Page 42 of Thirsty
“You’re not a fan?”
She shrugged, making a noncommittal hand gesture. “Eh.Technically, I am a witch. Which means our deal’s still on,” she added, threateningly, to Lorenzo.
“What does that mean, technically?” Charlie asked.
“People have all different kinds of magic,” she said. “Some are your more traditional types. Some, like me, can do something else.”
“So—can all witches communicate with the, um—beyond?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Some might have a bit of the Sight, but most can’t do it at all.”
“Can you do other magic?”
“Some.”
“Can I see?”
“Ah ah ah!” she tutted at him, offering her hand once again to Lorenzo. A wicked smile curved her lips. “Time to pay the piper.”
Lorenzo sighed and put his hand in hers. They both closed their eyes.
In the middle of the table, the crystal ball started thrumming. Charlie looked at it, expecting it to maybe start glowing or flashing visions of the dead, but then it—it expanded. It was as if the whole room became subsumed by the crystal, flinging them into a warped surreality, with the black cloth walls of the room becoming an endless starry night.
Across from him, Roberta and Lorenzo seemed to be sitting still, but Charlie could suddenly hear Roberta’s voice. “Oh, fabulous!” she shouted. There was a scratching noise, like a pen on a piece of paper, but as far as Charlie could see, her lips and hands were still. “Lemme get this down. One at a time, dolls, one at a time.”
Charlie tried to breathe normally, not sure if he couldn’tmove or just didn’t want to. He felt a bit like he’d taken a Klonopin—like he was freaking out somewhere deep down, but it’d all been dampened. It was kind of like being on a lazy river in space.
And when he looked at Lorenzo, he found Lorenzo looking back at him. He felt any remaining traces of his panic melt away. Lorenzo was right there.
He wasn’t sure if Lorenzo was affected by the spell too—if being the conduit for it exempted him somehow—but he had a feeling that he was. He seemed as diffuse and disarmed as Charlie, staring back at him steadily without trying to hide or play it off. Like he’d forgotten to pretend to be grumpy.
His soft brown eyes anchored Charlie in the strange, crystalline dream. It made his chest unlatch, let air rush into his lungs. Lorenzo was here.
“Hang on, hang on,” Roberta was saying. “You’ll all get your turn. Oh sweet Satan, this is not gonna work—ohshit—”
A cloudy pressure seemed to fill the room, and then there was a horrible shrieking noise. Charlie flinched back as something—the crystal ball, he realized a moment later—exploded.
He came back to reality with his heart pounding and small but sharp pains all over his face and arms. The warped world of the crystal ball was gone, and Roberta was muttering as she poked through a heap of glass shards on the table, as if she were looking for something.
Lorenzo, though, leapt to his feet and was at Charlie’s side instantly. “Are you alright?” he demanded, pulling Charlie’s arms back from his face gently.
Lorenzo’s face was covered in small cuts and abrasions, but as Charlie watched, they started to knit back together seamlessly. “Um,” he said.
“You have injured Charlie,” Lorenzo shouted at Roberta. “How dare you!”
Charlie touched his face, which felt painfully raw, and found blood on his fingertips. And now that he was looking more closely, he could see small, shallow cuts all over his arms and the back of his hands.
“Oh don’t worry, you big lump,” Roberta said, though she was wearing a worried frown that belied her breezy tone. “Actually, y’know what, this is perfect—a great chance for me to show you my witchy woo. And vampires are great conduits for healing spells.”
She held a hand out to Lorenzo, who glared at her for a moment. Roberta’s eyebrows flew upward. “You want me to heal him or not?”
With a violent scowl, Lorenzo threw himself back into his chair and grabbed Roberta’s hand. She gestured with their clasped hands at Charlie. “You gotta touch him,” she said. “Right there, where he’s hurt.”
For the first time, it occurred to Charlie that he was bleeding in front of a vampire. But Lorenzo didn’t look crazed or blood-hungry—his eyes, when he looked at Charlie, were tentative; his touch, when he took Charlie’s tender, abraded hand in his, was gentle.
Charlie swallowed and closed his eyes.
At first he felt nothing. Then slowly a thick, pleasant heaviness settled over him, not unlike the sensation of drifting right before falling asleep. He assumed this must be what magic felt like.
