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"You need to know this by tomorrow."
Alec sighs. "I know, okay? I know."
"Do you?" Isabelle sounds disapproving, almost a little concerned, which Alec always finds a little bit jarring. His sister, the rebel, worried about something so traditional. "This is a big deal, Alec."
"I know," Alec repeats, a little firmer. "I'm just... tired."
As if to emphasize his point, he lets his eyes drift shut as he rubs his forehead with his fingers, and Izzy closes the book in her hands. It's only one of the many she has been using to quiz Alec for the past three hours.
"What's up with you?" she asks. "I thought you were excited about this."
"I was." Alec revises. "I am."
"Then why aren't you acting like it?"
Alec opens his eyes, stares up at the ceiling for a second. This couch has always been more decorative than comfortable, and half-lying on it wasn't a good idea ten minutes ago, let alone now. He sighs, sits up and swings both his legs over the couch's edge, leaning forward to meet Izzy's eye.
"I don't know," he says, honestly. "It just doesn't feel important, right now."
Izzy frowns, half confused and half annoyed.
"What, so you don't want your initiation?"
"Of course I do," Alec says, with some frustration. "That's not what I mean. I just―" He sighs. "You know what dad said to me, the other day? That he was excited for me to start my internship."
Izzy's frown deepens.
"So?"
"So," Alec says, "that internship doesn't start for another few years." He chews his cheek, eyes falling to the floor. The expensive rug lying there does nothing to distract him. If anything, it just reminds him even more of the frustrating―albeit admittedly privileged―position he's in. The one he was born into. "I guess it just got me thinking."
"About?" Izzy presses, when he doesn't elaborate.
"About how everything's already been planned out for me," Alec says. "For as long as I can remember. Any time I even mention maybe doing something that isn't law-related, he humors me for, like, a second. Then it's back to reality." He shrugs, shakes his head. "It's annoying, but I never really stopped to think about it. And I guess this initiation is just... making it real. I'll be an adult, in his eyes. In everyone's eyes. Things will get serious, and I don't know if I want that. Ever."
Izzy presses her lips together, the confusion on her face replaced with concern. She sighs, puts the book down on the glass surface of the coffee table. Carefully, without touching the glass with her hands. Fingerprints are not a good look―they were yelled at about that enough as kids.
"Look," Izzy says. "I don't know how you feel, so I won't say that I do. But maybe it's not so bad."
Alec knows she doesn't mean to sound insensitive or ignorant, and he knows that neither applies to her. But the words still make him bristle.
"Easy for you to say," he says. "You've got another two years before you gotta worry about any of this."
"And I can't wait," Izzy says bluntly. "I'd do it tomorrow, if I could, just like you. You'll be part of things, Alec. Completely."
Alec folds his arms, leans back against the hard cushions of the couch, the one mirroring the couch on which Izzy sits. Their mother found this matching set at an auction, once. They were expensive, and Alec has never quite liked them, convinced that they're only welcome in this even more expensive house simply because they are antiques. He will admit they at least match this lounge, though. So there's that.
"Right," Alec says. "'Cause I'm not, right now."
Izzy sighs, looking down somewhat sheepishly.
"That's not what I meant," she says.
"No, it's okay." Alec's voice has taken on a dry edge, almost jagged. "Accepting the oldest son's sexual preferences is too much work, when you can just show off his family name and avoid it altogether."
As a culture, witches generally couldn't care less about who someone is attracted to―the conventional way is such a forced, binary structure in their eyes―but outside of their culture, society does care. As a businessman, Alec's father cares, his parents care. When it comes to how investors and clients and the public view them and their family―people who have no clue about the culture of magick that they belong to―it's enough for them to care. Enough for them to be against it.
"Alec." Izzy's voice is sharp, her eyes hard as they meet his. "You're being really immature."
"Says my little sister."
"Yeah, she does." She gets like this, sometimes. Unrelenting. Alec isn't sure where she gets it from, but he's sure it's going to get her into as much trouble as success, in the future. "I get that you're angry. I am, too. I hate how mom and dad handled all that, and I hate that you're clearly in pain because of it." Alec looks down. "But this is about more than that. Say you mess up your initiation, or don't even go through with it at all. What'll that prove? What'll that show them, or anyone?"
Alec can't really answer that. Honestly, he doesn't know. He just wants to do something that isn't expected or demanded of him, something that he decides, not his parents. He doesn't want to spend his life like that, suffocating under the weight of something he can't control. It doesn't matter that an initiation is something every single witch goes through, anyone who's part of a coven, big or small, old or new. He's not ready for that milestone, just yet. Not with this family, not with what it means to them.
Silence stretches on for what feels like ages, until Izzy gets up and rounds the coffee table, sitting down next to Alec. She puts a hand on his shoulder, rubs it gently.
"You do what feels right, Alec," she says. "I'll be here, no matter what. Just don't confuse what you want with what you think will piss off our parents the most."
Alec turns to her, stares for her for a long time, brow furrowed.
"How old are you are you, again?" he says, earning a smirk and a light arm-slap in return.
"I'm wise beyond my years," Izzy says. "But I mean it. Whatever feels right to you, that's what you should do. And as far as dad is concerned, you've got another few years to decide."
Alec scoffs.
"Could might as well be a few weeks, with how he talks about it."
"Yeah." Izzy sounds resigned, now. She has heard their father talk like that just as much as Alec has, even though it doesn't personally affect her or her future. The plans staked out for her, the youngest next to their little brother, are so far much more vague and undecided.
Isabelle's expression suddenly goes from sympathetic to apprehensive, maybe a little excited, and Alec narrows his eyes.
"What?" he says, a bit suspiciously.
"Wait here," Izzy says, before simply getting up and walking away. Alec sits up straight.
"Iz?" he calls after her, his voice echoing slightly off the walls and high ceiling, but she just keeps going until she's out the door. So he waits, for less than a minute, until she returns.
There's a box in her hands, and an almost nervous look on her face, Alec doing his best to keep a straight face as she sits back down next to him. She takes a breath, looks down at the box. It's neatly wrapped in brown paper, without a bow or a card. Izzy chews her lip.
"I was gonna give you this tomorrow," she says. "After the ritual. But I figure I might as well give it to you now."
Alec shifts in his seat.
"Izzy, you don't have to―" he starts, afraid that he's inadvertently guilted her into something, but she cuts him off.
"I know," she says, meeting his eye. "But I want to. I know this initiation is important to you, even if you can't remember that, right now. Maybe this will remind you."
She holds the box out to him, and Alec watches her for another moment, before looking down at it. It's flat and large, heavier than expected when he takes it in his hands, and he throws one last glance at Izzy's expectant expression, before gently unwrapping the paper. A paper box inside, to hold the package's shape, and he lifts the lid. Inside is a book, bound in soft, dark brown leather, plain aside from the dark stitching along the edges. Alec exhales as he puts the wrapping and paper box aside.
"I know you have one already," Izzy says, while Alec keeps staring at the book, flipping through the blank, hand-pressed pages. "But I also know you got it when you were twelve." A small chuckle. "Figured you might want a new one, after tomorrow."
A small, fond smile pulls at Alec's lips. A grimoire is something traditionally chosen by the witch rather than gifted, but he knows that this would be an exception; this book is exactly the one he's been eyeing for months, mentioning it to Izzy, absently thinking he'll get it for himself eventually. But he never has, and maybe never would have, too stuck in what's comfortable and familiar to replace something so intimate and personal as the grimoire he already has. But he knows he needs to, knows he wants to. He's glad his sister knows him well enough to know that, too.
Alec smoothes his fingers over the rich leather, looks up at Isabelle.
"Thank you," he says quietly, with a small smile. He doesn't need to elaborate, or express it any clearer than that, because it's already clear enough. Izzy smiles, puts her arms around him as he leans in for a hug, the book held protectively on his lap.
"You're welcome, big brother," she says softly. A pause. "You're gonna be okay."
Alec closes his eyes, hugs her a little tighter, certain that she is absolutely right.