I tilt my head toward the horizon, where the lastblush of the sunset is fading. “But not yet. Let her find herself first. Let her fall in love with being alive and in love before I hand her back the burden of saving everything.” I feel the weight of this on my soul. “She’s never had the chance.”
I step forward and kneel, pressing my palm to the place where Ash’s light had glowed the brightest. The Earth responds, sending feelings into me — warm, forgiving.
“You’re doing beautifully, my darling girl.” I whisper to the empty clearing. “Just don’t burn too fast.”
When I rise, the stars are out.
And for the first time in a long while, I feel like they’re watching me back.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Things seemed to get much easier after that day in the clearing with Betsy. Not that managing my emotions, magick or power suddenly became easy. But it did seem like something hard and heavy had dissolved in my chest, opening me up to being able totryto exercise the control that I needed.
I had harbored a secret hope that somehow, my magick would negate the more troublesome characteristics of my ADHD, but alas, that was not to bethe case.
For instance, I was putting things away in the refrigerator yesterday, got distracted, and left the door open. Fortunately, Flint noticed my lapse. Unfortunately, he was unable to notice it until he was home from work, and by that time, none of the food in the fridge was salvageable. We ended up going grocery shopping late. He claims to find it adorable. I just chalked it up to one more ADHD tax.
Ihavelearned how to block out the feelings of the people around me, though, unless I actually want to feel them. Most of the time, I don’t. I already have to deal with people almost every day, which can be bad enough. But most people just lug around these heavy clouds offeelingall day. They don’t even realize how heavy the feelings they’re carrying are, how much they’re being weighed down. I do, though. And learning how to block myself from that has been life-saving.
Occasionally, I do drop the filter at home. Most often when it’s just Calida and I hanging out, but I’ve started doing it when Flint is home, as well. I can’t read all of his emotions. I guess that as a warrior, he is probably required to have some pretty bad ass shields of his own. I do pick up on some here and there though, when his guard is down. It’s weird to know, without a doubt, that he really is that unshakable — even internally. He really is that stable and secure. With my brain, I couldnever.
His steadiness centers me and the feelings of contentment I feel coming from him wrap around me like a warm blanket most evenings, as I’m snuggled against his chest, drifting into sleep, or laying with him on the couch reading the evening away.
Weeks pass and I feel like we’re finally settling into anice, normal-ish life. I’m slowly getting better at not manifesting every feeling that courses through me.
Tonight, after Flint falls asleep, I sit by the window with a cup of tea that’s now gone lukewarm in my hands, staring out into the distance. The moon is hanging low and yellow, the air incredibly still.Too still.This kind of quiet always makes me feel like something is listening.
I’ve tried not to think about Brett.
It’s easier to pretend during the daylight, and believe that that whole ordeal is behind me. That the wards Flint and Betsy helped me put up are strong enough. That my magick, new and unpredictable as it is, will be enough to protect me if I should need it. But something about tonight, the dark and the stillness, make me feel like that confidence is just an illusion and the shadows are peeling it away.
I glance over my shoulder, where Flint is sprawled over the entirety of the bed, Calida a lumpy weight draped over his feet. I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. Carefully, cautiously, I reach out, testing the perimeter we’d established around the building. I don’t sense anything — no foreign emotions, no prickling unease in the air. Still, something inside me feels tense.
And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that I shouldneverignore that feeling.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The next morning begins ordinarily enough. My nemesis, the alarm. Flint with the lifesaving gift that is coffee. Bickering with Calida as she demands bacon for breakfast. Flint promising to find her something at the shop as he leads the way for the two of them to start the day at Wanderlust.
They leave me mindlessly scrolling on my phone, trying to find the active brain cells I need to work on my story. A small orb of light hovers over the table, alittle magickal construct I’ve been working on. It flickers, then dims as my focus wavers.
“Damn it,” I mutter. The orb sputters out entirely, leaving only the faint smell of ozone in its wake. “Focus, Casie. Focus.”
But my focus is a fragile thing and I can’t shake the unease that’s been lurking over me since last night.
By mid-morning, clouds are darkening the sky and the sense of being watched has returned. It was subtle at first, like a pressure, or a scratching at the back of my skull. That feeling you get when someone is staring at you for too long from across the room. Gradually, it thickens.
I ignore it. It has to be my imagination.
I put on my headphones and try to lose myself in the magick of Goira, but the itch between my shoulder blades continues.
A thunderstorm is lashing against the windows, the wind howling outside. Rain runs down the glass, mimicking veins. The lights are flickering. I close my laptop, my cursor blinking in the middle of an unfinished sentence.
My breaths quicken. The air tastes like… iron?
There’s a thrum inside me as I make my way to the window. I think someone is messing with the wars.
I reach for my phone, thumb hovering over Flint’s number, but I stop. No. Not yet. I can handle this. Whatever this is, Ihaveto handle it. I amnotsome terrified little girl.
