Page 31 of Ruby & Onyx

Just like the pie.

The tangerine remains stagnant without showing any signs of moving.

How did I move the pie? I was so irritated with Olly that all I wanted was to get under his skin like he did mine. Did the irritation act as fuel? Perhaps if I shift my focus from the visualization of the fruit’s movement to how it would feel to see it move, then I might be able to reproduce the magic.

So, how would I feel? Triumphant, I guess. Self-assured. Powerful. I try my hardest to mentally grasp the sensation of these emotions one by one. I clear my mind of all extraneous thoughts, leaving only a single mental chamber to be filled with my desire for this tangerine to move. The force of the magic builds up inside of it, buzzing as it grows in power. I can feel it there, ready to be harnessed.

I grab onto that bundle of magic, and it feels so real. It’s as if that power is encapsulated in a glowing cylinder, cool to the touch, and as real as if I were holding it with my own hands. I let it seep into my fingertips before pushing it out through my eyes toward the tangerine.

I visualize the tangerine lifting up, up, up…

It takes me a moment to realize that I am no longer imagining its movement. The tangerine is in the air! Did I do it? I close my eyes and reopen them to be sure, but there it is. Plain as day. That tangerine is actually floating! “Ah-ha!” I yell, which snaps the mental link and forces the tangerine back into Sir Magis’ hand.

“No, not a mistake at all,” he coos, puffing his chest proudly. He places the tangerine back on the desk and claps twice, slow and clipped. “However, you accomplished only half of your goal. It is important to keep a strict focus until you complete your task. Do not divert your attention with premature celebration. Again.”

“Can we take a moment to recognize that I moved the tangerine with my mind?” I want to continue feeling this power for as long as I can. I want to savor it, this feeling of triumph. It came so quickly, faster than I ever imagined possible. Could it be true? Could I possess some sort of latent gift of power?

“Sure, we could. But then how would you learn the lesson that every magical task must be completed in its entirety? It might not seem necessary when the stakes are so low, but imagine that your powers held life and death in the balance. If you haven’t cultivated the mental strength to complete the task, then the consequences could be dire. Always, always finish the charm. Even if it’s as simple as moving a tangerine,” he says.

“Okay, then. Let’s go again.”

* * *

We run through this exercise, transporting various items to and fro, until the room resembles a junkyard of scattered objects. Only when the sun falls below the earth do we quit.

For years, I felt something stirring inside of me, untouchable and unseen. It thrummed beneath the surface and clawed at my mind in search of release. I never knew what it was, how to quiet it, or why the simple act of living felt so unfulfilling. Now, I understand. There was power lurking in my veins, waiting for the moment that it would finally be unleashed. It feels like my body is awakening as a result of this newfound connection. Coming alive with every breath.

What other parts of myself have I been neglecting? What else might I be capable of? The gift that the gods granted me must also be in there, waiting to be explored.

When I exit the study, I nearly jump out of my skin. Those glowing red eyes, the eyes of the invisibles, are waiting for me. But unlike the years that I spent finding them only on the edge of sleep, they don’t disappear. They are as real and as venomous as ever. Watching me. Waiting for my next move.

Gemma rushes toward me and yanks my arm to pull me down the hallway. “Don’t let them see your fear,” she whispers to me when they are no longer in earshot. Or, so I think.

Their presence unnerves me – never knowing when they’re around or what they’re watching. “Have they been here this whole time?” How many nights did I spend staring at them in complete ignorance of their presence? Am I still being watched so closely, so intimately, now?

“They’re always with you. They’re your guards! Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” she says, though the strength of the grip curling around my forearm suggests otherwise.

“At all times? Like when I’m in the bath or getting dressed?” I look over my shoulder to see if they’re close behind. And even though I see nothing but the candle-lit hallway, I still quicken my pace. “And why is this my first time seeing them like this?”

“No, not like that. They don’t watch you, watch you. They just stand guard outside the door. And you haven’t seen them because they’re only visible in the dark, unless they choose otherwise,” she explains as if it’s common and completely acceptable. But how could it be anything but creepy? I could never get used to being watched, or guarded, all the time. Not even in the Palace of Light.

“Back in the cottage, they were in my bedroom. Their eyes glowed red hot, and they did watch me. They watched me sleep every single night!” The thought alone gives me shivers.

“Things were different there, I guess. At least while you’re here, they’re supposed to wait outside,” she says. But how would I know for sure? I mean, theoretically, they could be watching me at all times, and I would be none the wiser.

“Back in the cottage, when nightmares consistently woke me up at odd hours in the night, I would only see the red eyes for a moment. They always disappeared before I could get a good look. Why don’t they disappear here?”

We turn another corner, and I lose all sense of direction.

“They probably closed their eyes when you woke.” She leans in close and whispers, “Between you and me, I think it’s wrong that they didn’t warn you of their presence. To be watched like that unknowingly is a violation of your privacy. Nobody deserves that.”

“Right?” The validation of my experience provides more comfort than I expected. It’s wrong that they never warned me. It’s wrong that my mother allowed this type of intrusion. And, even worse, it’s wrong that she tricked me into believing that I’d made it all up. She used to tell me that there was no such thing as monsters and if I just went back to sleep, then all would be well.

We turn another corner, and I recognize the hallway that leads to my bedroom. The candle next to my door tilts a little to the left, though that’s the only distinguishing feature I’ve learned so far.

“How many are there? Do they have names?”

“That is above my pay grade, I’m afraid.”

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