A Breath of Magic

by Tracy Madison

  Opening the bottom drawer, I glanced at its contents: a variety of candles, several types of tarot decks, my pendulums, and a few other odds and ends of a spiritual nature. I grabbed a white candle first, for truth and purity, and next, a blue candle, for wisdom and understanding. My hand hovered over the purple candle, unsure, because the use of it along with the others might be more powerful than I needed. Purple enhanced all other spiritual activities, and should increase magical power—if I had any. Since I didn’t, and because I needed all the help I could get, I figured it couldn’t hurt, so I added that candle to my pile.

  Situating the three candles on the top of my dresser, I carefully lit each before tossing the drawing and my MP3 player on my bed. Scooting into position, I supported my back against the pillows I’d fluffed and puffed along the headboard and closed my eyes.

  A dream had haunted my sleep for the past two nights. Pulling the dream to the forefront of my mind, I envisioned myself standing in the middle of a crossroads. One direction led to Kyle, a second toward Ben and the other two paths led to destinations unknown. Even so, I knew without a shadow of a doubt which path beckoned. The strength of the pull didn’t so much surprise me as scare me, because I didn’t trust it.

  It seemed fake. As if I were Eve being tempted by the most succulent fruit in the Garden of Eden. What if, like Eve, I gave in to temptation only to discover I’d made a horrible mistake? Maybe the dream was a warning, cautioning me that all of this could be nothing more than a test of fate, to see how committed I was to Kyle. If I turned away from that now, if I proved to the universe that I’d bolt at the first sign of something possibly better, then maybe I’d end up on one of the other paths, the ones I couldn’t see, with years of misery as my future.

  I needed to reenter the drawing. To capture the kiss I hadn’t, and not just for the emotional punch but for the tactile experience: the taste of Ben’s lips, the scrape of his cheek against mine, the weight of his arms around me. Feeling the reality of us together again, when I was prepared for it, seemed crucial, for without that push, I didn’t know if I had the courage to proceed in any direction.

  Praying for clarity, I picked up the drawing and pushed the MP3 player’s button with my thumb. The song that had driven me crazy the other day began to play. I set it on repeat, cranked up the volume and centered all of my attention, all of my energy, on my wedding day.

  The colors, scents and emotions whirled around me like a kaleidoscope, tugging at the very core of my being. Whatever line separated my current reality from the one that existed on the page blurred, and the tug grew stronger. But it wasn’t enough. A wall stood, tall and solid, between me and the world I yearned to enter.

  The music played on for a while—I’m not sure for how long—but when the last drop of hope drained out of me, I gave up and turned the MP3 player off. Crinkling the corner of the page in frustration, the sigh I’d been holding back escaped. Why wouldn’t this work? What was I missing?

  “Help me,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

  The air turned then. I gasped as pinpricks of cold darted down my spine. Next, the awareness of being watched plunged into my consciousness, followed by the scent of freshly picked roses, fragrant and rich. My muscles tensed, my breathing hitched. Could it be—?

  “You already know which direction calls to you, Chloe. Is it so hard to heed that call?”

  That musical voice, which I’d heard only once before, came from my right side, just beyond my vision. My body went rigid. I didn’t move, not even to turn my head to face her. Emotion clogged my throat. The heavy weight of unwanted tears gathered behind my eyes. How long had I waited for this moment? How many nights had I sat in this very spot, calling out to her? I swallowed, tried to find the courage to speak, but couldn’t.

  A rush of colors slipped into view as she walked—glided—into position in front of the bed. Her tall, lanky, almost willowy form appeared solid, but a shimmer of light surrounded her, an ethereal glow. She had large brown eyes, deep and fathomless, as if they’d captured the secrets of the world; long dark hair that fell in luxurious waves around an elegantly featured face; skin as white as the finest porcelain; and rich bloodred lips. Myriad hues rippled over her like a rainbow’s reflection in a pool of water—there, but not concrete, unreal. As if one skipping stone would break the illusion.

  Miranda.

  Spiderlike shivers cascaded over me, through me, as I fought to stay calm. Again, I tried to voice my thoughts, but they remained locked inside, caught in the storm of emotions I couldn’t seem to stop. The minutes ticked by in my head until fear that she would disappear pushed out the words I needed to say, the one question I needed answered before anything else. “What took you so long?”

  She emitted a light laugh. “Silly girl. I’ve been with you all along, in one way or another. You simply haven’t been ready until now.”

  “That’s not true! I’ve been ready for months.”

  “Ah, if you had been, I wouldn’t have had so much difficulty connecting with you, now, would I?” She gestured toward the candles, the movement stirring the flames, making them dip and bob, nearly extinguishing them. “These helped clear the way tonight, even if they didn’t serve the purpose you intended.”

  “I needed you,” I said in a halting voice. “But you left me alone. Wondering if everything Alice told me is even real—if I really am a part of something bigger, or if I’m just the girl I’ve always been. Why would you do that?” The words gushed out.

  “Such emotion! Why do you find it so difficult to believe that we share the same blood? You come from me! And yes, Chloe, you are indeed the girl you’ve always been. But you are also, as you say, a part of something bigger.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but promptly shut it when she raised her hand.

  “There is much to say, and too little time, so listen carefully. That long-ago night when I nearly cursed a man, the night I instead created the gift that has been passed from one daughter to another, I did so out of love, but also because I could see the futures of my girls. I was shown that cursing him would then curse everyone who came from me.”

  “This man. What was his name?” I already knew the story. Miranda, a powerful Gypsy, had been lied to by the man with whom she’d fallen in love. Seeking revenge for his lies, for his cruelty, she’d almost cursed him, but instead she had changed her direction by gifting magic to the baby—babies, it turned out—she carried, who then gifted it to their daughters. So it went, from daughter to daughter. Supposedly, I was part of this chain.

  She hadn’t yet answered, so I asked again, “His name? Please tell me. I need to know.”

  Still she hesitated. A flash of emotions—anger, sadness, fear—plunged in and out of her eyes, but finally, she nodded. “His name was Bartholomew Bennett. Your great-great-great-grandfather.”

  There it was: the missing puzzle piece, the connection between me and the ghost standing before me, and therefore, my connection to the ever-elusive magic. “He raised my great-great-grandmother? What was her name?”

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed, and a longing entered her voice. “He stole her from me. My Evelyn. I only saw her once, from a distance, and I couldn’t bring myself to disrupt her life. As much as I despised Bartholomew by then, he was a decent father, and his wife a good, loving mother. Besides, the world was vastly different then, and no one would have believed the word of a Gypsy over his. I might have lost Amelia in the process.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. I didn’t have to be a mother to understand the pain Miranda felt.

  “I never told Amelia she had a twin sister. I regret that.” Translucent tears appeared in Miranda’s eyes. She lifted her chin, forcing them to drip down the sides of her face, past the planes of her cheeks, until they dropped away into nothingness. “This regret is what has allowed me to remain in this world, to reforge the ties that were broken, so all of my daughters will recognize each other.”

  “And you’ve done that
, but what about—?”

  “No, Chloe, I haven’t,” she said firmly. “Not yet.”

  Disappointment slammed into me. “So that’s what this is about? You want me to search out long-lost relatives? What about me?” I held up the drawing. “What about this? Is this my fate?”

  “That depends.” Miranda waved her hand, and the drawing shot from my grip to hers. “And it’s not really the question you should be asking. You’re expending far too much concentration on this picture, Chloe. You need to look inside yourself. You need to trust in yourself and in your power. Find that trust, go with it, and all will become clear.”

  “What power? I’m as powerless as I’ve always been!”

  Her image flickered, as if my outburst had interrupted her energy and, therefore, her ability to be present. I held my breath, my gaze fixated on her, hoping that she wasn’t about to disappear. But then her image solidified, and the tightness that had appeared in my chest relaxed in relief. For better or for worse, I wanted her here. More than that, I needed her.

  “You are far from powerless. Can’t you feel the magic inside of you?” She smiled then, a hauntingly beautiful smile, and the light around her brightened, became more iridescent. She literally sparkled.

  “What magic, Miranda? I feel nothing. Shouldn’t I feel something? I can’t bake wishes into cakes, and I’ve yet to draw a picture of the future. So, what magic?”

  Her nostrils flared, as if she’d exhaled a breath. “Stop comparing yourself to others! You have always been acutely aware of the magic in this world, of the power that exists in objects and people around you. How can you not recognize it within yourself?”

  “I don’t sense magic anywhere. Not like I used to.” My admission startled me. When had I stopped sensing magic? When, exactly, had I begun ignoring most—if not all—I believed in?

  “The magic, your magic, exists within your will—as natural as breathing. It flows from you to those around you effortlessly, often without your ever being aware of the power you’re wielding. Think about it, Chloe, and you’ll recognize the truth I speak.”

  My will? I thought back to what Elizabeth had said at the intervention, that bit about how she’d felt compelled to do what I asked, to bake the magic cake. I remembered how strong my emotions were as I’d pleaded with her. comprehension slid in, along with the faintest ember of excitement. “All I have to do is make a wish, want something to happen, and it will? It’s that simple?”

  “Yes…and no. What you feel, what you want and desire, feeds this portion of your power. And yes, the more intense your emotions are, the more intense your magic is.” Her eyes clouded with a hint of darkness. Fear? Not of me, but for me?

  “Listen closely. This gift is yours, and it is meant to be used, but be cautious. Mistakes can be devastating. Not only to you, but to those your power touches. You have a journey, my dear great-great-great-granddaughter, and it is about far more than this picture.”

  Before I had a chance to ask another question or, hell, even take a breath, the light vanished, and with it, Miranda. My mind whipped through everything she’d said, and while the fear in her eyes and her warning worried me, it was the rest of her message that gleamed bright and true.

  The ember of excitement, of anticipation, grew in strength until it hummed through me, pushing everything else out. All this time, I’d been so sure the magic had skipped over me. Now? Well, this changed everything. The drawing lay on the floor where Miranda had stood. Catapulting from the bed, I grabbed it. I looked at it, still reeling from seeing and talking with Miranda—from learning that I was, indeed, more than the girl I’d always seemed. My eyes fell to the sketched image of me, of Ben. My heart cried out, my soul begged me to take a chance. Trust in yourself, she’d said. Trust in your power.

  Every part of me wanted this. The fear of choosing the wrong direction skittered away. Confidence soared. I had magic on my side. How could I lose? And with that, I stepped out of the middle of the crossroads, chose a destination and began walking, all the while hoping like mad that what I saw at the end of the path was real and not a trick, not an illusion.

  “So. Not. Cool,” I mumbled early Thursday evening, punching the button on my cell to replay Kyle’s message, hoping and praying that somehow I’d heard wrong.

  A series of small beeps sounded, followed by, “Hey, babe. It’s me. Change of plans. I need to stick in Cinci through Friday. Not making it home until Saturday. I’ll call when I get in.”

  Nope, I hadn’t heard wrong. Damn! I hit the end button and dropped the phone on my desk. This was so not the way I’d envisioned the forthcoming evening. All day long, I’d gone over and over what I would say to Kyle. What words to use to end our relationship. How to explain my change of heart. Even though I’d made my choice, even though I’d taken Miranda’s message to heart, that didn’t mean all of my doubts were gone. They weren’t. My love for Kyle hadn’t vanished. My belief that we could have a good life together still existed. But I’d found a truth inside of myself that refused to be ignored, so…now what? Everything hinged on meeting Ben again with a clear conscience. How could I do that as an engaged woman?

  “Fuck,” I murmured. “Why can’t any of this be easy?”

  I started to give my available options some serious consideration when the telltale clomping of Paige’s blast-from-the-past, 1970s-era platform shoes broke into my consciousness. A few seconds later, she pushed into the back room at the Mystic Corner like a woman on a mission, matching my barely-stuck-on artificial grin with one of her own.

  “We’re all locked up,” she announced. Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned against the wall, her posture stiff.

  “Awesome. Thanks, Paige.”

  “No reason to thank me. Locking up is part of my job. Right?” Fiddling with an invisible thread on her sunflower-laden dress, she kept her eyes planted somewhere to the side of mine. Suddenly concerned, I set my own worries on the back burner and gave her all of my attention.

  “Is everything okay with you?”

  A painful silence drifted between us. Grabbing my cup of cold coffee, I swallowed the last gulp, playing for time, giving her a chance to respond. But when the quiet seemed as if it would never end, I gave it another go. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. Is there something you want to talk about?”

  “Um…no?” Had I upset her somehow? “Help me out here. What’s bothering you?”

  “Fine.” She slapped her ring-adorned hands on her hips. “Is the store in financial trouble? Should I be hunting for a new job?”

  “Whoa!” Talk about coming out of left field. “Where are you getting that from?”

  “You’re either in the middle of some hushed phone call, or you’re staring off into space, or you’re disappearing back here whenever you can. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but your snapping at Jen today made me rethink that.” The words tumbled from Paige’s mouth in a mess of syllables. “As long as I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen you behave so…” Breaking off, she twisted the mood ring on her right index finger.

  She had a point. “You’re right, I have been a little crazy lately. But the store is solidly in the black, and your job is one hundred percent safe. I promise.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I affirmed, happy to be able to solve at least one problem. Yay for me.

  She puffed out a breath. “Okay. Good. But what’s up with the weirdness, then? Jen is really upset. She thinks you’re about to fire her.”

  “God, I’m sorry.” And I was. Poor Jen. She was one of my two part-timers, and had made a minor error on a return. Rather than calmly explaining the mistake, I’d lost my patience. Not in a bitch-boss-from-hell way, but still. “I apologized already, but I’ll talk to her again tomorrow.”

  “And the weirdness?” Paige prodded. “Are you okay?”

  I meant to say I was fine, I really did. But what came out was “No. Not really. I’ll figure it out, thou
gh, and I’ll work harder at keeping my personal garbage away from the store.”

  “Understood.” Crossing the room, she retrieved her backpack from a cupboard. “Can I say something else?”

  “Go for it.”

  “This store is a reflection of you and your beliefs, Chloe. This might sound really stupid, but the last few weeks I’ve felt this weird energy at the shop. Nothing bad, just…unsettling, I guess. Kind of freaky. And I think some of our customers are feeling it too. My guess is that whatever’s bothering you is…um…somehow disrupting the good vibes here.”

  “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.” Geez, and here I was thinking I’d done a great job of covering up all my personal stuff. Apparently, not so much. “It should get better soon.”

  She gave me another long, searching look. “Just let me know if I can help in any way.”

  “Will do.” And really, that should have ended the conversation. For some unknown reason, I found myself asking, “Do you believe in fate?”

  She slipped her arms into her backpack straps. “Sort of. I guess I don’t believe that our fates are predetermined, but that we have several possible destinies we can claim. That’s where free will comes into play, you know? One choice leads to one future, and a different choice to something new.”

  Similar to Alice’s take on the situation, but…“That’s not really fate then, is it?”

  Paige bit her lower lip in thought. “Let me say it like this: even if three choices out of four will eventually lead to some variation of the same endgame, we have the ability to choose door number four. And who the hell knows what lies on the other side? Free will.” She shrugged. “I prefer to believe that my decisions matter, and that my life isn’t all laid out from the second I’m born. Why such a heavy question?”

  I forced another smile. “Just wondering. Have a good night, okay?”