Page 9 of Touch Of Fate
“Protecting you isn’t a burden,” I hiss. “We’re family, and you mean everything to me.”
“I feel such guilt,” she admits. “You were taken because of me.”
“I was not. I trusted the wrong person. They used you just as much as me,” I say harshly. “They forced me to do those things.”
“Yes, but you could have escaped if it wasn’t for me.”
“Lace, we’ve been through this. Do not blame yourself.” She bows her head. “It’s in the past. Don’t think about it again.”
“You can’t demand not to think about it.” She lifts her head, her eyes filled with humor.
“I can and I did. I’m your big sister. You have to listen to me.” When we were children, I loved to point out that I was two years older.
“That doesn’t work anymore,” she says, laughing.
“It was worth a shot.” I wince. The headache is getting worse.
“Crap, I’ll let you rest. If you need anything, I’ll be in the back.”
“Thanks,” I say, closing my eyes. I hear her footsteps as she leaves. After an episode, I need to be alone to concentrate on healing my emotional distress.
Placing my hands flat on my chest, I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I replace the memories of his darkness with love andlight. I picture my mother's hands while she braided my long hair. She had such capable, loving hands. She used them to do her magic, healing everything she touched. Most of the time, they were covered in dirt. Flowers and birds were her passion, and she could bring dead plants back to life and seemed to communicate with the animals. The backyard was filled with all kinds of vegetation, and the colors were blinding. We would sit for hours watching her tend them, basking in the sun and her beauty. Her smile would light up the darkest day. Whenever I got hurt, she would heal the cut and kiss it. I was always getting into trouble, running through the trees, and I would always fall.
I miss her, but I’m grateful that because of my magic, I will never forget her face. She was killed when I was fifteen. Someone saw her in her garden using her magic. He came back, eager to use it, to use her. She refused, and he got violent. She tried to defend herself, but he was too strong and filled with rage when he killed her.
I found her among her flowers, her bird friends singing a sad song, an hour after her death. We were at school and didn’t know the devastation we would come home to. I made the mistake of touching her, and I saw the man and the events that led up to her death. She tried to reason with him, but it didn’t work. He was determined to make her pay for rejecting him. The money he offered her to heal him made no difference. The man was dying. My lovely mom cupped his cheek and told him it was his time, and he had to pay for the actions of his life.
Her gift of healing had its limits, and he was too far gone. It would have killed her if she tried, so she chose to die with honor. I saw her fall as he wrapped his hands around her neck. Mom knew I would see. With her last breath, she asked me to always take care of Lace. We always talked about Lace’s lack of stable power, and she worried about her. She told me Lace would comeinto her magic when she found her bond, but I had to be there to guide and protect her until then.
She delivered her message and closed her eyes. He stood over her, not upset over what he did, but angry at her for not allowing him to live. His soul was tainted with more sin than killing her. He ran and left Mom's body in the yard for us to find. Lace was a mess. I knew I had to step up. Our father was human and had died when we were too young to remember him, but Mom said he was still watching over us. It was up to me to make the decisions. We had an aunt, but we didn’t know her well. Mom didn’t get along with her and hadn’t seen her since before we were born.
I may have only been a teenager, but my soul was old. I did the only thing I could. We buried her under the tree where she would sit for hours. I blessed her grave and scattered her favorite flowers around it. She taught me to be strong, yet always enjoy the beauty in life. I made Lace swear to tell no one of her death. We didn’t have any family we knew, and I feared they would split us up. We couldn’t be raised by humans. It took all the skill my young heart had to spell the house, protect it, and put up a wall to keep visitors out. Even years later, I have a hard time doing protection spells. The memories of why I had to do it before hold me back.
We continued to go to school, keeping up appearances. If someone asked about Mom, I would spell them to forget they did and make them assume they saw her. I did it for years and worked after school to feed us until we graduated from high school. The house was paid for, but it held too many memories of her death instead of her light, so we left. I couldn’t imagine selling it, so I pay a woman to keep up the yard and house. We hide our grief and the holes in our hearts from losing her. I try to remember the good, like her hands, long hair blowing in the breeze, and a giving soul. I wanted to be just like her.
I have failed her in so many ways, except one. Lace has always known my love, and I have protected her even though it cost me a piece of my soul.
My heartbeat is back to normal, and my headache is easing. As I sit up, I feel something unusual. It isn’t caused by the touch. I frown. My body becomes energized. I step away from the couch.
He’s coming.
I freeze as I hear the door open. Closing my eyes, a new sense of peace flows through the magic in my body.
“Excuse me,” Lace says. “Who are you? And how did you open…” She trails off as she recognizes someone like us. Witches can sense magic in another. “Uh…Mara?”
Opening my eyes, I watch the man prowl down the aisle, his intent focused on me. His dirty blonde hair brushes his eyelashes, and his green-yellow eyes blaze. He’s gorgeous. The jeans he wears are ripped, faded, and tucked into his brown boots. His long-sleeved shirt is tight, and the three buttons are unbuttoned, showing the numerous black tattoos on his neck. I glance at his fisted hands, strong and tattooed. I want to rub my cheek against the scruff on his. His power fills the store and calls to mine. He looks intense, yet I don’t feel fear. A voice in my head whispers:home.
He stops an inch away, and I stare into his eyes. “Don’t…” He cups the side of my face, his fingers spread, his thumb pressing on my chin.
“Touch,” he rumbles, and the spells in his voice make me gasp. “Why can’t I touch?” He tilts his head, his gaze moving over my face.
I gulp. “I…” His memories don’t flow through his hands. “Holy shit. I can’t feel your emotions.”
“Good. If you could see inside me, you wouldn’t be so calm,” he informs me.
“Wait. Wait.” I can’t wrap my head around what is happening.
“I’ve waited long enough,” he whispers. “Is your name Mara?”
