, the previous person had left just enough to spare themselves the responsibility of putting on a new pot.

“Morning, Tariq,” they said, sighing grumpily as they opened the coffee maker.

Tariq looked up from rinsing the pot. “Not a good morning, I take it?”

“S. H. I. T,” Aspen said with a bright corporate smile. “So happy it’s Thursday!”

“That bad?”

“Pamela.”

Tariq chuckled. “You’ll have to tell me about it over lunch.” He paused and looked a bit guilty. “Look, I have to make a quick phone call, do you mind…?”

“Babysitting the coffee? No prob. Go do the thing, friendo.”

“Amazing, thanks, pal.” Tariq ducked out of the kitchen and into the nearby stairwell that provided the closest thing to privacy on this floor.

As leaving the coffee unattended would be a mistake (in the cutthroat world of corporate magical services, coffee was an ‘every witch for themselves’ kind of situation), Aspen leaned against the counter and pulled out their phone and saw that their sister, Becks, had sent a photo of herself and her wife with their two dogs out for their morning walk.

Becks
Try to get SOME sunlight today, siblet.

Smiling affectionately, Aspen opened their camera, turned it to forward facing, and considered their look – which was appropriately ‘business magical’. Medium-long lavender hair hung over storm-grey eyes rimmed with dark eyeliner – tastefully winged – and set off by dark purple lipstick. Their (appropriately conservative) dress (it has pockets!) was navy blue with silver stars, worn over black tights and galaxy-print boots (flats. At 6’2”, Aspen always felt self-conscious in heels).

They fussed a few stray hairs into place before raising their mug - “I survived another meeting that should have been an email” - in an ironic salute and sending a return selfie.

Aspen
You know that sunlight would ruin the professional pallor I strive to maintain. ;p
(Also, don’t call me siblet.)

Aspen was pleased when they immediately saw three dancing dots.

Becks
ASPEN.

Aspen
Don’t start, Becks. We can’t all be the picture of disgusting lesbian domestic bliss.

Becks
Rude. I know you don’t mean it because there’s no way you could call these faces disgusting.
(and how else am I supposed to lord my status as eldest over you? in a way that's gender neutral, no less?)

Aspen smiled at the closeup photo that followed of Harley and Ivy, their two golden retrievers, giving the camera big doggie grins.

Aspen
(Ugh. Fine.)
I mean, it is a little disgusting that you’re so successful and financially stable. We’re
millennials, aren’t we supposed to be unhappy and poor forever?

Becks
You wouldn’t have to live in a shoe box if you’d come out to Alberta.

Aspen
LISTEN.
William’s new job is going so well we might splurge and get an entire closet.
But we don’t want to go too crazy.
Also I refuse to live anywhere it can snow in June.

Becks
You’re a terrible Canadian.

Aspen
So I hear.
Sorry.

Behind them, the coffee maker gurgled as it finished its cycle. Aspen poured coffee for themself and Tariq and did their best not to glare at the two coworkers who ‘just happened’ to come into the kitchen as soon as the coffee was finished. Vultures.

Aspen
Caffeine has been acquired, so it’s back to being a good little worker bee for me.
Give Rachel my love.

Becks
<3 <3

Aspen ran into Tariq exiting the stairwell as they trudged back to their desk. “My savior!” he exclaimed, gingerly accepting the hot mug.

✯ ✯ ✯

The rest of the day dragged with the usual mix of boredom and stupidity. After closing out a few more support requests, Aspen found themself enlisting Tariq and a few others to chase imps around the executive boardroom when a ward meant to repel demonic influence ended up summoning it instead. When that was finished, it took Aspen and Tariq nearly another hour of poring over the baseboards with hand-held UV lights to discover where two of the ward’s spell sigils had been scuffed – probably by the cleaners. And after that, Aspen spent half an hour trying to explain basic spreadsheet functions to Angelo, their incompetent manbaby of a boss, before they finally gave up and formatted the spreadsheet for him.

Finally, at 4:50, Aspen packed their laptop up early and slunk out of the office and into the wet, grey slush that was downtown Toronto in late February. The streets were jammed with people and cars all trying to escape downtown, and Aspen ended up getting a soaker when they stepped into a puddle trying to avoid a kamikaze electric scooter. Then it was only seven stops on an overcrowded subway, a transfer through heaving crowds, and six more stops on another equally overcrowded train. Three blocks on foot to reach their disappointing postage stamp of an apartment, finally stumbling through their door at six, only to find the apartment dark and empty.

Dammit.

Sure enough, there was a message from William, sent eleven minutes ago.

Working overtime. Eat without me.

Aspen resisted the urge to call Becks to complain, as that would inevitably lead to one of Becks’ lectures about William.

Even if he'd complained about Aspen's inconsistent contributions to their shared finances during the years their witch career failed to launch, they wouldn't have been able to chase their dream at all without his support. Which meant that Aspen felt obligated to defend William when Becks started tearing into him, even though they both knew that things with William weren’t great and hadn’t been great for a long time.
Aspen and William had met at a protest ten years ago, when Aspen had been finishing their second year of classwork for their apprenticeship and William had been in the first year of his undergraduate degree. Aspen had been captivated by William’s passion for magical law and his eloquence about the need for laws reflecting the magical traditions of Canada’s sizeable immigrant population. They’d started dating shortly after and were living together a year later.

William was also a big part of why Aspen had taken the job at HexaTech in the first place. Even though he’d never said anything, they’d felt obligated to do more to pull their weight as their witching career continued to falter and bills from law school continued to accrue interest. Giving up their dream to work at HexaTech was a sacrifice Aspen still felt keenly, but it felt like William didn’t even notice Aspen’s unhappiness. He was still absorbed in the triumph of getting a permanent offer from the firm he’d articled with. Worse, in two years since he'd passed the Bar, he’d slowly been transforming into the soulless management dickheads that Aspen hated at work. Getting ahead in his career had become the most important thing in his life, with Aspen a very distant second.

Leaving them stuck in a city of three million people and somehow still profoundly alone.

Aspen was trapped. Even if they could find a place, they couldn’t make rent on their own. And as much as they hated Toronto, they weren’t keen on the transphobia that would come with moving to Alberta or some other similarly rural province where it was still possible for millennials to afford decent housing. Their only other option would be to admit defeat and move back to live with their mum in the nearby Rust Belt suburb of Oshawa.

Hard pass.

Aspen’s stomach growled, asserting that William was a problem for Not-Now Aspen, whereas Now Aspen still needed to solve the problem of food.

They stared blankly at the contents of the fridge for a least a minute before giving up and pulling out a few slices of processed cheese. “Depression meal it is,” they sighed, putting on a kettle of water for ramen.

✯ ✯ ✯

At two o’clock the next afternoon, Aspen’s phone vibrated insistently across their desk. The call was from Becks, which was concerning, as she was just as much of a phone-hating millennial stereotype as they were. With trepidation, Aspen answered the call.

“Hey, Becks,” they said quietly. “Give me a second to get somewhere I can talk.”

“No prob,” Becks said, sounding decidedly off.

“Okay,” they said once they’d slunk into the dubious safety of the stairwell. “You wouldn’t call first unless it was an emergency, so what’s going on?”

“Aspen…” Becks sounded like she’d been crying. “Aunt Marcy’s dead.”

The words hit like a hammer to the center of their chest. “I. What? How?”

“Aneurysm. This morning. No warning, no nothing. Just. Gone.” There was a long moment of shocked silence during which Becks sniffled. “Mom’s a mess, so I’m calling everyone.”

Aspen stared at the wall, trying to connect with the sadness they should be feeling about the sudden death of their favorite aunt, the witch – and only other magic practitioner in the family – who had encouraged Aspen’s interest in magic, given them their first lessons (and later career advice), and was now gone. But all they felt was numb.

“Thanks for doing that,” they finally managed.

“Mom is executor, apparently. She said she’s going to fly out tomorrow to start making arrangements and that she could pay for your ticket if you wanted to fly out with her.” Becks tactfully didn’t mention William, which saved Aspen from saying that they’d check if he could come – they already knew that William wasn’t going to take any time off for something as trivial as a dead aunt. “I’ll come out and help as soon as I can, since. You know.”

“It’s the only way to keep her from doing literally everything by herself? Yeah. I remember.” They blinked, trying to think through what felt like a brain full of mud. “Uh, tell mum not to book a red-eye. This whole thing is awful enough without getting up at three in the morning to get to Pearson, you know? Tell her I give her permission to not get the absolute cheapest flight.”

Becks laughed weakly. “Sure thing. I’ll get her to message you with details.”

There was another moment of uncomfortable silence before Aspen cleared their throat. “I should let you make those other calls,” they said softly.

“Yeah.”

“Love you, Becks.”

“Love you too, Aspen”

Aspen hung up, then stared at the wall for several minutes trying to figure out what to do next.

Why couldn’t they cry? Aunt Marcy had been the first family member Aspen had come out to, and one of the only ones (besides mum and Becks) who had quickly started using their new name and pronouns without any need for correction or explanation. Not to mention that without Aunt Marcy, they might never have worked up the nerve to deal with their gender feelings on their own.

They were in shock. Obviously.

Okay. So what next?

Go home. Early Twenties Aspen would have worked the rest of the day before going home, unwilling to let personal problems affect their work performance, but thankfully Thirties Aspen had more self-respect.

They drifted back to their desk, feeling distantly confused that their coworkers didn’t stop and stare as they passed. Surely a tragedy of this magnitude would have left some visible sign? And yet, their passage went unobserved and unremarked.

It took only a moment to pack up their laptop and grab their purse. On the way out, they stopped by Tariq’s desk, knocking quietly on top of the cubicle divider to get his attention.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m not feeling well,” Aspen answered quietly. “So I’m going home.”

“Oof. That sucks – I hope you feel better soon. Any work stuff that needs taking care of?”

“Maybe? Like. It definitely won’t happen, since month-end is Monday and he never turns these in on time, but if Angelo decides he wants to do the month-end report early can you fill it out for him? The template is in the shared Reports directory, you’ll just have to pull the numbers out of his email.” Aspen grimaced. “Sorry, I know it’s a pain in the ass…”

Tariq grinned and shook his head. “Seriously, don’t sweat it. Like you said, it won’t happen, so go home and get some rest.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. See you Monday.”

Aspen nodded guiltily, then made their escape.