Page 82 of Bewicched

I followed mutely, terrified I’d fail. With an audience. Other aspects of my life might have been in shambles, but the one thing I could always count on was my gift. It felt like I was marching to the gallows. My mind should have been on the missing girl and instead I was panicking that I’d touch her belongings and feel absolutely nothing.

“Are you okay?” Declan whispered, putting his hand on my shoulder. I cringed away and he reeled back like he’d been slapped.

I held up my hands. “Sorry. I need a minute. My head’s all messed up.” I stepped off the small porch and cut across the struggling lawn to the narrow, empty road. I knew they were probably talking about me, but I couldn’t care about that. People had thought I was crazy my whole life. A few more weren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. My magic not working was.

Sending up a prayer to the goddess, I took off my gloves, joined my hands, and searched my mind for what was hidden inside me. Images flashed, so many it felt like a water hose of visions had been unleashed, taking me out at the knees. I heard a low curse and then I was out.

I woke up in the cab of Declan’s truck in his lap. Scrambling away from him, I plastered myself against the opposite door.

“Whoa. Wait. What just happened?” he asked.

“You can’t touch me.” I heard the panic in my voice as clearly as he did.

He held up his hands like he was dealing with a skittish wild animal. “I won’t, but why?”

I didn’t want to do this now. A little girl needed me, but I wanted him to understand. “I have to give them whatever information I can about this little girl.”

He nodded. “Right. That’s why we’re here.”

“This morning, I kissed you. Touched you—”

“You said you didn’t read me.” His brow furrowed, trying to understand the problem.

“I didn’t, but afterward when I was cooking, I forgot to put on my gloves. I touched a dozen things and didn’t see anything. At all.” I waited for him to understand but he clearly didn’t.

“Declan, if the reason I can kiss you is because you’re a magical null—”

“A what?”

“A person or thing that strips away magic. If you’re a null, then I can’t do what I need to do in order to find this girl. When I joined the Corey Council, that vision I had that knocked us all out—I have shit I have to do to keep my family safe. I’m afraid that being with you strips away my magic and without it”—I shook my head, overcome by the thought—“I’m nothing.”

“No. That’s not true.” He moved and I flinched. Deflating, he sat back, staring out the windshield. “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe your gift only exists in isolation. You’re stronger than that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t touch you until you say I can, but we’re going to figure this out. Okay?”

“Not now,” I responded.

“Of course not now. You have a little girl to find. Later. Arwyn,” he said, waiting for me to look at him, “I’ll leave if you ask me to, but let’s not make decisions based on partial information, okay?”

Hope could devastate, but a small, warm spot in my chest began to hope. “Okay,” I said, slipping out of his truck again. I looked down and realized my gloves were on again. “Did you put my gloves on me?”

He nodded. “I was trying to protect you from more visions.”

“But then you had to touch my hands.”

He nodded.

Shit. I might not be able to read anything in this girl’s house.

Osso and Hernández waited for us on the porch, talking in hushed tones when we returned.

“Sorry. I’m ready to try now.”Try. Who was I? I didn’t try. I did. My stomach twisted, terrified that now I did not.

The dimensions of the house were similar to Christopher’s, but the furnishings were quite different. Christopher’s house had been sparse and tidy. This one, however, was full of life, sneakers left by the door, magazines on the coffee table, headphones and an empty glass on a small dining table, and lots and lots of books. They had two overstuffed bookcases along one wall, with more piled up on the floor beside them. In the short hall to the bedrooms, pictures had been hung of the girl through the years.

The detectives waited at the door, letting me go in alone. It was a tiny jewel box of a room. The walls were a lemony yellow like her dress. Her favorite color. The comforter was an airy white with a fringe of lace around the edges. Her pillowcases bore a lush, floral design.

A small table draped in yellow fabric sat beside her bed, with a big-eyed stuffed elephant standing atop and staring at the empty bed. Colorful construction paper flowers adorned the walls. White lacy curtains hung over her window.

I pushed the curtain aside and looked out over the backyard, stream, and woods. Turning, I studied the bureau and the bed, the little table and the bookcase stuffed with picture books, trying to decide which one would be the most meaningful, which one would give me the strongest vision—assuming I saw anything at all.

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