Page 54 of Practically Witches

He steps back and holds up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I nod then drop my head so my chin is very near my chest, and sigh like I’m being forced to endure more than I should. “No, I’m sorry.” I hold up my hands and wave them back and forth. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I’ve been gone. And now that I’m back, you deserve all the explanations, all the moments you need to collect them and analyze the words.” He sighs, but his is faster, an almost chuckle with a smile. “I owe all of you, but most especially you. You shouldn’t have grown up thinking you were less. You should know that you’re more than every witch here. You should’ve been told that from the beginning and I’m sorry you weren’t.” He moves toward me again as if to hug me and I feel every bit the spoiled asshat I’m acting.

His story is that he went away to protect us, but a part of me wonders if having a daughter like me is the real reason. If it’s the guilt of knowing that he made me this way or the fact he made me this way then let me suffer for it without a single word of explanation about why I couldn’t cast a spell without Aimee or the Institute, why my magic always went so wrong, why my life has been what it is. I don’t know anything at this point, except the weight on my shoulders lessens with every skill I learn and every touch of the scepter.

“It doesn’t matter now.” I shake my head as if I can shake the subject out of it. I cannot. Thoughts I’ve been plagued with since the day I was old enough to realize I was different aren’t going to go away through the sheer force ofmy will and their explanations. Time is all that will ease me.

“It matters to me.”

“What matters to me right now is that I have to find Auntie Elizabeth”—a woman I had no idea existed until a week ago—“and I have to kill her.”

My father nods. “Yes.” The silence is charged with all the questions he wants to ask but doesn’t.

I wait for more from him, but he only stands silent. “Is there a plan? A way to draw Elizabeth to me, or am I to go hunting her?” Either way, we’re almost at the end of this whole thing.

His chest rises and falls on a deep breath before he meets my gaze. His is stormy, dark. Mine is loaded with patience I wish not to be false, but most certainly is. I want this finished so I can move forward, have a life, take my exam, become what I have trained for years to be.

“We’re going to draw her here, to you, where you will be waiting. The scepter will be infused with magic from your friends and the first families.” He speaks softly and I picture it in my head, me in my cloak and Elizabeth in…something more modern likely, since she’s being drawn here.

A thousand times since I’ve seen the scepter’s magic, I’ve pictured her falling, pictured myself dying, pictured neither of us being stronger than the other and all of this for nothing. But in all those times, I’ve never imagined her wearing anything memorable or specific.

“Are we to be dressed like Merlin and Gandalf, or can I wear something comfortable that doesn’t weigh thirty pounds and might strangle me before I fulfill my destiny of murdering my aunt?” I think, with everything that could gowrong, I should stack the deck in my favor and clearly that cloak with its beading and its hood and the length and awkward weight is not a garment that will work in my favor. “Isn’t someone in the first family able to use a needle and thread and give me one of the dimensional pockets as well?”

My father considers, or pretends to, at least, my question. “Your mother sews. And the pocket is a spell only.” He stares at me for a moment. “You can ask her.”

“Are you not talking to one another?” It probably isn’t my business, but he isn’t going to get by saying that to me with no explanation. Not now, when I’m expected to risk my life for all of them.

“Things are difficult.” He shrugs. “I’ve been away and she’s more used to being alone than having me under her feet.”

He’s been sleeping on the sofa, though they try to act as if everything is as it should be between them, although only the heavens know what they think we believe it should be.

I nod. “Well, you’re going to need to clean that up because…if I fail, Aimee and Mom are going to need you.” And it’s a very real possibility.

“We should get back to work so that doesn’t happen.” He smiles and moves to replace the target I blew up. He adds more hoops. “Make the magic tighter this time, RJ. And relax. You need to feel the magic inside of you.”

Oh, I do. So much.

But I get back to work because this is my destiny and I’m going to give it everything I have. Starting right now.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Ican do this. I can win and restore all the power to the children of the first families.

My life depends on it. Insecurity won’t do right now.

This is my mantra. I’ve been repeating it over and over in my mind, and saying it aloud on occasion.

There is about to be a battle that ends someone’s life, and the air is thick with the knowledge of it. Or maybe it’s my imagination which has been running wild since this morning when I awoke and my father told me today would be the day. Elizabeth would crave more magic soon, so it is time. Word has been spread that the Institute will have a congregational meeting of witches. It means nothing. Every day that we have classes we have congregational meetings of witches. The ridiculousness of it isn’t lost on me.

But my father swears it will work. There has been a power shroud placed over the gymnasium and nothing attracts a rogue syphoner like a power shroud. That is the tale he told the other first families when he convinced them to pour magic into it.

I can say that the idea is brilliant because, for the first time in my life—without having the scepter in front of me—I am tempted to drain the magic from the shroud. It wouldn’t hurt the families as the shroud only has bits of their magic, just enough to keep it in place. But it’s enough to tempt me. To make me crave.

“Be strong,” my dad says, his hand on my shoulder.

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