Page 62 of Two Who Live On

Chapter Twenty-Two

Honestly, I couldn’t comprehend why I’d held onto something so small and petulant, but every time I dwelled on how Chanelle disregarded the unique factors of my homeroom coven, from Tara’s branch overlap to Caleb’s branchless nature, it filled me with anger that easily linked my mind to Kenzo’s. He astutely surmised the upcoming match, developing plans based on their magics and predicting outcomes. It went as he expected, verbatim.

The next round was called, involving Katherine and Carter. I needed to return. I had no idea who they’d been pitted against, but the furious Kenzo bustled with boredom at their battle, more concerned with berating Gael for holding back his spikes. Delight peaked high above the arena, slicing through Kenzo’s fuming crimson aura before the two radiating emotions vanished. I had no clue what Gael had said or thought, but Kenzo became temporarilyflustered before storming away to watch the match elsewhere in peace.

My magic was all kinds of fucked. How was I still seeing emotional auras? That was more empathy than telepathy and should have required extreme effort on my part to even glimpse. I couldn’t breathe without being drawn into a mind, easily perching over folks’ minds without the slightest exertion of my branch. I sat in the parking lot, sprawled on the ground and chain-smoking a second cigarette by lighting the butt of the first, hoping it’d quell my breaths and magic. It didn’t.

Lingering in Kenzo’s furious complaints as he dictated everything Katherine and Carter should’ve done was surprisingly soothing. His internal screams silenced everyone else in the world, and his strategic mind zipped through countless scenarios. Katherine and Carter had, unfortunately, ended the round in a stalemate against the other team, much to Kenzo’s prediction, since Carter prioritized his teammate during the last minute instead of detaining the final opponent.

I cracked my neck, simmering his thoughts and my disappointment. Not that I could’ve helped Katherine and Carter, but as their homeroom instructor, as a proctor, I should’ve been there. They stirred in the back of my mind momentarily.

Match after match I didn’t care to watch mixed in a blur with Mrs. Whitehurst’s obnoxious announcements—half the irritation spiked from Kenzo, the other half from me—while I took sharp drags off a cigarette, ignoring Milo’s faint mind reaching out to me. He continued delving deep into his magics, obscuring his surface thoughts.

I sat up, digging my nails into the concrete. My telepathy wasn’t behaving like any telepathy I’d researched for my licenses, for my education, for my sanity. Telepathy allowed me to listen to thoughts, delve deep into minds, link to consciousnesses nearby, but somehow, I’d superseded the limitations of my branch.

In all the time I’d had it, I’d assumed the manifestations I created were a simple quirk, unique to my uncharming personality, not that they worked anymore. Since the growth in my branch, I couldn’t conjure one, and I needed a manifestation to settle my broken mind. I released a heavy sigh, filling the air with smoke. I’d much rather have a manifestation serving as a buffer for this evolving telepathy, yet here I was, exceeding my manifestations’ capabilities. I had so many questions, concerns, worries, yet Milo had none. Did he know what it meant? Did he predict this outcome? Did he plan for this? Dropping my smoke, I grabbed my face, hoping to drown out all the light and thoughts of the world with a firm grip.

“Branchless Blunder better not fuck this up.” Kenzo’s thoughts cast a thunderstorm in the sky, his rage and sorrow bellowing in equal measure, consuming the entire academy. Perhaps I’d linked too closely to him, manifesting this façade…or he cared that deeply about Caleb, amplifying the emotional triggers he continuously severed. “When you get knocked out of this showcase, it’ll be by me.”

I cracked my knuckles against the pavement, quelling rage belonging in equal parts to me and Kenzo. Our fury each for people in our lives who strayed from what we believed best for them and everyone else around. Though, Kenzo’s rage never stemmed into the curious confusion my teenage years were filled with. Nope. He assuredly understood himself and his crush for Gael—despite willfully ignoring it because of his goals—which apparently came quite earlier than myself. What he didn’t understand was why he still gave a damn about Caleb Huxley or his future. It infuriated him. Exhausted him. Motivated him.

The gray clouds didn’t fade, and a part of me wondered back to youthful curiosity, amusement at the magic in the world… How much did we comprehend? Had I or Kenzo called forth these storm clouds, channeling nature through enraged emotion? Or was this merely a whim of the world no one, magic and science included, was meant to know? None of the curiousness mattered. Magic was as predictable as the dust in the ether and as useless. Another boring facet of a tiny world where nothing mattered. Not what I did here. Not what I heard there. Not what I wanted then. Or what I hoped for later.

I walked back into the auxiliary gym; the screens displayed the final semi-final round teams.

TEAM 1

TEAM 2

Caleb Huxley

Tara Whitlock

Jamie Novak

Chase Fields

Roberta Locks

Ramsey Miller

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