Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey
19
“Let’s try that again,” Vivian said in her airy-fairy voice, batting blonde, candy-floss hair out of her face as she gave me a dazed smile. I was ninety percent sure she was high as a kite, her eyes deep blue—like mine—with the pupils blown super wide—unlike mine.
“I’m doing the best I can,” I muttered, sitting opposite her with my legs crossed on the woven rug imported from Thailand or Hawaii or somewhere else she’d gone on her travels. There were photos of her adventures hung on every wall, her face split by a beautiful smile and her arm usually thrown around a broad, blonde guy I assumed was her husband.
“Remember to breathe,” she guided, soft and floaty.
“Like I could forget,” I said under my breath, fumbling blindly for the place in my blood where my magic was apparently stored, bubbling through my body in every drop. The only glimpse I’d seen had been on the knife when Dean confronted me in the alley. “Alright, now what?”
“Feel for where your magic rushes through you, and lift a hand to it, invite it to present itself.”
I closed my eyes, feeling for something that was maybe there, maybe not, and lifted my hand.
“Not your literal hand,” she intoned, sounding a lot like a hokey psychic. “Your inner hand.”
“My inner hand,” I repeated.
“Picture a hand with your mind, and hold it out invitingly to your power,” Vivian coached softly, swaying where she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of me, her desk pushed back against the wall for our session.
See, this was why I hadn’t made progress with my magic. No offense to hippy, dippy Vivian, but her teaching style was not working for me. I wondered if I could find someone in Mystic Club willing to teach me, but that seemed unlikely. If their head girl—or whatever the whiny blonde actually was—was anything to go by, they wouldn't be too keen to associate with a dual-blood. Especially not a former dud.
But I indulged Vivian’s new age teachings, and breathed until my chest rose evenly, picturing a hand held out to my magic—and swearing viciously and creatively when I felt a little tremble inside.
“So you do have magic,” Vivian whispered, and I opened my eyes to see the seed of bright silver magic on my fingertip before it faded to nothing.
“Thanks for sounding so surprised, Viv,” I huffed, running a hand through my hair. My head was starting to ache from all the exertion. “Glad you believed in me.”
“Don’t call me Viv,” she hissed, her blue eyes flashing suddenly, her placid airiness sharpening. “Only my brother calls me Viv.”
I swallowed hard as I leaned away, and wondered if I’d looked like that yesterday when Ivelle pushed for answers about my sister’s death. “Sorry,” I said genuinely.
She looked surprised at my apology, but only nodded, a forgiving smile crossing her face and wiping away her grief. I didn’t judge her one bit for using drugs to soften her grief; I’d turned to murder for the same reason, after all. “No, I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh, her eyes once more hazy. “I’m a little touchy when it comes to my brother.”
“How long ago?” I asked. She’d know what I meant.
“A year.”
I nodded, compassion rushing up to choke me. “I lost my sister five years ago. She basically raised me; I love her so much. I know exactly how you feel.”
Never loved. I’d never say love in the past tense, no matter how much people pushed me to move on.
Vivian again looked surprised and offered a smile, moving us away from this topic with a soft, “Reach out to your magic again; it’s waiting for your call.”
“Here goes nothing,” I said, and called to it again.