Page 18 of Practically Witches

“A syphoner?” My mother heard me, but she doesn’t believe me. She’s heard my brand of bullshit before. So, she turns to Aimee. “A syphoner?” And this time, her brows lift.

Aimee nods, solemnly. “A syphoner. And she took my magic!” Aimee shakes her hands out like they’ve gone to sleep and she’s trying to wake them. “I used to feel it inside of me. But it’s gone!” She shakes her hands harder, like she can bring the magic back if only can shake her hands hard enough. “It’s gone!”

Her voice is a wail, high-pitched and desperate.

“Calm down, Aimee.” But telling her to calm down is like telling a wind not to blow or a bird not to sing.

“It’s gone, Mom! It’s gone!” Every sound is a pinch in my stomach. Every note of desperation is another kick to my side.

She holds Aimee to her. “Where were you? Where did you go?”

She doesn’t mention the grounding, but then shedoesn’t have to. I’m already racked with guilt. The shame is almost bigger than I am. I’m ready to bargain with whoever if they can only make Aimee right again.

I should tell her everything. But bearing my soul to her isn’t going to happen. She doesn’t need to know about Zane or the jealousy or his connection to Rowen or the fire at the beach.

“We were walking through the park.”

“Why were you at the park?” She isn’t stern right now. Her voice is soft instead.

I sigh because while I want to tell her everything, I don’t want to tell her anything.

“It was a syphoner, Mom.” Aimee’s voice is still shrill, but it’s a couple decibels softer now. “She took my magic. I don’t have anything anymore.” She pulls away and looks at me. “Wasn’t it a syphoner, RJ?”

I nod as Aimee looks at me. “It was.”

She breathes in deep and nods at Mom. “A syphoner. She had Margery Faulkner.” Her gaze flips back to me again. “Where’s Margery?”

“I don’t know. I got knocked out and when I came to, Zane was there.”

“Zane Bradbury?” She cocks a brow at me like she knows this is my fault, like as soon as a boy’s name was mentioned, the blame for this entire mess shifted from the syphoner to me.

“He asked us to go to the beach, Mom. I begged RJ to go along.” She’s lying for me. I should stop her, but I can’t. Not because I want her to take the fall but because I know that there won’t be a fall if she takes the blame.

“He didn’t mention another girl,” Mom says and looks at me. “What was her name?”

“Margery Faulkner. She’s a third-year at the Institute.”

“And you’re sure it’s a syphoner?” There’s something she isn’t telling us, but she’s giving off hiding vibes. They’re almost visible, like another entity in the room.

“Of course, I’m sure.” I nod because I know exactly what that girl was. “I know what I saw.”

Instead of speaking again, she stands and walks to her bedroom, coming back a second later with the grimoire.

Like she knows the exact page she needs, she opens the book and starts reading. “A syphoner is a magic practitioner who cannot practice without the aid of another. They can also absorb the magic of a witch.” She reads another passage but doesn’t say it aloud. “Did the syphoner touch you, Aimee?”

Aimee nods then frowns. “Kind of. She had these ropes. They looked like electricity and had knots where it sparked when she attached them to me.” She shakes her head. “I can’t remember anything else. Did she take my magic?”

Mom nods. “Probably.”

I let that sink in. Aimee isn’t in the hospital like Rowen. She isn’t in the ICU fighting for her life and I’m grateful, but her magic being gone is serious. “Can we get it back?”

Mom breathes in deep and I think back to Mr. Beckett’s class. We’d asked questions about syphoners, but I can’t remember the information. Where the memory of that class was is now only a black hole.

Aimee looks at me. “Do you have your magic?”

I look at a candle on the table. Inside of me there’s a spark, a tiny burst of electricity and I try to light the candle but nothing happens. I try again because the spark is there, but I can’t make the candle work.

“I don’t know.” My magic has always been hit and miss. One minute I have it, and the next I don’t. This feels like that.

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