Page 44 of Only Human in Strangeville

“My what now?”

“Your potential, dear.”

“Potential for what? Shit luck?”

Clare laughed. “Magic. Many people have the ancestry and genes necessary, but few have the right triggers early in life to unleash this power and therefore it is never realized. But you are lucky in that you know me. And more importantly, I know Anita. She’s very powerful, and she gave me exact instructions.”

I recalled the young black woman with the pink hair who wore a knitted gray shawl every time I saw her, regardless of what she wore for clothing.

“I hadn’t realized she was a magic user.”

“Yes. Her family is very wise in the old lore. She descends from hedge wizards who have kept their magic alive all the way back to prehistoric times. It’s quite rare to find a family with so much continuity. Especially with all the turmoil in the world. Part of their secret is their ability to commune with their ancestors. I believe they learned it from Asian mystics.” Clare carried on while she set a circle of candles on the ground and put a small brazier in the center with a tiny clay pot over it. “Now, the unlocking happens right away, but the unfolding and your discovery take time. I’ve brought a book for you to read that will help you understand what is going on inside of you as this develops, and once you’ve fully bloomed, Anita will train you. Until then, she suggests you work on instinct.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Less so than you might think. Your instincts are to protect yourself and those you love or care about. The magic will react appropriately. Your nimbus is also growing stronger by the day, and between the two of you, it will go well. Perhaps not always easily, but at least you’ll have the ability to protect yourself. Then you can come to your men as more of an equal, despite their burning desire to protect you.”

I laughed at that, startled. Then sobered. “Men?”

“Oh, honey, you are so fortunate. Four good men. Most of us are lucky if we find one.” She patted me on the arm. “Now, let’s begin.”

I wanted to question her further, but she’d moved on to the ritual.

“This is actually not terribly complicated. Sit in the circle cross-legged there.” She pointed, and I did as instructed.

Clare sprinkled a packet of herby-smelling leaves in the small clay pot, then took a long match, lit it, and touched the flame to the fuel in the brazier. Using the same match, she lit all the candles around me and stepped back.

“I’ll be right over here, dear,” Clare said. “When you’re ready, pour the water into the clay pot and drink the contents, leaves and all. Then stay calm and quiet until the door opens.”

“The water?” She hadn’t put any water in the circle, I was sure of it.

Clare grinned at me, her owlish eyes gleaming with mischief.

Nimbus rooed softly, then trotted back a short distance and lay down, his eyes fixed on me. I took a deep breath and glanced at the brazier. Sure enough, a clear glass full of water sat next to it. What the hell?

Steam rose from the clay pot, though I had no idea how that was possible. Hands trembling slightly, I picked up the glass. The light from the candles filtered through the impossibly clear container, seeming to pool in the water within until the glass appeared to contain liquid flame.

Getting the feeling that I shouldn’t wait too long, I carefully poured every drop into the clay pot, though on a normal day this might have caused the clay pot to crack. Still, I did what I was told.

The aroma from the pot intensified, curling into my nostrils and seeming to seep into my pores and flow through my veins. It was a scent I couldn’t even identify, though it contained hints of cinnamon, iron, earthy loam, and a smoky scent that reminded me of a touch of Bridger. It also carried the musk of my cloud puppy and a lighter, fruity scent. These scents shouldn’t combine so wonderfully, but to me, in that moment, it was the aroma of my life and the best thing I had ever smelled. I inhaled deeply and forgot my last fear that the clay pot would burn me when I picked it up off the brazier.

It was cool to the touch and the liquid within the exact perfect temperature. I drank the contents down and my consciousness seemed to follow it until I was focused on a spot deep inside myself, all other concerns forgotten.

For a time, I simply floated there, basking in the aroma of my life and the feeling of safety and contentment. Everything was dark, but I was not worried, simply happy to exist.

Moments or days might have passed in that dark bliss, but after some time, I gradually became aware of a new feature in the dark. I turned my awareness and beheld a door. It had a stone frame and solid wooden planks banded in iron. The handle was a simple iron loop, and the outline of a familiar-looking dog was burned onto the planks. I took the iron ring in my hand and, on impulse, said “Friend.”

The door creaked open easily when I pulled, and I stepped through.

“Have you considered what you are doing?”

A masculine voice startled me, and I whirled around, but the door was gone. In its place stood the most magnificent animal I’d ever seen. He was clearly a nimbus, but his markings were different from my nimbus. His overcoat was long and lustrous, a mix of white and the deep gray of a storm cloud. His tail was curled over his back, and it was long and heavily feathered. He regarded me with electric blue eyes. I desperately wanted to run my fingers through that feathery fluff but didn’t dare.

“Excuse me?”

“The ritual you are undertaking. Have you considered the consequences of unlocking the magic within you?” He padded forward until he was standing in front of me, then sat. The dog’s mouth moved when he spoke, though how he managed human words, I didn’t know. Magic, probably. When he sat, his head was level with my chest so that we looked at each other nearly eye to eye. My fingers again twitched with the need to bury them in his fluff.

He huffed laughter. “Go ahead, friend of the nimbuses. You may touch.”

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