Funny Tragic Crazy Magic (Tragic Magic Book 1)

by Sheena Boekweg

  He too gave me a kiss on my forehead. His lips felt soft against my skin. That fire and love feeling I’ve always had for him threatened to consume me. The tears fell harder as he turned away from me again. His hands were in his pocket as he walked away, his shoulders arched up against his ears, as they do when he’s upset.

  I watched after him, my eyes trying to lock in every vision of him I could, before he turned the corner and out of my line of sight. I knew, somehow, that that would be the last time I ever saw him, and it was.

  Giara left last. I ignored her eyes, and just tried to take in the vision of my beautiful mother as best I could. I closed my eyes when it became too much, and I could hear the sound of her moving away from me.

  With my eyes still closed, I spoke, “Please don’t hurt him.”

  She was silent. I opened my eyes, and she looked out at the door to where Joe had gone. She looked like she was debating what she should say, and then finally she answered.

  “I would never hurt him, Larissa,” she smiled, and I could see this giddy gleam in her eyes that I knew meant Joe’s time on earth was almost over. “Not unless he gives me no other choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” I whispered.

  She nodded, and smiled at me as if we both finally spoke the same language. The evil look from her eyes was gone. Her shoulders relaxed as if a weight lifted off them.

  “I hope you can be happy with your new life here,” she said. “I would change it if I could.”

  I rolled my eyes, and wouldn’t look at her. She turned away from me as the nurses wheeled me away.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  I read once that every novel is a letter written to one person. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I do know it’s true for me.

  This story isn’t fiction; it really happened. It really happened to me. I hope you believe it, but I don’t really care if you do, because the person who I wrote this for knows it’s true.

  I wrote this for you, Giara. My mom trusted you, but you destroyed her daughter’s life. I want you to understand what you’ve done.

  I hope every word I’ve written is like a knife that cuts into your heart and makes you understand, makes you wish you made a different choice. I hope this tortures you as you read it, as it has tortured me as I wrote it. You know what, I take what I said at the beginning back. You can worry all you want, Giara. You should be worried.

  I used to want you to like me, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t like you, who cares if you like me. I used to want you to understand me and see I made the right choices. But now, I don’t even care. Right or wrong, they were my choices. I’d do it all again.

  It took me less than two months to write this. Fifty-four days. That’s all the time it took to write down every bit of my life that meant anything. It’s gone now. The story is over. Who I am, really, has ceased to exist.

  I wondered how I would feel when it was over, when I had finished telling this story. I worried I would feel depressed, with this weight of my life’s story not on my shoulders anymore trying desperately to get out.

  You know what… I don’t feel sad, or empty, like I worried I would. I feel free. I feel like my memories finally make sense. Really, what I feel most of all now is peace. And hope. I’m hopeful that one day my life really will have a meaning beyond what happened to me thus far. That despite being a rube from now on, maybe I’ll be able to find the happiness my rube friends are all trying to find.

  You know, maybe I could even take some college courses online, maybe even get well enough that they’d let me out of here. I don’t know. Maybe my life will find a way to go on.

  I just… More than anything, I want the world to know I’m still here. I want the world to know that Larissa Jayne Alvarez lived, and that she loved, and that she’s still here. I’m broken, but I’m still in here.

  I don’t know why I can’t answer any of the doctor’s questions when he speaks Spanish. I don’t know why I can’t remember anything that happened before my parents died, and I don’t know why my hair suddenly turned blonde. All I know is this, I’m here, and I know who I am.

  I’m Larissa Alvarez, and I used to be a Witch.

  SO I’LL SAY WHATEVER I WANT.

  Epilogue

  I don’t actually feel bad that Giara got what was coming to her. I mean, she killed someone in order to keep me hidden and keep herself in power. She ignored, terrorized, and tricked me. To see her locked away makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, if I’m being honest.

  But in order to do it, I had to give her my memories. I wanted her to understand why I had to save Joe. I wanted her to have some sympathy, and understanding of who I am, and why I made the choices I did. So I did a rune I didn’t know enough about, and there were consequences I didn’t expect.

  So now, there’s a girl who looks like me, who thinks she’s me, and who loves my boyfriend. And she’s hurting. She’s in pain.

  I don’t know exactly how I feel about that.

  Leaving Giara in the hospital was harder than it should have been. I hated to see her in pain like that, hated to see her looking so much like me, clinging to my memories as if they were her own. But as the hours went by, and I prepared to leave, all of Giara’s actions came to life. There were others she had killed. Other people she had fooled. Innocents, witches. My family.

  Perhaps it’s better for her, and for the world, that she thinks she is me. She wanted to be the one who won so badly that she refused to see reality. The transformation spell had worn off, and now she’s her real self. Giara is a plain looking woman now. If I saw her on the street, I wouldn’t ever recognize her. She looks nothing like the mask she always wore, and with her hands missing, she’s truly a frightening sight. I’m glad I don’t have to watch her. That job was placed on the person she had hurt the most. Shizuka watches her now through the cameras in the hospital. Giara refuses to look in mirrors, refuses to see reality…she truly is crazy. A mental hospital is the best place for her. I don’t know why that is so hard for me to accept.

  When we left Paris, we brought a couple people home with us. Kaylie came with me, and Ana. The Grandmothers wanted to make sure I stayed in contact with them, that I didn’t just disappear into Joe’s arms and never come back. I wouldn’t though. I really want to be the kind of witch my mom always wanted me to be. Maybe if I help enough people, then in a way, my mom’s dream will live on. I love that idea.

  There was a lot of noise and chaos getting home. Getting settled. Ana and Kaylie drove Ryan’s van back home to them. Joe and I drove a rental. I kept reaching for Joe’s hand, wanting to hold him, wanting to touch him. He kept his distance, and kept looking away from me, his eyes far to the distance, staring to the horizon.

  Ms. P. waited on my front porch. She stood when we pulled in, and crushed Joe in a hug once he stepped out of the car. She was so happy to see him, so mad and grateful at the same time. He was grounded for leaving for a few days, and she took him home with a glare in my direction. I didn’t respond; I just watched them leave my driveway with trepidation. A sad moment was on its way for Ms. P. I could feel that moment as if it followed them like a storm cloud. I was going to miss Ash, and I didn’t love him. He wasn’t my family.

  I walked into my house, my fingers running over the protection rune above the front door. Ana was looking through the books on the bookshelf, a few in her hands already while her bags sat unpacked. I walked into my kitchen, and that pizza box still sat on the table, the pizza inside starting to smell. Ick. I planned to crash in my bed, but first things first. My OCD had to be answered. I quickly tossed the box in the garbage outside. My shoes crunched in the snow as I walked back inside.

  The back door slammed behind me. I walked through the TV room, the kitchen, the front room and then up the stairs. Kaylie was in Fee’s room, blasting One Direction through her radio as she unpacked her things into Fee’s drawers. I waved at her and took one last look at Fee’s room the way it was before. I had seen it empty enough t
imes that I didn’t regret the intrusion.

  I closed the door to my own room and made my way to my bed. Resting made my heart feel better, made everything happen in order, made my whole world make sense again. Ana and Kaylie were making so much noise in the house, but it felt good to not be alone. It felt like the house was full again, that it was alive. I put Carol King’s Tapestry on my iPod and closed my eyes. The most beautiful music in the history of forever reached through the cobwebs and made me feel whole, made me feel alive. Made me feel like me.

  When Joe came over a few hours later, the house was quiet. Light from streetlamp outside my window let streaks of light that arched across the walls of the room. Joe walked through my closed bedroom door, his Chuck Taylors silent against the carpet. I put my hand up and invited him to join me in my bed, but he stayed back by the door. I pulled the head phones from my ears and sat up.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  In the shadow by my door, his shoulders were arched, and his hair fell loose over his eyes.

  “Joe?” My feet slid to the floor. “Are you okay?”

  His voice was strained, and frightened. “How do I know…” he said, as he combed his hair up toward my ceiling. “How do I know you are who you say you are? How do I know that the wrong Larissa isn’t hidden away with her hands cut off? How do I know?”

  “Joe,” I whispered, silencing him kindly. I drew the rune for stay in the air, and threw it at him from my bed. I could see him try to move, and even Joe couldn’t pull himself through my stay rune.

  “No one can do that. No one but me. How do you not know me? I’m a freak.” I stood up, the blanket sliding over my legs and onto the floor. I walked to him and took his fingers in mine. Then I wiped the rune away, and Joe could move again.

  As soon as he could move, his hands went around my chin, and he pulled me to him.

  “Riz,” he whispered between kisses.

  I’m so grateful he knew me. That he called me by my real name, because now, and forever, I am his Riz. I’m Riz Alvarez.

  I’m a witch. I’m a freak.

  And I’m home.

  SPECIAL PREVIEW OF ALCHEMY

  Written by Sheena Boekweg, Melanie Crouse and Sabrina West

  Available October 11th.

  Check it out on Goodreads

  Department of the Army

  Magical Division

  Memorandum for: General Patricia Walden

  Director of Magical Assimilation

  U.N. Army

  Subject: CHEBEAGUE JOURNALS

  General Walden,

  Please find enclosed the journals of Sam Ryan, Anastasia Merrithew, and Juliette Riley. We have been unable to recover the journals of the other students involved. Since the disaster at Chebeague Academy, fourteen students are still missing, and the cause of the explosion remains unknown.

  I caution that the Six should remain under my direct supervision, for the safety of the American people.

  I await further orders.

  Dr. Ann Felix

  U.N. Army

  Chapter One

  Sam Freaking Ryan

  I always told everyone I wanted to be a mage when I grew up. Which was, apparently, how irony looks when it wears my clothes. I didn’t mean it when I said it… or I guess I didn’t realize I didn’t mean it.

  I didn’t think it would hurt to get infected with magic. I didn’t think of the consequences. All I could see were the flashing lights, and my work in the paper. All I could see was the power. I never saw the fear.

  Mom did though. Whenever I said anything about magic, my mom would look at me sharply and then change the subject. For years, whenever anything came on the news about mages, or the MPB, or even a joke on late night television, my mom would shut it down quickly. I learned not to mention magic to my mom, or that some of the other kids and I would play mage at recess. My bio-dad and I would talk about it all the time, but as soon as Mom walked into our supervised visits, we would stop speaking.

  Magic was a game then. It was fun, but in a secret ‘Don’t tell Mom’ kind of way.

  And then one day it stopped being fun. In about fifth grade, some of the bigger kids started playing mage with us at recess as Magic Protection Bureau agents. One day Spencer Teriolli pushed me down to the ground, and spit in my face before he and his cronies locked me away in the janitor’s closet. They called me fairy-boy -- as if mages and fairies were all in one lump sum of make-believe creatures. It wasn’t until almost a year later that I realized they were calling me gay.

  Idiots.

  I don’t know why Spencer and his friends chose me, but no matter what I did, they wouldn’t stop tormenting me. And I didn’t get it. I wasn’t weird, not like Phil Green, or dirty, or poor, or… The only thing that made any sense was that I loved magic. That’s the only thing I knew I was doing wrong. So I started to blame magic for every time they hit me, or every time they tried to trip me in the halls, or every time a pretty girl flirted with me and then laughed at me for believing she meant it.

  They didn’t torture me because of something I did, or because of something I was. It was just that they knew magic was filthy, and they smelled it on me.

  Then one day, Mom got a new job and a new husband, and everything changed for the better. We moved across the country, my step-dad adopted me, and Spencer Teriolli became just a monster that lurked in the back of my head. All of a sudden, we had a lot more money and a bigger house. I got a stepsister, which was kind of cool; I always wanted a sibling. Mom was gone all the time working, but when she’d take her vacations we’d all go on amazing trips to Bali, Italy, and Australia. I had everything I ever wanted. I wore clothes that cost more money than some people spend on cars.

  But best of all, I met Katie. She liked me. All the kids liked Sam Ryan. Athletic, wealthy Sam Ryan, who had a girlfriend. Sammy Rodriguez, the nerd/magic freak was left behind in Omaha, and I didn’t miss him.

  Life was easy. Katie made all of the decisions, and I never even had to try. I was automatically popular, and it was all because of Katie. Katie was amazing. She was the kind of girl who walked into a room and every head would turn. I always felt honored that she would let me stand next to her, but I never got why she picked me. I tried to deserve her, but no matter what romantic thing I did for her, I always felt like she was the one rescuing me.

  I couldn’t mess something like that up. I tried to be the kind of person she could love. The kind of guy she deserved. I knew not to mention magic, or mages, or that I cared about that kind of thing.

  But I still did. I followed the destruction of Austin, and the Mexico City Mage Incident online without Mom or Katie knowing about my preoccupation with magic. I wanted to hate it. Hate the mages the way I’d been taught. But I couldn’t stop looking, no… needing to know everything I could about magic. I know people feared them, and I’d try to remind myself to hate them, but the power of it just filled me with a sense of wonder. Those Prophecy gurus at the international markets, who shifted the world’s economy with a grunt, those men and women in the military who used their magic to defend our country in amazing and terrifying ways, or those techno mages who invented gadgets and apps that made everyone’s lives easier... How could I hate them? It seemed to me that a mage under control was an awesome thing, no matter what my mom warned.

  The rogue ones though, those afflicted with the first sign of the infection -- the insanity… yeah, they terrified me. I wasn’t the only one they scared. But the asset of a mage on a leash was enough to allow the risk, so Congress rightfully granted an amnesty to mages within the first 24 hours of the infection. The rest of us just prayed to stay out of their way.

  Madness was the trade off, and we were all told it passed quickly and didn’t return. But the internet was filled with people who thought the madness was an ever-present threat. Everyone I knew worried that any of those well-revered mages could level a city block at any moment.

  Maybe that’s why I never suspected Mom was a mage. She never seeme
d cool enough to be one of them.

  To be fair, Mom saved my life when she infected me. We were on our way home from the store, and I was texting Katie about when I’d pick her up for a movie. Mom was on one of her “Sam Weekend” kicks she often had before going back into work, and I couldn’t wait to be released so I could see Katie again.

  The BMW smelled like groceries -- cold milk, and plastic bags. My feet were perched on the edge of the leather seats, my forearms against my knees as I typed on my phone. My mom looked down to change the radio station, glanced back up, and then the car swerved sharply to the left. I barely had time to look up before the semi truck crashed into us. The driver’s white knuckles squeezed against his steering wheel as the truck careened toward us. There was an awful screeching sound, my mom’s hand swung against my chest, and we started spinning.

  Glass shattered and flew all around me, stinging my skin. Outside the car the world flipped and spun over and over. Through it all, the radio played a Beyond Breathing song. We stopped with a devastating thud, and I couldn’t feel my legs.

  I blacked out from the pain, or the shock of it, I don’t know. I woke for like a second, as mom banged on the ceiling and screamed for help. We were both upside down, and I hung with the seatbelt holding me to the seat. I couldn’t feel the seatbelt as it pinned my legs. Pain ran everywhere in the top half of my body, but about halfway down the pain was missing, leaving only a cold numbness below. I blacked out again, and then woke when this acid feeling soaked into my chest from under my mom’s hands.

  “Mi amor, lo siento. I’m so sorry,” my mom whispered, as tears ran down her face, leaving lines of makeup down her cheek. It hurt so bad, like fire, and lightning, and salt on a wound. I could feel the Healing burn up every inch of my body, down to my toes.