by Tessa Adams
My throat relaxes a little more and slowly, surely, my breathing returns to normal. As it does, the nausea subsides. I don’t feel normal yet—there’s still a strange uneasiness inside me, like my body knows there’s something wrong but it just can’t quite figure out what it is.
Part of me wants to plead sickness, to just go home, but I know Lily will insist on coming with me and I don’t want to ruin her night. Or Kyle and Brandon’s, especially now that I know we’re seeing Declan’s show. He’s world famous, the best illusionist in the business (because he actually possesses magic, I’m sure) and I know tickets for his shows regularly go for upward of two hundred dollars. If I insist on walking away, Kyle and Brandon will be out close to a thousand dollars and weird, churning sickness in my stomach or not, I can’t bring myself to do that to them.
“I’ll be fine once we get in there and sit down,” I tell Lily. “I’m just a little dizzy. I probably shouldn’t have had that third glass of wine.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but the guys choose that minute to come up to us, and faced with a grinning Brandon, Lily chooses to let the subject drop. Which is exactly what I was counting on.
It’ll be fine, I assure myself as we walk through the lobby. I’ll go in there, find a way to sit through the next two hours and then get Kyle and Brandon to take me home. No harm, no foul. Lily will have gotten her uninterrupted first date and no one will ever know about those stolen moments with Declan.
It’s a good plan and it should have worked. But the longer we sit waiting for Declan to come onstage, the worse the uneasiness gets until I can’t even sit still. An electric current is working its way through me, and my body is no longer under my control as it shakes and twitches.
There’s a low-grade itchiness right below my skin that I have no hope of scratching and it’s getting worse every second, until I’m so miserable that I want to die. Even worse, I’m afraid of these sensations. Surely seeing Declan again isn’t enough to do this to me? Something else must be wrong, but I have no idea what it is. I know only that I need it to stop.
In desperation, I focus on the elaborate angel painted above the stage. Done in shades of gold and pink and ivory, she’s ornate and beautiful and completely over the top. She’s also perfect for this place that is both too much and just enough.
The shaking gets worse and I concentrate on counting every curl on her head. It calms me down, makes it easier to breathe—at least until the lights go out.
There’s a collective gasp from the audience and Lily reaches over and squeezes my hand. I don’t blame them—everyone here is thrilled at the chance to see Declan. His world tour had sold out in every venue, no matter how big (again, not like I’m keeping track), and was supposed to have wound up two weeks ago at Madison Square Garden. I’m not sure why he’s here in Austin now, let alone performing at the Paramount instead of at the UT center, which is so much bigger. Not that it really matters. He’s here for three days and then he’s gone and I’ll never have to see him again.
The music starts, low and eerie and a little mystical, and all around me I can feel people shifting in anticipation. A spotlight illuminates center stage, where a wisp of smoke winds its way across the open expanse. It’s soon joined by another curl, then another and another and another.
I can feel its power calling to a place deep inside of me—this is elemental fire magic at its most basic, though I’m sure most of the audience believes it’s just the clever use of a smoke machine. As I watch the stage slowly fill, the itchiness inside me eases just a little. I breathe a sigh of relief, until I realize it’s been replaced by a low-grade hum—a vibration—that has taken over every cell in my body.
I shift a little, lean forward, until I realize that—like everyone else in the theater—I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for Declan’s entrance.
I immediately sit back, feeling like an idiot, but it doesn’t really matter. The theater itself seems to be holding its breath as everyone looks around, trying to figure out where Declan will come from. The reviews of the show say he bursts from a new place every time and I brace myself for my first glimpse of him.
But no amount of preparation could have readied me for what happens next. With a crash of music and a flash of lights, the smoke on the stage—not thick, not condensed, still just wispy tendrils of gray—seems to explode and Declan is standing center stage, dressed in black pants and a simple, V-neck black sweater.
I try to wrap my mind around what I just saw. Had he really turned himself into smoke and then, in the blink of an eye, turned back to human form? It’s impossible magic, takes immeasurable power and skill to do such a thing and I can’t imagine how he did it. Beside me, Lily, Brandon and Kyle all look at each other and I know, they too, are wondering if we really just saw what we thought we did.
The rumors in the Hekan community about his power deteriorating are obviously no more true now than they were eight years ago.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t bow, barely acknowledges the audience’s wild applause at all. Instead, he moves seamlessly into his next “illusion,” a demonstration that has him levitating twelve feet above the ground. Arms lifted above his head, he starts to spin faster and faster until he bursts into flames.
He burns and burns and burns, until gasps of surprise become cries of dismay and the audience begins to glance uneasily at one another. Even knowing it’s magic not illusion, even knowing how talented he is, I start to get nervous too. Especially when I notice a few stagehands stepping forward, fire extinguishers in hand and looks of fear on their faces.
Has something gone wrong? Is he burning too long? My stomach clenches and the strange vibration inside of me becomes something more, something all-encompassing. A fire of my own, licking along my nerve endings and burning me to a crisp from the inside out.
And then the fire extinguishes as quickly as it began, ash falling through the air to the stage below. Everything is silent, everyone looking around for where Declan went. Suddenly, someone screams at the back of the theater—in the opera boxes—and the spotlight rushes to find the woman who screamed. And there he is, sitting on the edge of one of the opera boxes, tossing back a bottle of water like he hadn’t just self-immolated.
The theater fills with relieved laughs and people finally relax. All around me I can feel them settling in for what promises to be a kick-ass show. Too bad I can’t do the same.
Lily leans over and whispers, “Who can do that? I mean, if that’s real and not illusion, what wizard is strong enough to do all that?”
I don’t have an answer for her, except the obvious. Declan Chumomisto can do all this and more. “He’s not a wizard,” I finally tell her. “He’s a warlock.”
“Still. It’s crazy. Even dark magic can’t do that.”
I shrug because she’s right and yet, obviously, it can be done.
Declan finishes the bottle of water and tosses it behind him. Then he stands, balancing precariously on the narrow edge of the box. Once again, the music builds. As it crescendoes, he steps off the ledge and begins walking calmly toward the stage. The fact that he is fifteen feet in the air when he does it, balanced on nothing but empty space, doesn’t faze him at all.
It fazes me, though, especially since I can’t take my eyes off of him. I want to look away—from him and the spectacle he’s creating—but like the night of my nineteenth birthday, he’s all that I can see.
He reaches the stage safely, and once he does, he acknowledges the audience for the first time since the show began. A couple of arm waves, an obvious thanks for the applause, and then a scan of the crowd with those midnight eyes of his.
I know he can’t see past the stage lights, but I duck a little in my chair anyway. Again, not because I think he’ll remember me, but because—
His eyes brush past me, then return, lock with mine. I gasp at the power I see in their swirling depths. It’s so immense that it startles, then frightens, me. It’s too much. No one should have that much magic in
side them. It’s dangerous, for everyone.
Beside me, Lily gasps. “He’s looking at you,” she hisses.
Like I haven’t already figured that out? I try to turn my head, to look anywhere but into those eyes that have already caused me too much grief, but it’s like his fingers are on my chin, holding my head in place, my eyes locked to his.
I don’t like it, not the feeling of my body being out of my control and not the presumption he makes that he should be the one to control me.
“Do something,” Lily hisses, and I know she means for me to smile or wave. The spotlight has picked us up because Declan isn’t moving, isn’t speaking, isn’t getting on with the show, and I wonder if this is a nightly thing. And if so, am I supposed to pander to the crowd?
Inside me, the vibration grows a million times worse until I’m sure that I will shake apart any second. I gasp, press a hand to my stomach, and watch as Declan’s eyes flair with satisfaction.
Before I can react, a powerful wind sweeps through the theater. It ruffles my hair, has Lily’s scarf slapping against her cheeks, before surrounding Declan with a cyclonic force. I expect him to stumble under it—it might be his, but it’s still power gone rogue, too strong to control. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just stands there, legs spread and braced, and takes it without any reaction at all.
And his eyes never leave mine.
Using every ounce of strength I have, I jerk my gaze from his. As the connection shatters, sparks fly, literally, lighting up the dark theater for a few brief seconds.
It’s all I need, the proof that he is not invincible. That I am strong enough to stand against him.
I struggle to my feet, throwing off the hands that feel like they’re pressing me into the chair. I feel it then, a command deep inside my head, telling me to stay. To sit back down.
I ignore it—and him. Turning away from the spectacle he is making of us both, I make my way drunkenly down the aisle. For long seconds the walls around me seethe with rage, until fire explodes along the edge where they meet the ceiling. The flames race around the circle until the whole ceiling is ablaze.
And then, just that suddenly, it’s all gone. The anger, the fire, the connection between us—everything locked down tight. On the stage, Declan starts up an easy dialogue with the audience and before I even reach the door, he’s onto another trick, one that has the audience oohing and aahing with glee. I don’t turn back to see what it is.
Once in the lobby, I make my way to the restroom on legs gone shaky. Double date or not, best friend or not, there is no way I’m going back in that theater. No way I’ll allow Declan to assume that kind of control over me again. Oh, I managed to fight it, but that’s not good enough for me. The fact that he did it to begin with—and that I hadn’t able to stop him—is enough to tell me that I need to steer clear of him. All the way clear of him. As if that night eight years ago hadn’t already proved that.
Leaning down, I splash some water on my face, not caring if it ruins Lily’s amazing makeup job. I feel like I’m suffocating, and though I have no actual power, I still have enough Heka in my veins to feel connected to an element. For me, that element is water. Nothing revives me more, nothing feels better, than the touch of water against my skin.
Which is funny, really, when you consider that Declan’s element is obviously fire. Because there haven’t been enough signs that we should have nothing to do with each other, the universe obviously felt like it needed to rub my face in one more.
Despite the drought, I leave the water running. I thrust my hands under the faucet, reveling in the feel of the cool liquid dribbling over my wrist, down my palm, between my fingers. It grounds me, fights back the nausea and dizziness once and for all.
Eventually, I shut off the tap and dry my hands. The low-grade vibration I felt earlier, sitting in the theater, has almost disappeared, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful. And yet, my body isn’t at peace. Yes, I’m a million times better than I was, but something still feels off.
And that itchiness, that fire along my nerve endings—it’s back and worse than ever.
I step out of the bathroom, figuring I’ll sit on a bench in the lobby and wait until intermission. Then I’ll either make an excuse to Lily and Kyle and find a cab to take me home or I’ll try another round in the theater. No promises about how that’s going to turn out, but now that I’m prepared for Declan and the force he exudes, it should be a lot easier.
Except, when I turn, it isn’t toward the empty bench near the inside doors. It’s to the right, toward the street.
I walk outside and it’s raining a little now, the low temperature turning the water icy and painful as it slaps against my face and hands. I should go back in, get off the dark street and out of the rain. Austin is a pretty safe place, but it’s getting late and I’m smart enough to know I shouldn’t be wandering around on my own in the dark.
But even as I think this, even as my brain tells my body to go back into the Paramount, I turn to the south and start walking down North Congress. I don’t know where I’m going, don’t know why I’m going anywhere, but I can’t stop. That strange, invisible wire is back, pulsing with electricity as it pulls me farther and farther away from my friends. From what I know.
I walk about half a mile, hunched inside my jacket. The wind has kicked up so that the rain hits me with stinging force. I don’t know where I’m going, but when I get to Cesar Chavez, something tugs me to the left.
I turn, keep walking. A cab drives by, its FOR HIRE sign lit up, and I tell myself to hail it. To climb in and let it speed me home. It’s the smart thing to do, the safe thing, as both the rain and the wind are picking up. And yet I can’t bring myself to do it. The same electricity that made it impossible for me to sit still in the theater makes it impossible now for me to do anything but keep walking.
Lightning splits the sky, lighting up the desolate street and scaring the crap out of me. I don’t know how a street can look worse when it’s illuminated by lightning than it does in the eerie glow of a very few streetlights, but somehow this one does. It doesn’t help that Cesar Chavez, while bustling during the day, is all but deserted at this time of night—the occasional car my only company.
I start to run, which is really more of an awkward shuffle in Lily’s high heels. Part of me is terrified that I’ll slide on the slippery street and plunge headfirst into the path of one of those few cars, but I’m even more terrified of the lightning that is exploding all around me while thunder rumbles nonstop in the background.
I know I need to get out of the rain, know this kind of lightning could be deadly. But somehow all the logical parts of my brain—the parts that should be in control of my decision making process—are shorting out at once. Instead, I can’t do anything but continue walking, following the inexorable pull down this street toward goddess only knows what.
I cross side street after side street, huddling against buildings and under awnings when I can get the shelter. More than once a cab slows as if to pick me up, but I wave it on. I don’t understand how I know this, but where I’m going no cab can take me.
Finally the compulsion drags me to the right. I cross the street and start up Pleasant Valley toward the lake. And just that suddenly I know where it is I’m heading. To Town Lake.
I just wish I knew why.
I see it, up ahead, and I know I’m right. Especially when my entire body starts to pulse with the need to hurry, the need to be there now.
Strangely, it’s the urgency that sets me off, that makes me remember. When I do, the true fear sets in, a living breathing nightmare inside of me that feeds on the knowledge and chokes the very air from my lungs.
And still I don’t stop.
I’m almost to the lake now and I stumble off the sidewalk, head for the grassy knoll that sits a few feet from the water. The ground is soaked from the storm and my heels immediately sink into the earth until every step is a challenge. I wince at the sucking sound that comes ever
y time I pull my foot out of the earth, then cringe more every time I put it back down and the earth draws it under.
Like it isn’t bad enough I walked out of the Paramount with no explanation to Lily, no text, nothing. When she finds out I ruined her Jimmy Choos, she’s going to kill me. Slowly and with great relish.
But even that can’t make me turn back. Nothing can. The water is calling to me and there’s nowhere to go but forward.
I try to stay on the balls of my feet to protect the shoes as best I can, but the grass is too slick and the heels too high. Besides, they’re the only things that give me purchase as I stumble off the grass and onto the running path that goes around the lake.
I’m under the bridge now, trying to take what little shelter it provides. The rain is slashing in at an angle, slamming against me despite the coverage. Still, it’s better than being out in the full force of the storm—and at least I’m less likely to be struck by lightning.
I pause, take a second to brush my drenched hair back from my forehead and rub a palm down my face to squeegee the rain from my eyes. I expect to feel a wave of relief, but the chest-clenching drive to get to the water doesn’t let up. This isn’t where I’m meant to stop. Hiding here under the bridge isn’t enough. I take a step closer to the lake. And then another.
As I do, the wind caterwauls through the place, stirring up the sickly cloying smell of guano. Though the bats haven’t migrated back from Mexico yet, years and years of the stuff layers the area, creating a stench that not even the storm can chase away. Usually the scent makes me ill, but tonight it doesn’t repel me the way that it should. Though I’m having trouble breathing through my nose, I have no urge to flee. Instead, I want to go closer.
I need to go closer.
Grabbing on to a tree branch, I use it to steady myself as I creep down the slope to the water’s edge. The fear is bigger now, nearly all-consuming. Not for myself, not about what will happen to me, but for what’s drawing me in. For what I might find down here under this bridge. I don’t know what I’m doing down here, don’t know what spell I’m under that has brought me here. But something has and somehow I don’t think it’s for the midwinter view.
