Page 53 of Rebel Spell
“Yes. It explained a lot.” I pinned my gaze on her.
Her bottom lip trembled. Fear flashed vivid in her eyes. For a second, I felt badly for being the cause of it, until I remembered she’d been keeping something from me for all these years.
Averting her gaze, she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “About what?” The fake disinterest in her tone didn’t fool me.
“Why I haven’t been able to use magic since I was a kid,” I replied.
She froze, and for a moment, I wondered if it was the screen.
When she moved her mouth again, she said, “I wouldn’t believe anything she had to say.”
“It did seem to make a lot of sense, but I don’t see why she would have any reason to lie to me.”
“About. About what?” My mom blinked a few times.
“Mom, enough,” I barked. “You know. You insisted she put a block on my magic. Yes, I get that you were scared and trying to protect me, but you also kept it from me all this time.”
“I did it to protect you.” The neutral mask fell, replaced by anxiety. “Do you know how terrifying that fire was? You almost died!”
“I get that, Mom. Trust me. I’ve been looping through this all night. What bothers me is that you kept this ruse going. I’m an adult now. Don’t you think you could have told me at some point, instead of letting me think I was unskilled this entire time? A failure?”
A tear ran down my mother’s cheek, smearing her mascara. “You’re not a mother. You don’t know what it’s like. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Anything. Even if it means you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said. This was the problem with talking with her. She’d somehow turn this around and make herself the victim, so I’d end up apologizing to her. Not this time. “I don’t want to argue about this. I just wanted to let you know. The block was lifted when Aunt Margaret died, which means—I can use magic again.”
“Oh Nova, don’t,” she begged, eyes stark wide with terror. “The fire…”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. I’ve already cleared the dark magic I found, which may have killed Aunt Margaret.”
“What?” If her eyes bulged any wider, they’d pop from her skull. “Nova, don’t you see how dangerous it is being there, just like I feared? You need to get out of there at once.”
“I can’t. Not while I’m figuring things out. And don’t worry, I put new protection spells on the house.”
She blinked at me as if trying to translate a foreign language. “I know you’re upset with me, and maybe you have every right to be. But please, promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Be careful. I beg you not to mess with magic. Promise me that you won’t do anything else.”
I stared into her distressed eyes and felt her pain gnaw at me, but I wouldn’t let it hold me back this time. Not anymore. “I can’t promise that.”
I resumedthe task tackling house cleanup to keep my mind off my conversation with my mother. Once I returned to the workspace in the attic, curiosity compelled me to open the Book of Shadows. I scoured through the pages, fascinated. Now that the block was lifted, could I pull off any of these spells?
After the call with my mother, even considering doing so made me feel like a rebel. Was there any taste more tempting than forbidden fruit?
As I flipped through the pages of the moon phases and the best times to perform certain types of magic, I decided to try some. After a lifetime of guilt, I was sick of being afraid of magic. It was my damn house now, and if I burned it down, so be it.
A flicker of guilt followed. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen because I kind of liked my roommates, especially Diego. Since I’d already managed some basic clearing and protecting spells without blowing anything up, I figured it was safe.
Raising my aunt’s wand, I tried a few levitation spells using the Latin word, “Ortum.”
To my shock, an orange and yellow maple leaf floated up from the altar. Maybe Colleen was right when she’d said she sensed magic in me.
When my stomach growled, I looked at the time. It was already two in the afternoon. Gianna was supposed to have stopped by earlier. I texted her to see if she still planned to come over and headed out to grab a sandwich. An hour passed, and she still hadn’t replied, so I called her. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me.
By seven, I was worried. I called the club. “Hi, is Gianna there?”
“Not yet,” a woman replied.
