Darren waves dismissively. “It is nothing that could ever happen without her knowing full well what she was about to do. A spell that would consume her life essence in that manner would be the sort of thing that she knowingly releases to perform some great feat of magic she considers worth sacrificing her life over.”
“So, I couldn’t like try to snap my fingers and turn the lights on and accidentally give myself a heart attack?” Sophia swallows hard.
“No, my dear. Say a high-rise building was about to collapse on top of you and a big crowd. You might channel sufficient power to hold it up and prevent it from falling, but collapse afterward from the strain.”
Sophia looks up at me with an ‘it’s okay, let’s keep going’ face.
I relax—a little.
“The advantage in ritual preparation is that the magical energies are collected, focused, and sent forth in a highly predictable manner. While it may take hours, days, or even months in some cases to complete a ritual, most of the time, the magic will do exactly what it’s intended to. And those sorts of spells tend to have more power because they draw not only on your inner resources of energy but the objects associated with the ritual. Now, the good part is that should you choose to study a traditional form of magic, there is nothing preventing you from using rituals as well.”
“Oh, neat.” She smiles.
“All right then. Let us begin.” Darren faces the table and gestures at a giant candle near the middle. “Please use your magic to light that. However, know that this is a special candle that will resist you. If you are able to overcome it, do so. Don’t worry if you cannot make the fire spring to life. That is not failure, merely an indication that your abilities are still undertrained.”
“Okay.” Sophia widens her stance and stares at the silvery wick like an Old West gunslinger about to throw down.
I look around at the various shelves full of dry books, bottles, bundles of burlap-wrapped junk, and tons of dust. “Last time, her magic didn’t exactly go where she wanted it to. You’re asking her to summon fire in here? You guys do have a fire extinguisher somewhere, right?”
Sophia huffs. “Not funny. You’re breaking my concentration.”
The mystics take up positions on the three sides of the table where my sister isn’t. At least they look as if they’re bracing to contain runaway magical energy. Or maybe I’m imagining that from their ‘goalie like’ posture. Soon, Sophia’s expression shifts among intensity, annoyance, determination, and that same sort of face that Sierra makes whenever someone kills her character in an online game. Uh oh. I think the candle just pissed her off.
About five minutes into the staring contest, Sophia’s face reddens. The men start to relax their postures, as if accepting she won’t be able to ignite it. She clutches her hands into fists at her sides and screams, “Light!”
A fizzling pop comes from the wick and it erupts in a tall, pure-white flame.
All three men lean back, wide-eyed.
“There.” Sophia folds her arms. “Stupid thing wasn’t listening.”
I glance at Darren. “What’s with the ‘oh shit’ face?”
They continue staring at the candle for a while.
“That’s… wow.” Landon whistles.
“Did I do something wrong?” Sophia leans closer, eyeing the flame. “Why is it white? Fire isn’t supposed to be white.”
Darren walks around the table to us and pats her on the shoulder. “I wasn’t completely truthful with you earlier. We expected that you would not be able to light the candle at all. Almost no one, even natural mystics, can ignite a dragonwick on their first try with no training.”
“Whoa. Dragons? Seriously?” I gawk.
The men chuckle. Darren shakes his head. “No, it’s merely called that.”
“The white.” Callum fidgets, a bit of guilt in his expression. “Well, I suppose that might not be so unusual given her young age.”
“Hello,” says Sophia. “I’m still completely lost here.”
Darren smiles. “When someone manages to magically ignite that candle without understanding its true nature, the color of the resulting flame is a fairly accurate measure of the person. A white flame means she is pure and innocent, highly altruistic.”
“A gentle soul,” adds Landon.
Sophia blushes a little.
“Once a person understands the nature of a dragonwick candle, it becomes possible to manipulate the resulting color so any reading of essence is suspect. However, holding the necessary focus on an appropriate mindset to fool the candle makes it more difficult to ignite.” Darren leans over the table and pulls two mason jars closer. One empty, one containing blue liquid. “See if you can move the liquid from the full jar to the empty jar.”
Sophia picks up the empty jar and starts opening the lid.
Darren chuckles. “With magic.”
“Oh. Duh.” She puts the lid back on and sets the jar on the table again.
After a moment of staring at them, she picks up the full jar and sets it on top of the empty jar, lid to lid upside down. Again, she focuses on the stacked jars. Seconds later, the fluid falls into the bottom jar as if both lids became intangibly ghostly. The sight of that is enough to shock a gasp out of me. Smiling, Sophia picks up the top jar, demonstrating an intact lid, and sets it flat on the table beside its twin.
“Interesting. What made you decide to put them on top of each other like that?” asks Landon.
She points at them. “I thought it would take less effort to make a hole in two thin lids than literally move a quart of whatever that is across space.”
Darren appears proud of her. “All right. Two more tests to go.” He pushes the jars away, opens another jewelry-box sized container, and deposits a handful of reddish dirt in a pile in front of her. “For this test, concentrate on this powder and attempt to magically change it into something else.”
I lean closer to examine it. “Looks like red clay.”
“It’s dried and ground faerie’s perch, a mushroom not native to this dimension.” Darren brushes the pile a bit tighter. “Highly charged with magical energy, so it will not take much out of you to do anything to it.”
Sophia nods, then leans her hands on the table, staring at the pile while Callum and Landon pepper her with tips on how to mentally frame the desire to transform one substance into another object. Callum suggests she try making it into a wooden or stone sphere.
Over the course of the next minute or three, smoke begins wisping up from the powdered mushroom. The substance appears to moisten, going from a pile of dust to a gooey blob of mud. My sister squats down so she’s eye-level with the table surface, gazing at the shifting goop with the mesmerized expression of a tween at an Ariana Grande concert. Four tendrils stretch out from the blob approximating legs, then a fifth, much thinner one extends from one side. The opposite end to the small tentacle swells up into a secondary pod. The whole thing goes from brick red to charcoal colored… and in a puff of smoke and light, turns into a fuzzy kitten with piercing teal eyes.
Sophia squeals in delight.
“Mew,” says the kitten.
“My word.” Callum points. “She managed a live transmutation in minutes, with no prior training.”
“The girl is definitely a natural mystic.” Darren plucks the kitten from the table and examines it. “Tell me, child. How is it you made a kitten?”
Sophia stands there for a second with an expression as though he’d asked her why she breathes. “I wanted one.”
I whistle. “Yeah. She really does want one. Bad. Is that a real kitten or is it going to like fall apart into dust in a few minutes?”
“No,” whines Sophia in a quiet voice. “Please don’t fall apart.”
Darren holds the critter up, turning it to examine from multiple angles. The other two crowd in, also curious. The whole time, the little furball mews constantly, almost seeming like it wants to get away from them and go to Sophia. Eventually, Darren offers it to her and
the little cat eagerly leaps into her arms.
“As far as I can tell, it is quite close to an actual cat. However, it may have some unusual properties.” Darren pauses to think for a moment. “There are certain rituals that cancel magic. Such an effect would likely convert it back into a pile of faerie’s perch. It may or may not mature into an adult cat. Depends on if it is actually alive or merely a construct in the shape of a kitten.”
“More study would be needed, though it is not harmful.” Landon pats the little cat on the head.
“Mew,” says the kitten.
“Mom’s gonna kill us.” I gaze at the ceiling and let out a defeated sigh mostly because I know Sophia’s going to insist we bring the kitten home… and I also know I’m going to cave in and let her. Might as well skip past the pleading argument and proceed straight to the inevitable conclusion.
Sophia hugs the kitten. “Mom will melt as soon as she sees her.”
“Here’s hoping,” I mutter.
“One last test for today.” Darren makes a ‘come here’ gesture with one finger. A huge glass vessel the size of a water cooler bottle near the middle of the table slides on its own toward him. It’s mounted in a wooden frame kinda like an hourglass, only there’s no crimp in the center of the bottle. “This is a ghost jar. Focus your magic on it until a light orb appears inside.”
“There already is an orb inside that jar.” Sophia looks up at him like he’s nuts.
I squint at it. Sure enough, a faint sphere about the size of an orange drifts around inside. For no particular reason, it makes me feel frustrated and lonely to look at it.
“You see a spirit already?” Darren glances from her to me. “I’d imagine Sarah might be able to see a trace of something in there, but most living people can’t.”
Sophia flaps her arms. “Guess I’m a small medium.”
Callum sighs. Landon covers his mouth to hide his smile.
Darren gives me a glance that makes me peek at his thoughts. He suspects Coralie may have done something to Sophia to either amplify or give her this ability. Possible, but he doesn’t know about Rebecca the haunted doll spending a whole night in Sophia’s room. Plus whatever being exposed to the mirrorverse did. Then again, Sophia has been able to see ghosts ever since the mystics kicked her spirit out of her still-living body.
“Right, well. Can you try to make it appear so we all can see it?” asks Darren.
Sophia, still cradling the kitten, focuses her stare on the giant jar. The orb inside ceases drifting around at random and hovers close to the near side, almost like a strange fish come to the edge of its tank to watch the people watching it. Minutes pass. My sister doesn’t appear to be straining herself, though her attention is locked on the orb.
Darren gently rests a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right if you can’t. Not everyone is able—”
The ghost jar explodes in a flash of glimmering glass bits. Emitting a keening wail, the orb stretches upward into a smear, taking on the shape of a pallid bare-chested gaunt man with black eyes, black teeth, a freakishly long neck, and long claw-like fingernails. Darren screams and jumps back as the apparition slashes his chest, tearing slits in his old-timey shirt.
“No!” shouts Sophia.
Palpable anger wafts from the apparition, but he hesitates, turning his head to look at my kid sister. Dark blood seeps from his lips, disappearing about midway down his chest before striking the floor. Landon and Callum edge back from the table, bumping into shelves, both men seemingly terrified to make the slightest sound or move too fast.
“I agreed to let you out, but you promised not to hurt anyone.” Sophia looks about ready to faint from fear, but keeps a stern expression.
The apparition casts a final withering glare at the mystics, then fades away.
“What the hell?” rasps Darren, examining his sliced shirt.
Sophia leans against me. She’s trembling, but not enough to see, only feel. “He was trapped in that bottle for a long time. It’s cruel. He was really sad and lonely. So, I let him out ’cause he asked me to set him free.”
“Umm… that was not a nice man.” Darren shoots me a look like my little sister just broke a priceless artifact and I’m going to need to pay for it. “He killed several dozen people during his lifetime in most unpleasant ways.”
“I made him promise he wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Sophia looks down, guilty. “Sorry. I didn’t know he was bad.”
Callum and Landon whisper to each other about setting up some protections in case the spirit comes back for revenge after Sophia leaves. They both think he lied about not hurting anyone.
Ugh. I gaze at the ceiling. “This is going to bite me square in the ass, isn’t it?”
Darren shrugs. “No real telling what he’ll do. We didn’t put him in the jar, so he shouldn’t have too much motivation to cause trouble here. The two most likely outcomes are that he returns to the place where he died or goes wherever spirits go when they’re done in this world.”
“Where’d he die?”
“The gallows at Tyburn in or around 1760,” says Callum. “London.”
I exhale out my nose. Great. “That someone trapped a 300-year-old serial killer in a jar shouldn’t surprise me. Why anyone would want to keep such a thing around, however, is beyond my grip. And now it’s loose.”
“He’s got little cause to remain in this area.” Callum chuckles. “Though our mates in London might have a bit of a surprise.”
“Perhaps we should warn them?” Landon fidgets.
“Aye. Good idea.” Darren nods at him before facing Sophia. “It’s quite clear to us you are both gifted and in need of training. If your parents are amenable to an arrangement, we can work out a schedule of some kind. Perhaps one or two Saturdays a month?”
“Twice a month?” asks Sophia.
Darren smiles. “Yes, did you expect us to take you from your parents as a live-in apprentice? This isn’t the 1300s anymore.”
She emits a nervous laugh.
“Oh, relax, child.” He grasps her right hand and gently shakes it. “The days of apprentices being little more than household servants are past. I think a few hours twice a month of instruction will be sufficient.”
“Mew,” says the kitten.
“See? She agrees.” Darren pats the kitten on the head.
I can’t help but stare at the smashed remains of the ghost jar, already feeling the proverbial teeth closing around my butt. Letting that thing out is going to blow up in my face, eventually. Then again, there isn’t much I can do about spirits except yell at them.
Yeah. This guy’s someone else’s problem.
Just hope it’s not Sophia’s.
8
Minor Accidents
A little after five that afternoon, I’m in my room doing school work.
No matter how often I glance up at the clock, it remains Monday. How cool would it be to look at the clock and have it suddenly be Tuesday? Meh, not that cool. It’d probably be a sign of dementia to lose half a day like that. At least I have a little extra time tonight. My bio class doesn’t start until seven. And, being November, it’s quite well dark before it’s time for me to leave home.
That means this girl doesn’t have to deal with traffic tonight.
I didn’t bother changing after showering, still wearing two towels: one in my hair, the other wrapped around me like a shift dress. The clothes I wore to the park earlier had become saturated with the reek of burning me. So as to avoid contaminating the rest of the laundry in the house, I threw them in the machine by themselves. Not much I can do about my winter coat. Not supposed to wash that thing in a machine. Though, it didn’t pick up the smell too bad—at least compared to the rest of my outfit.
Bath towels are surprisingly comfortable as clothing, kinda like the sweat pants version of a dress. Their tendency to slip loose and fall off, however, makes them impractical for anything other than lazing around in the privacy of my bedroom. I’ll probably head out the door at q
uarter to seven, which will let me have dinner with the family, even if I don’t eat anything. The brutal sun exposure from earlier has me famished, which is partly the reason for my self-imposed isolation.
Maybe I should sneak around the cul-de-sac and feed on Mr. Neidermayer. Nah. His blood would probably taste like those awful dry cookies that come in the blue tin, plus be loaded with a bajillion prescription drugs. Bleh.
Mom runs around the house complaining about her missing car keys. She had them when she got home from work a little while ago and in the time it took her to change out of her office clothes, they’ve vanished. Sierra’s lost her ‘lucky wristband’ that she wears when she wants to dominate at Call of Duty. Naturally, she blames the imp, so an argument starts up in Sam’s room. I can’t understand what the little guy’s saying, but Sam relays that he’s denying involvement. Dad ends up driving, and the parents head out to buy groceries.
It’s gotten pretty dark by a little after five. But, I’m too lazy to fly all the way to Seattle to feed then come back to keep doing schoolwork and join the fam for dinner. Fortunately, I’m not starving. Controlling myself and not biting anyone I love should be possible.
A shrill scream comes from the backyard.
At first, I’m sure Sophia somehow wound up with a reptile of some form down the back of her dress, but the scream changes pitch and turns into a boy crying. The ’rents don’t intercede, so they must still be out shopping. Great. I’m the adult in the house.
We’re in deep trouble.
In a blur of supernatural speed, I fling the towels off and pull on my sweat pants, T-shirt, and hoodie, then fly upstairs to the kitchen, heading for the patio door to the backyard and out onto the deck.
Sam, Sierra, Nicole, Megan, and Jordan stand around Daryl, who’s curled up on the ground holding his face and howling in pain. Sierra has that look to her like she just did something really wrong and expects to get in a ton of trouble, but is trying to act casual and tough about it. She’s also holding a big ass stick. A similar stick lays on the ground by Daryl.
Ordinary Problems of a College Vampire (Vampire Innocent Book 7) Page 10
