Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  Melissa hustled back, filling the tense silence by dropping off three glasses of water and three sets of rolled utensils. “The milkshake is on its way.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  The telekinetic glanced at Opal again, remorse sagging her shoulders. “I brought the mystic here,” she whispered. “I’ve endangered your family. I honestly didn’t know. Fish said the sorcerer was sniffing around. I saw him on the patio. He’s hard to miss. But …” Her gaze stayed on Opal. “I didn’t know.”

  I sighed, relenting. Teaching Samantha any sort of lesson was always more exhausting than it should be. She should just follow orders, unquestioningly. “How were you supposed to know? And where else were you going to go? If you can’t find Fish or Bee?”

  Surprised, Samantha nodded. “Thing is, I thought … I just needed Bee’s whereabouts. Christopher hadn’t responded to my email.”

  “We’ve been busy. And trapped in a dimensional pocket for a bit.”

  “Right. I can listen, you know?”

  “Contrary to evidence.”

  Opal snorted, reminding me that she was actually listening to every word. And that I probably should have been trying to be a better role model.

  Samantha clenched her teeth, then continued. “I didn’t think Chenda was so tight on my tail. And the thing is, she doesn’t travel alone.”

  “A black witch? She was masked in some sort of mobile spell. And the mystic isn’t a witch, is she?”

  Samantha grimaced. “Definitely not. She travels with two witches. Twin bodyguards. They wield as much black magic as they can without imploding.”

  Bodyguards. Well, that explained the powerful spell I’d felt in the park, and the possibility of short-range teleportation. “And what’s wrong with your magic? A witch’s hex?”

  Samantha scrubbed a hand over her face. “That’s all Chenda. She’s … blocked my magic. Well, most of it. I think I might have almost killed myself trying to move with Paisley.”

  “Serves you right,” Opal snapped, fingers tapping the screen of the phone.

  “Yes, it does.” Samantha shook her head, laughing. “Shit. She’s yours all right.”

  A warmth bloomed in my chest. I didn’t try to stifle it. “Yeah, she’s mine.”

  “Flower dragon!” Opal proclaimed, shoving her phone in front of my face.

  “Milkshake!” Melissa crowed, mimicking the thirteen-year-old perfectly as she appeared at the table, including the grin.

  Opal laughed, abandoning the phone to take the frosted glass Melissa held toward her. Her eyes widened as she drew it near enough to lick the whipped-cream topping. Melissa set down a stainless steel container on the table, which held the rest of the milkshake.

  Opal took a long slurp through the paper straw, smacking her lips. “Yum!” Then, inexplicably, she grabbed and cradled the stainless steel container to her chest and slid down under the table. “I’m going to share with Paisley.” She shoved past my legs and crawled out into the aisle.

  Melissa laughed, following the young witch toward the entrance. Opal exited and Melissa stepped around the counter back toward the kitchen.

  I tracked Opal through the windows as she crouched to offer a sip of her milkshake to the demon dog. I could see only the tip of Paisley’s nose from my vantage point.

  “You’ve changed,” Samantha murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t certain I’d changed at all. More like I’d reshaped myself. Refocused. Made my own choices. And those choices had carried me to the present moment.

  “Don’t worry,” I said blithely, glancing back at her. “I haven’t changed that much. And finding Bee isn’t the only way to dispel the block on your magic.”

  “No?”

  “No. Killing the spellcaster is usually just as effective.” I allowed a grin to spread across my face.

  She laughed huskily. “True, Fox in Socks. True.”

  I looked back at Opal. She patted Paisley’s head before turning to head back inside, with the now-certain-to-be-empty stainless steel container in hand. “Now tell me what the hell a Mystic of the Golden Peninsula is.”

  Samantha nodded, answering as she tracked Opal’s approach over my shoulder. “She’s classified as a badass telepath. Possibly one of Bee’s primogenitors.”

  Bee, aka Amanda Smith, was classified as a telepath. But she was also capable of stripping a person’s mind away, creating walking, talking servants to do her every bidding. Once, she’d admitted to me that creating such automatons was worse than murder for her. “A manipulator?”

  Samantha shrugged, squaring her shoulders and lowering her voice as Opal neared. “I don’t think so. But that doesn’t make her any less of a threat. Especially with her two psycho black-witch bodyguards. We’ll talk about it later. In private.”

  Opal appeared at my side, and I slid out of the booth to give her access, taking a moment to scan the diner for threats. I agreed with Samantha that some things were better discussed without the chance of being overheard by the young witch. Though I didn’t like waiting to gather actionable intel.

  Lani was getting up to leave, but Jenni Raymond was still perched at the counter. The shifter had a battered paperback beside her empty plate that I hadn’t noticed. Some sort of thriller to judge by the blood-splatter-and-bullet-hole pattern on the front cover, but I didn’t bother trying to read the title. I waved to Lani. She returned the gesture with an uneasy glance at Samantha.

  Melissa was heading our way with her arms full of food. I slid back in the booth, running through the info I’d gathered from meeting the mystic and Samantha’s accounting. The telekinetic thought that Chenda might have contributed DNA to Bee’s genetics, but it sounded like she didn’t have clear proof.

  Melissa slid our meals in front of us. My risotto smelled divine, but I was actually a little jealous of Samantha’s macaroni — penne noodles slathered in cheese and topped with golden-browned parmesan and halves of roasted cherry tomatoes.

  Samantha caught me looking at her food and grinned.

  “Yum!” Opal declared again, already stuffing fries into her mouth.

  Melissa set ketchup and malt vinegar in the center of the table. “Can I get you anything else? Ground pepper?”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “This looks great, Melissa.”

  Samantha nodded, unrolling her utensils. Opal’s attention was riveted to her chicken strips as she began testing the three dipping sauces that accompanied her order.

  “Lovely. Enjoy!” Melissa stepped back, already checking in with the patrons in the booth behind us.

  Her gaze pinned to me, Samantha skewered a couple of parmesan-crusted pieces of penne, eating and grinning. “Mmm. Maybe you ordered the wrong thing, Socks.”

  I laughed in spite of myself, unrolling my own utensils. “Nothing is the wrong thing to order here.”

  “I like the honey mustard best,” Opal said. “If I run out, can I get more?”

  “Yes. Of course,” I said.

  Silence fell as we each enjoyed our meal. Samantha’s gaze fell most often to Opal. The young witch wolfed down her chicken strips and fries as if she had no idea when she’d eat next.

  There was still so much I didn’t know about Opal’s previous life, before the warehouse in San Francisco. I had pieced together only bits, and could guess at a bit more. After her mother died, she’d been living on the street for some period of time, possibly having run away from one or more foster homes, as she’d run away from Capri. But I still didn’t want to push the young witch to talk about her past — just as I had no desire to rehash my own history.

  Still, even though I didn’t like to dwell, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be good for Opal to at least talk a little. Though perhaps that was a role that Capri had already fulfilled for her? She had mentioned discussing San Francisco with her foster mother.

  Tension radiated in lines all around Samantha’s dark eyes. She was exhausted, physically and magically. She opened her mouth, twice, as if
to voice some question, or maybe a concern. But both times, she glanced at me before changing her mind.

  “Um,” Opal said, waving her last chicken strip in her hand. “In class, the teacher said only megalomaniacs give themselves titles that aren’t earned or inherited. So … like that creepy lady in the park?”

  “Class?” Samantha asked.

  “The Academy,” I said. “And I imagine the teacher was a witch.” Witches had a narrow view of magic, eschewing anything that could possibly be seen as a step toward the dark.

  The telekinetic snorted. “Right. Though not wrong in this case. All of the Collective were a bunch of a-hole megalomaniacs.” Then she shook her head grimly. “Unfortunately, they can back it up. So you see that creepy lady again when you aren’t with Socks, and you run. You run like hell.”

  “Yeah,” Opal said, chewing thoughtfully on her chicken strip. “I know all about running.”

  Samantha took another bite of her macaroni, waiting until Opal’s attention returned to what was left of her fries. Then she pinned me with a questioning gaze.

  I nodded, understanding her unvoiced concern. It was the same concern I’d had from the moment I first gathered Opal in my arms, hypothermic and half dead from a curse.

  Utterly selfishly, I didn’t want to let the young witch go.

  But staying with me could be a death sentence.

  I took a bite of my risotto, trying to savor it. Allowing the rich flavors of button mushrooms, parmesan cheese, garlic, and shallots to ground me.

  Inexplicably, Samantha reached across the table and captured my wrist in a firm grasp. “Fox in Socks,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “I’ve missed you. Crazy, huh?”

  “It’s because Emma makes you feel safe,” Opal said. “Not like nothing bad will ever happen. But like when it does, Emma will rescue you. Always.”

  Ignoring my reaction to the young witch’s matter-of-fact assessment — an overwhelming wellspring of some fierce emotion I couldn’t quite identify — I turned my wrist in Samantha’s grasp until I too clasped her arm. “Christopher has to be my first priority.”

  Filtered through my empathy, the telekinetic’s quiet disappointment was contradicted by her words. “I know.” She squeezed my wrist again, nodding stiffly. “We always all knew. Knox came second for all of us as well, after you. But that was just pure preservation, wasn’t it? Like the witch says … it was only you who got us through … everything.” Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “I always hated you for that. For always being the best, the most resilient. And the only one of us with any moral sense.” She nodded toward Opal, then sighed and loosened her hold on me.

  I let her go, though part of me ached to refill her depleted magical reserves. Doing so without fully understanding what was happening with her magic might have serious repercussions, though. And not only for Samantha. “We’ll go back to the house and —”

  “No.” Samantha shook her head sharply, then picked up the pace of eating her macaroni, consuming it almost as quickly as Opal had her own lunch. “Too dangerous. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’d say the damage is done.” I twisted my lips wryly. “Or are you going to leave me and Christopher to face the Mystic of the Golden Peninsula and her black witches alone?”

  Samantha’s chewing slowed. “Damn it. I didn’t think of that.”

  “Really?” I said teasingly. “You not thinking things through? How unusual.”

  Samantha snorted.

  “Hey, Emma?” Opal propped her chin on the heel of her hand, regarding me intently with wide eyes. “Think I could try a bite of your risotto?”

  “Yes.”

  Opal grabbed her fork, digging her shoulder into mine as she leaned over my bowl.

  Samantha laughed. Then, slapping the table, she kept laughing.

  “What?” Opal asked, nibbling a few cheese-coated kernels of rice from her fork as if concerned that the risotto was poisonous. “Does that mean I shouldn’t ask for a bite of macaroni?”

  Still chuckling, Samantha pushed her almost-empty bowl toward the young witch. Opal snatched it eagerly.

  Eyes still twinkling with mirth over the unlikely sight of me sharing food willingly, Samantha downed her glass of water.

  I sighed, asking Opal, “May I borrow the phone? Your phone?”

  “You need me to text?” she asked around a mouthful of penne, grabbing the phone with her free hand. “Who? Christopher?”

  “Yes, please. We need to see a sorcerer about a mental binding spell.”

  Samantha grinned at me.

  “And,” I added begrudgingly, “we might want to see a witch as well. I imagine diagnostic magic is a specialty of Capri’s. Would you check to see where they are?”

  Opal’s thumbs swiftly tapped out my message.

  Samantha met my gaze steadily. “Thank you.”

  “You knew I couldn’t say no.”

  Her grin widened. “Yeah. I knew.”

  “Oh,” Opal said. “Christopher says you’re needed at the Grant farm anyway. They’re waiting for you. The, um …” She double-checked the phone. “The cleaning spell needs a boost.”

  Samantha laughed sneeringly. “Of course it does. What witch or sorcerer would turn down a chance to add you to any spell?”

  “Shut up until you know what you’re talking about.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And after that, am I allowed to offer my well-educated opinion?”

  “No.” I tapped the top of the phone. “Tell Christopher we’re on our way. You have a car, right?” I asked Samantha.

  “Of course I have an effing car.” She hooked her fingers on the edge of my bowl of risotto, drawing it toward her. “How the eff do you think I got to the middle of effing nowhere to find you?”

  “So …” Opal said, sounding disappointed. “No dessert?”

  “Ask Melissa to wrap something up for you with Paisley’s burger.”

  She squealed in delight, already slumping to crawl under the table.

  “Just don’t mention that the food is for Paisley.”

  “Of course not,” she groused, crawling past my legs.

  Samantha watched the young witch as she climbed up on the empty stool next to Jenni Raymond, poised to ambush Melissa the moment she stepped from the kitchen.

  “Who would have thought?” Samantha murmured. “You … like, not a mother, but …” She waved her fork, still unabashedly eating my risotto. “Like … an aunt?”

  I picked up my fork, tugging the bowl of risotto back halfway, then joining Samantha in finishing it off. “I’m not sure yet. It’s dangerous to be around me.”

  “Please,” the telekinetic snorted. “The magic in Opal’s veins makes the world a dangerous place for her, if even I can feel her power. I’m even less sensitive than you, still.”

  I nodded, brushing away all the concerns piling up. I needed to keep each problem separate, solving them one at a time. First, cleaning up at the Grant farm. Then getting Opal back to the Academy. Then taking care of the Samantha issue. “You’ll debrief Christopher and me back at the house.”

  She nodded. “I will. You just need to decide how much you want to know. How much you want to be involved.”

  “As little as possible. Just enough to fix your magic and get you clear of the so-called mystic.”

  “Chenda. And her twin witches, Jet and Onyx. Calling them by name makes them less intimidating.”

  “Really,” I said mockingly. “You’re intimidated?”

  Samantha leaned across the table. “Let her into your head, Socks. Then let me know how intimidated you are.”

  “There’s your problem, Samantha. I never allow anyone to do anything to me without permission. Or repercussions.”

  Samantha shook her head, stuffing the last forkful of risotto in her mouth. “I’m counting on your repercussive tendencies all right.”

  “You always did.”

  “Emma?” Opal’s bright tone cut through the renewed tension simmering be
tween Samantha and me. Evidently, she and I were only able to stand each other for short periods of cooperative time. So nothing had changed on that front. “Banana bread with dark chocolate chips?”

  I slid out from the booth, turning my back on the telekinetic and answering Opal. “That sounds delicious.”

  She grinned, already reaching for the two brown-paper bags that Melissa was holding across the counter. Stepping by Opal and Jenni, who appeared to already be sharing a piece of the aforementioned banana bread with the young witch, I crossed to the cash register, pulling my credit card out of my pocket.

  Samantha stepped past me, exiting the diner.

  “Everything okay, dear?” Melissa asked, sliding my bill across the counter.

  I handed her my card without looking at the bill. “It will be.”

  She laughed. “Well, that’s just life, isn’t it?”

  I smiled, then glanced back at Opal, where she was still chatting with Jenni Raymond. Her book in one hand, the shifter was tucking cash under the edge of her plate.

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” I said, answering Melissa as she swiped my card in the reader. “But I would have been wrong.”

  “No worries, Emma,” she whispered. “I won’t tell anyone. They all feel better when they think you have everything worked out.”

  I blinked, surprised.

  Grinning, Melissa pressed a foil-wrapped hard caramel into my hand.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, following Opal and Jenni outside as I unrolled the sweet and popped it in my mouth. I usually didn’t enjoy sugary things, but I was learning to savor the moments of respite that the universe offered up.

  I just wouldn’t ever phrase it that way around Christopher, or he might think he’d finally berated me into believing in fate or destiny. I didn’t like being tied down by such spiritual notions any more than I liked being caged by magic. Or dictated to by the Collective.

  And if she pushed me, the Mystic of the Golden Peninsula would discover that truth the hard way, at the end of my blades.

  Just as soon as I replaced them.

  Samantha had crossed the street and was waiting by a hulking black SUV.

  Jenni stood to the side of the diner door, arms crossed, eyeing the telekinetic. “What is it with your crew and the gas guzzlers?”