by R. M. Webb
Hush
R. M. Webb
Copyright © 2015 by R. M. Webb
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design Copyright © 2015 by R. M. Webb
Printed in the United States of America.
First Printing, 2015
For Bill.
Thank you for teaching me to speak.
Thank you for making me comfortable being me.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter One
My name is Zoe Tate and there was a time when I couldn’t speak. I’ve found my voice now and I know I should be grateful ‘cause that’s everything I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. Except I’m not grateful. Not completely. Sure, I can speak, but I have to be very careful with what I say because my words are dangerous. And if that sounds melodramatic then that’s a-ok because I’m not exaggerating even one little bit.
Turns out, I’m not your typical introvert. Or I wasn’t your typical introvert. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever actually was an introvert. The reason I couldn’t speak in the past had nothing to do with my personality type and everything to do with a series of spells put on me to keep me from knowing what I was.
Or am.
Shit.
I’m still struggling with how to word all this.
It’s all so new, you see.
I guess it’s best to use present tense. The spells kept me from knowing what I am. And what I am is a witch. I know, it sounds crazy. Believe me, it took quite a bit of convincing for me to believe it and I’m the one who had to live through all the crazy shit that finally helped me accept the truth. Magic is real. And I’m magic. How’s that truth for ya?
So, anyway, I used to think I was painfully shy, just this silly girl who wanted to speak but couldn’t because I over thought things, or I worried too much about how people would see me. It always felt like my words got stuck behind some barrier in my throat. Or my head. Or my heart. I was never sure which.
Thing is, that’s exactly what was happening. My words got stuck behind a barrier. Except, that barrier didn’t come from me, it came from a spell my best friend, Becca, put on me. Well, a series of spells, actually.
Magic dampened? Check
Afraid to speak? Check
Hard for other people to notice me? Check
Desperate to please my best friend? Check
I spent my whole life frustrated with myself for being so broken. Speak, Zoe. You know what you want to say, just say it. I can’t tell you how many times I had conversations like that with myself, mostly while blushing a furious and unflattering red and fidgeting with anything I could get my hands on, always while berating myself for being so broken.
But it turns out it wasn’t a matter of me being broken at all. All the times I hated myself for not being normal? Ya. Not my fault.
Forgive me if I sound a little bitter.
Becca hid my magic from me and I still don’t know why. I mean, I know she did it on an order from someone really high up the food chain in the whole magical underworld governing body. Yep. That’s right. Magical underworld governing body. Such a thing exists. But I still don't know why she got the order.
But the whole thing backfired on Becca because now my magic is awake. And the crazy thing is, I seem to have all the magic. Some witches get some form of light magic. Some get some form of dark magic. Some - like Becca - get this kind of neutral magic.
Me?
I can do it all. Except I’m not supposed to let anyone know about that because that’s some kind of big scary deal that somehow makes me a big scary deal. I mean, like, if I get upset I end up losing control of my magic and killing people. That kind of big scary deal. Noah says not to let anyone know about all the magic I have access to and I trust him. There was a brief time when I didn’t. You know, the time when I figured out he knew what I was but hadn’t told me about it yet, but I’ve realized how silly it was for me to hold that against him. What did I expect him to do? Hey there. My name’s Noah. And you are? Oh ya, and by the way, you’re a witch.
Ha.
‘Cause that’d go over so well.
Because I’m kind of a magical time bomb, they’ve got me holed up in Windsor Manor, this place I like to think of as a halfway house for the magically confused. It’s like a boarding school mixed with a reform school mixed with a hospital and I don’t know if I love it here or if I hate it here.
I love learning how to work magic. It’s like … I don’t know … finally getting to be myself after years of pretending to be something I’m not. Or I guess I should say being forced to be something I’m not. Each time I learn a new spell or find a new way to use my magic, it’s like I become more of the person I always thought I was supposed to me. More of what I was destined to be. How cool is that? I mean for real? Getting to grow into the person I was born to be? It doesn’t get much better than that.
But, I’m the oldest student here. It’s unusual for witches to come into their powers as late as I did. There are a handful of super young kids - witches and warlocks who started transitioning way early and needed intervention, but mostly I’m hanging out with teenagers all day. Kids who think they’re all grown up and understand how the world works, but don’t know how to write a check or why credit cards are scary.
It’s kind of funny. I used to love the way it felt to be surrounded by people, but I:
a.) never felt seen and
b.) never knew what to do with myself when I was seen.
Now that the directors here at Windsor Manor have removed the spell that made me unnoticeable - along with all the other spells that kept me under Becca’s thumb - I’m finally ... well … noticed. I’d always hoped that would mean I’d finally get to make the connections I used to crave. Turns out, not so much.
Here I am, surrounded by people younger than me, who are a little scared of me because of what I did. What I can do. What I can’t control.
I used to want to be seen…
Noticed…
Heard…
I sure got what I wanted.
If only what people see and notice and hear in me didn’t scare them to death.
*******
“Zoe?” Noah leans in and smiles. “You in there?” Some things never change, I guess. I still find myself getting lost in my thoughts.
“Ya, sorry.” I run a hand through my hair and make a pretty damned good approximation of the face Becca used to make. You know, the one where she looked all cute and her eyes almost sparkled? One of the benefits of having those spells removed is that a good portion of my awkwardness disappeared with them. “Just busy planning all the ways I’m going to make this trip difficult for you,” I say with a smile.
Noah laughs and it’s that laugh that sounds like home. That laugh that makes me warm and cozy and … not alone. “You’re diabolical.”
“That’s me. Wicked witch and all.” I say it jokingly, but part of me kind of really feels that way. Wicked. It’s as worrisome as it is exciting.
“Oh, ya, yo
u’re the most wicked of us all.” He says it and I smile and laugh and I guess I must have done a decent job of hiding the fear and … what is it? Excitement? Am I excited to be a little wicked? Exhilarated? The feeling is intoxicating, like a naughty secret I keep just for myself. Regardless, whatever it is I’m feeling, I managed to hide it from Noah. He still thinks I’m horrified by what my dark magic can do.
Which I am.
For the most part.
We’re out for the day, walking hand in hand towards the coffee house near my old apartment. Noah’s touch still brings little pings of golden contact that make me feel all relaxed and wonderful. When I asked him about that, he told me it was kind of like my magic is greeting his magic. ‘Cause they’re so much the same. Which they are. But, I’d felt something similar when Luke - you know … Luke … the guy I thought was my boyfriend but really was in on Becca’s plan but who, in the end, might have had feelings for me after all? As if that’s not confusing.
Anyway.
With Noah, there’s little warm pings of contact and with Luke, there’s actually this rolling, ‘fog creeping up my arm’ feeling. Both sensations make me feel comfortable. All I can make out of that is that I guess my magic is like Luke’s magic, too.
Which isn’t that big of a surprise because according to what Noah’s told me, we - as in Noah and me - both have the ability to use all the forms of magic. Dark magic. Light magic. All the forms in between. Noah’s worked hard to strengthen his light magic and ignore his dark magic, and he’s trying to help me do the same. Which is why we’re here at the coffee house.
“You ready for this?” He asks as he reaches for the door, pausing to hear my answer.
“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”
The coffee shop is an overwhelming mixture of sounds and smells and people. In the past, this would have sent my senses into overload, but I’m learning to control that, too. Kind of.
A huge smile dawns on the barista's face as I amble up to the counter. She fluffs her formerly lavender hair - it’s a strange shade of orange now - and gives me a questioning look. “Whadaya think? I thought I’d go for a more festive color as we get closer to Halloween.”
Honestly, it’s not a good color for her. It washes her out and while the lavender made her look like a cute little pixie, the orange makes her look a little sick. But I prefer my coffee without spit in it so I’m not gonna be the one to tell her. I give her the compliment she’s hoping for and can’t help but smile when her whole demeanor changes when she turns to Noah.
He’s so hot, I’ve yet to meet a female who didn’t get a little melty when he’s around.
Noah orders our drinks because as frequently as we come here, I still don’t like coffee and haven’t cared enough to decipher the menu. Whatever it is that he orders me is huge and sweet and still bitter as all hell because all the sugar in the world can’t hide the natural ickiness of coffee. I take my place at a table in the middle of the crowded store and wait.
The whole goal here is get my senses into overdrive and then force me to calm down and keep things under control. This place is perfect because of how popular it is. There are people and conversations and smells and distractions galore. The coffee gets me all jittery and kind of upsets my stomach and I hate the way it tastes. All kinds of negative stimulus that I need to learn to ignore because it’s the negative stuff that feeds my dark magic.
Yay.
Noah reaches across the table and wraps my hand in his. Things are just so comfortable between us … no … comfortable’s not the word. There’s definitely a charge between us, some heat. I guess I could say easy. Things are easy between us. He laughs at my jokes, I laugh at his. I don’t have to try to be something I’m not because he seems totally content in everything I am.
Except for that pesky ‘intoxicated by my dark magic’ stuff. But I’m not really content with that and he doesn’t even know it exists, so I think I’m gonna choose not to count that. We’ve kissed a few times. Ok, more than a few times. Honestly, we’ve done a lot of kissing since moving into Windsor Manor. Sometimes, I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt, like I’m cheating on Luke, but that’s just plain old dumb.
Sure, maybe Luke ended up feeling a tad bit of something for me by the time I was killing people on accident and whole summits of all the paranormal beings in the area were called to place judgment on me, but in the beginning, our relationship was nothing more than a job to him. Everything he said and did was designed to make me fall in love with him. And it almost worked.
Almost.
Well, those thoughts about Noah and Luke are doing their job because I’m definitely feeling agitated. Add that agitation into the mix with all the sound and energy and nauseating coffee I’m dealing with and my magic is starting to flare into existence. The tiger, you know, the thing I used to think was some kind of metaphor for inner strength and is actually a tiger - my magical familiar? Ya, she’s pacing around, flicking her tail, roaring like crazy, begging to get out.
I’m almost sweating and I’m definitely shaking, gritting my teeth together and balling my hands into fists. Light magic feels warm and easy, dark magic feels powerful and destructive. When it wants out, it wants out.
I take a deep breath and focus on the calming mantra Noah taught me, letting my gaze scan the room. Over there, at a table tucked into the corner, are four people - two guys clearly from the local college and their dates. There’s something about the one guy … something that is, I don’t know … familiar. Something that’s somehow making me even more upset than I was just a moment ago.
I can’t help but study him and wonder who he is and why he’s so upsetting. And then it hits me. The day I saw my first remnant, the day that I was lost and confused and scared out of my mind, this is the guy that knocked me straight on my ass and walked away without offering a hand, laughing with his friends about it as he passed me.
Anger flares and it’s like warm caramel and oozing fudge, so bad but so good. I smile a little, the corners of my lips pulling up in a wicked little grin, all pointy and filled with satisfaction.
I don’t like this guy.
Not one bit.
And sitting here, my magic all worked up and the tiger pacing inside me, I could kill him with a thought.
Chapter Two
The guy’s busy laughing and it’s ugly. I don’t know, like it comes from a place that isn’t really happy. One of the girls, the one who’s sitting beside him and leaning her shoulder against his, looks uncomfortable. She fakes a laugh and scoots her chair back, excusing herself to the bathroom. The other girl, a bleached blonde showing way more of a spray tan than she needs to, joins her as she heads to the back of the coffee shop.
I can’t help it but I hate this guy, the guy who knocked me down on the sidewalk on the scariest day of my life. Maybe it’s a little unfair, maybe my fear of the remnant - she was hollow, a demon, and utterly terrifying - got attached to him a little and I should cut him some slack. Except, umm, no. Even if the whole thing with the remnant hadn’t happened at all, this guy still knocked me over and laughed about it, didn’t even have the decency to ask if I was ok.
I think I’m justified in not liking him.
My magic is pulsing. Pushing against me. It needs an outlet or I’m gonna end up exploding and having absolutely no control over what happens or why. I could just cast a little spell, you know, like opening a pressure valve. The guy’s leaning in towards his friend, this nasty look smeared across his face. I could just use my magic to listen to what he’s saying. That might help me get control of things again.
I purposefully focus on the way my light magic feels, warm and golden and right, and close my eyes, blocking out all the sounds of the coffee house and focusing on the table tucked into the corner. I catch a few words, and then I hear the entire conversation.
“...bitch is dumb. Just waits around for me while I have my way with every girl on campus.” He laughs and his friend does, too, and I’m angry on behalf
of the girl in the bathroom. “Like tonight, I’m hooking up with this girl, Ashley…”
“The one with the huge tits?”
“Yup. Gonna make those things bounce!”
As much as I’m trying to follow Noah’s directions and focus on my light magic - focus on how good and right it feels - I’m not gonna lie, my dark magic feels pretty damn good, too. I can deny it all I want, but I am a light witch and a dark witch. For me, both forms of magic are right. Both forms of magic are part of me, the deepest most darkest and truest form of myself. Denying my dark magic is like denying an entire aspect of who I am.
And haven’t I already done that enough?
Haven’t I suffered enough, being something I’m not?
Sure, before this, it was Becca’s spells that forced me to deny my magic, and this time I’m supposed to be choosing to do it myself, but does that really matter? Wouldn’t it be better just to be me … good and bad … right and wrong?
Noah squeezes my hand and his magic kind of zings up my arm. He’s trying to help me calm down. I guess he can see me struggling. I open my eyes and his face swims into focus, all worried and puckered. He runs a hand through his dark hair, his lips moving, but I don’t care enough to hear what he’s saying.
I focus on the jackass across the room and make my thoughts kind of pointed, just push my mind towards his until I feel his subconscious give way. I’m in his head, rifling around, throwing nasty thoughts aside like the trash they are until I get to the memory of the day he ran into me. I pull that one out, make it big. Make it important. I watch it through his eyes and guess what. He totally saw me. In his memory, he hates me a little because I might be taller than him, and I look afraid. He ran into me to feel powerful. He ran into me to look big in front of his friends.
When I fell to the pavement, tears spilling from my eyes, he didn’t feel remorse, he felt vindicated.
I add my own personal memory of the day to his. My fear. My shame. The scrapes on my hands and the ache in my tailbone. I make sure he gets to experience that day from my point of view; I kind of juxtapose my memory on top of his memory.
