Page 11 of Unhinged Magic
And worse: what happened after they knew?
Looking back, I now saw that time in the onset of my magic for what it was: a child tripping over her own fate, laces hanging on the floor, her longing for them to be tightened. Because a teenager couldn’t possibly learn a magical giftandunderstand why the peaceful moment right before sleep suddenly became Grand Central Station for spirits.
Try running from your worst nightmare when all they want to do is talk to you.
Newsflash… you can’t.
I got up from my chair, sliding the door shut behind me as I moved inside, pulling on one of the oversized band tees I slept in. After washing my face and running a brush through my hair, I slid into bed, tucking the sheets tight under my chin, staring absently at the wingback chair in the corner of my bedroom. Tonight, he would come. I knew it. It had the makings of every other night I had felt his presence, a blanket of calm settling over the cove as if hiding us from the outside world.
As if my thoughts had summoned him, a feather-light breeze ghosted through the room. I stiffened, staring wide into the darkness, a knowing so strong sending my instincts into overdrive. Although he never fully showed himself to me, I knew the spirit was male. Call it a gut feeling.
The apparition moved through my room, something between a shadow and the wind. The movement settled on my wingback chair as it always did. I often wondered why he wouldn’t showhimself to me. Most ghosts appeared in full form, whether that be of an adult or a small child, but not this one. He never spoke, never scared me. I just let him sit.
I figured that if he wanted something he would eventually make himself known. Pulling my covers higher, I closed my eyelids. This was my 'if you won’t speak with me, I’m going to sleep so you can leave now' tactic. Also, mind over matter. Block it out.
Turning onto my side, I slowly counted to one hundred, my breathing slowing with every passing minute. Untilsomethinglingered over the base of my neck.
A breath, but not.
I bristled with uncertainty at the unknown feeling. It had to be him.
But I shouldn’t feel him, not likethis, should I?
I had never touched a ghost before. But, to be fair, they had never tried to touch me either, so I wasn’t sure if it was even possible. My breath stapled itself in my lungs, my fire element rousing, suddenly on high alert.
My whisper skated through the silent room. “Hello?”
I don’t know why I expected him to speak. He had never once uttered a word. I tried again, my voice stammering into the darkness. “Who are you?” I remained deathly still. “Please talk to me.”
I didn’t move an inch, my limbs paralyzed with uncertainty. The ghosts who visited me usually needed my help, their intentions never to scare or hurt me. But there was a first time for everything.
The hairs on my arms jumped off my skin as a whisper filtered through my ears, so quiet I questioned if I was losing my mind or imagining things.
“Mate.”
I sat bolt upright, expecting to find a spirit staring back at me, but found myself alone.
An uneasy feeling wound its way into my stomach.
I tucked my knees to my chest, unable to look away from the chair. I expected him to suddenly appear, but he did not. With every nerve on high alert, I willed myself to stay awake, my ears pinned to the still of the night. Waiting. Listening.
When my eyes could no longer stay open, sleep found me.
Wesley
Irummagedthroughmystuff in the garage to find the one fishing rod I owned. The sudden crunching of tires followed by the heavy thud of a vehicle door shutting drew my attention.
Colt’s deep voice rumbled through the garage. “You guys want a lift?”
“Count me in,” I replied, pulling a tackle box from the back of the cupboard that looked just as new as the day I had purchased it. I’d never been a fan of fishing, but when my friends were involved I usually made the effort.
Colt was the fisherman of the group, and, as he stood in the doorway of my garage gripping the top of the door frame in a flannel shirt and worn denim blue jeans, he looked the part. “Jump in, I’ll go get Ty,” he said, disappearing inside the house.
I made my way over to Colt’s pickup, dumping my gear on the truck bed.
Reid eyed me from the front passenger seat. “Fish for dinner?” he said with a shit-eating grin.
“Fuck off,” I grunted, letting myself into the back seat. I wasn’t in the mood for his banter even when I knew he had good cause. I was more likely to catch a cold than dinner.
