by T J Kelly
THIRTEEN
Today Was the Day
After our conversation in the greenhouse, Chas and I saw each other regularly. But something was missing. He no longer took every opportunity to be with me, and I knew he was struggling with what he thought he should do for my sake. I wasn’t sure what to do about that, but I was determined to be happy with what I could get.
He was worth a little patience.
It was probably for the best that he held back - at least, a little. I wanted to spend every waking moment with him, but in a vague, distant way I knew it wouldn’t be healthy. I filled my time away from him with more studying or hanging out with Peter, who had quickly become my best friend.
When Chas told me he had taken on another mission and wouldn’t be back for a week, I arranged to meet Peter for our afternoon break. I was done with my combat lessons early. I decided to wait in the inner bailey near where I told Peter I would meet him when a thought suddenly invaded my mind.
My parents. The date. Their wedding anniversary. Or it would have been if they were still alive.
I missed them so badly.
I had kept busy enough for me to avoid dwelling on their loss. Once I realized the date, though, that was it for me. The memories flooded back.
How much I admired their loyalty to one another. Appreciated how they dedicated so much time trying to help me. Desperately wished they could see me become a magician. But they never would.
As I walked, I trailed my hand along the outer wall, lost in thought. My finger caught on a sharp stone fragment. I looked down, shocked by how much it hurt. A jagged cut ran down the length of my index finger.
My eyes filled with tears. And once the tears arrived, it was all over for me. Sobs tore through my control. I thought I had been doing so well, but I was wrong. Wave after wave of agony ripped through me, and I couldn’t stop.
Of course, that’s when Peter arrived.
“No, don’t come closer,” I gasped through my tears. “I’m sorry, but please go away.” Losing control in front of a witness was humiliating. Covering my face with my hands, I turned my back, trying to hide my shaking shoulders. I didn’t want him to see me like that.
Peter sighed so loudly I could hear him over my sobs. Through the veil of my tears, I caught a flicker of movement. He pulled me against him and hugged me tightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not leaving. Did you honestly think no one would understand? I’ve watched you struggle for weeks. You’ve been doing great, but it’s okay if it catches up with you sometimes.”
“You should leave. I didn’t want to do this in front of anyone.”
“Look, Lia, I’m your friend. You know my story. I know what grief is like. Just let it out. I’m strong enough to hold you together.”
I couldn’t stop crying for a long time. Big, ugly sobs where I had no control over myself at all. I soaked his shirt clean through, and my face hurt. I had been scared that I was going to shatter, but Peter was right. He could hold me together.
My breath kept hitching in my chest, almost like hiccups, but eventually, I was able to settle down. That’s when Peter handed me a bundle of tissues he pulled from his pocket.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I was so embarrassed. Losing control like that made me feel exposed. Weak. And I couldn’t handle that on top of everything else.
“Cut it out, Lia. There’s no need to apologize for having a heart. I’ll tell you what - I’ll pretend this never happened and you pull the wreckage of your dignity off the floor. Then we’ll eat because I’m starving to death. Peony packed a ton of food for us, and it’s long past teatime.”
I gave a watery laugh. Tears still leaked out of my eyes, but they had slowed enough for me to dry off my face and blow my nose, wrap one of the tissues around my cut finger, and generally pull myself together. I could tell that I was finally feeling better because my thoughts changed course, and the vision of how tiny and red my eyes got when I cried came to mind. I had seen my reflection many times when I hid in the bathroom to cry in the days after my parents died. It wasn’t pretty. I hid my face as I walked with Peter to the cast iron table nearby.
Peter unpacked the basket. “Look at this. I think Peony is trying to feed an entire army. There are probably twelve different sandwiches in here.” Peter set them aside and then opened a container. “Yum, mixed berries. Please promise you’ll let me have some. You have a habit of hogging all the good stuff, and you look so pathetic right now that I’d probably let you get away with anything.”
I laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He kept talking, allowing me time to calm down and relax. “Wow, she packed a trifle for dessert! Man, I love Cook’s whipped cream. Let’s see, we have warm tea, a couple of different kinds of soda, and some iced tea. Aw, man. I wish we had some lemonade so I could mix it with the tea.”
“That’s disgusting,” I blurted. I had seen Peter do that before and had been holding my opinion back for a long time. Since he had already seen me at my worst, I figured that I might as well let it all out. “It’s an abomination to mix tea and lemonade. I think the next time I see you do that, I’m going to smack it right out of your hand. There are only two ways to drink tea, my friend - hot, or iced. And they both need to be sweet. It’s okay to drink lemonade, but for the love of all that’s holy, keep them separated.”
Peter paused to look down at my bowed head. I still refused to meet his eyes, thinking about how awful I looked with my skin all blotchy. I didn’t know when I got to be so vain, but whatever. I was a mess.
“Oh, so that’s how you really feel, is it?” he asked. “And here I thought we could be friends. Now? I’m not so sure.”
“Hilarious. It’s only because we’re friends that I’m saving you from any more heinous crimes against culinary excellence. I can tell from here that Cook is helping me out because those sandwiches look amazing. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re the bologna type. Not even fried bologna, either. Plain, dead bologna. But I’m here to rescue you.” Dabbing my eyes one last time, I grabbed a little plastic-wrapped bundle that I recognized. “Here, try this one. It’s turkey with ginger mayo, red onions, cilantro, and mint. You can thank me later.”
I think Peter meant it when he said I was so pathetic that he would let me get away with anything because he took the sandwich without comment. After only a moment’s hesitation, he unwrapped it and took a large bite.
I waited silently while he finished his mouthful.
“Uh, Lia? Seriously? This is killer. Where have you been all my life?”
I cracked up. Judging by the way he wolfed down the rest of the sandwich, he wasn’t just placating me. “Stick with me, kid, and I’ll take you places.” I winked.
Peter laughed. I grabbed my own sandwich - Thanksgiving on Toast is what I called it. It was piled high with roasted turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, and gravy. Cook added fried onions for crunch and fresh parsley to bring it to life. I approved of her additions.
“What do you think is going on with Chas lately?” Peter asked.
“He’s acting like an idiot,” I said. “He thinks that I’ll have less support if people know he’s my boyfriend. He tried to break up with me.”
“He did? What happened?”
“I didn’t accept his fool offer. I told him no.”
Peter cracked up. “Seriously? Lia, you’re a riot. Probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him, too. Good for you.”
I grinned. “He’s still trying to minimize the so-called damage by staying away as much as possible and keeping our time together private. He’s only getting away with it because he keeps going on those short assignments. Chas said that Uncle Ged doesn’t fully trust him.”
Peter nodded. “I hate to say it, but I think he’s right. Ged trusts Chas with work, but I don’t believe he trusts Chas with you. He knows that when Chas cares about somebody, he’ll do anything for them. Ged doesn’t think Chas will hurt you on purpose, but
he knows that he would do it if he thinks it’s for the best.”
“So typical! I wish everyone would stop making decisions about what’s best for me without my input. I might be young, but I’m not stupid. I can take care of myself.”
Peter popped a raspberry in his mouth and concentrated on his chewing for a few seconds. He sighed loudly. “I don’t think that’s why. I’ve lived with Ged and Peony for most of my life. They’ve loved you all this time, even though they couldn’t be close to you. They love Chas, too. I think they just want to keep the both of you from getting hurt.”
I couldn’t argue with that, so I remained silent as I watched a few birds hop around the hedges that surrounded us. Pushing my resentment aside, I said, “Fine. They’re all awesome. That still doesn’t give them the right to make my decisions for me.”
Peter chuckled. “Hey, you look like you could use a distraction. Let’s go for a walk. I can show you my workshop. I’ve been working on a few projects that might interest you.”
I happily agreed. I loved the picture he had given me for Eostre and wanted to see more of his work. I leaned forward and swiped the last few berries from the container. Peter shook his head at me. He couldn’t complain, though, because I already let him have some.
I didn’t feel humiliated or overwhelmed by my grief any longer. Instead, I was happy and content, and I was the luckiest girl alive to have these zany, caring people that were in my life. Even if some of them were a little too bossy.
◆◆◆
Peter’s workshop was on the opposite side of the castle from mine. I was excited to see it since I never had the opportunity to check it out before.
The Wheel of Fortune and compass rings were drawn on the hardwood floor by hand. Something about the way the runes flicked up at the ends made me think they were Peter’s handiwork. He pointed out the different projects set up in the sections of the compass. Scraps of animal hides, papyrus, and canvases were everywhere, and there were so many different mediums, it was hard to keep up: charcoal, pastels, pencils, watercolors, oils, even crayons and markers.
“So you use your drawing when you perform magic?” I asked. “The sketch you gave me was integrated with several spells. It’s gorgeous and shimmers when I look at it.”
“Actually, that’s the reason why I’m an Irregular. My magic is completely tied to my art. I can’t tap into it without drawing. That’s why I drew markings in the dirt when we were being attacked. Sure, I can hold off three fairly powerful magicians all by myself, but I can’t do it without drawing. It enables me to do highly complex magic, but it also holds me back. It’s not hopeless, though. Ged’s working with me to find a way to generate colors in the air and use my imagination to draw with them. It’s hard, but I’ve managed a couple of good, solid spells. I hope I’ll be able to do better with practice.”
“That’s amazing. I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am that you protected me. I’m sure Uncle Ged will help you figure it out. This is incredible, though.” I loved how Armageddon could turn an obstacle into strength.
“I guess,” Peter admitted reluctantly. One thing I had learned about Peter was that he was humble. Blowing off my compliment wasn’t a surprise. “I want to do it all in my head someday. I already visualize spells and set them into a pattern before I draw them anyway. It shouldn’t be much of a stretch to use imaginary colors to fill them in like a coloring book page.”
“I’ve never thought about that - forming a picture in my head. I usually just try hurtling my entire being into letting something loose.”
Peter chuckled. “That’s how most people’s magic works. Or so I’ve heard. You wouldn’t be able to prove it by me. Have you thought about meditating on the spell you want to cast before you attempt to tap into your magic? If you try to form a mental picture of exactly what you want, maybe you can do it.”
It sounded better than any other idea I had so far. “Sure, why not? Would you mind if I try it right now? I haven’t done anything to try to make that connection today. I wouldn’t want to fall behind.”
The best thing about Peter was that he was so flexible. We moved to the east side of his Wheel of Fortune, and he tossed a few brightly colored cushions onto the floor in the center of the Turning Point. He probably spent a lot of his time in this section of his workshop, trying to imagine his internal coloring book pages. If he could figure out how to do it while in the midst of a battle, he’d be unstoppable.
There were cushions and pillows and blankets everywhere in the eastern section of his workshop, with a smattering of crystal balls and a ton of colored paraffin wax candles stuffed into candlesticks in assorted shapes and sizes and materials. Other candlesticks held sweet-smelling beeswax tapers from my aunt’s stockpile. There were also massive pillars and tiny votive candles everywhere. Candles were excellent tools, and they helped magicians visualize. Considering how visual Peter’s magic was, I wasn’t surprised to see so many on hand.
Peter grabbed one of the smaller beeswax pillars and set it between us. He used a smudge of carbon from the partially burned wick to draw a tiny mark on the floor. The candle burst into flame. That would explain why his candles looked so messy. He used them like a pen to cast spells.
“Here, you can use my old notebook,” Peter said. “I already tore out the used pages. A pencil mark was the first and easiest way for me to tap into my magic, so maybe this will bring you luck, too.” Peter handed me the small notebook, its cover beaten and worn, and a regular number two pencil.
Magic hummed inside of me, pressing outwardly against my skin. My hair felt like it was rising on its own, prickling all over my scalp like tiny pins and needles. Something stirred inside of me. Something exhilarating.
I let go of my recent failures, not wanting them to hold me back. Running through the series of tasks and tests my uncle set up for me had turned out to be the absolute worst part of my day. It was always a nightmare when I failed to tap into my magic after I felt the humming inside of me. Excitement. Failure. Wonderful. Devastating. Every single time.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I said.
“Just relax, Lia. Think about a simple spell. Here, you can light a candle. I’ll put another pillar next to mine. Try to light it by drawing it on paper first.”
Gazing at the candles, I studied them intently, memorizing how they looked. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply to center myself, then leaned into the humming inside of me.
Picturing the candles in my mind the way Peter said he did, I forced myself visualize every detail. Three bees sculpted in wax on the pillar candle, which was shaped like a miniature beehive. The little arch on the bottom that looked like a door for the bees.
Peter’s candle sat beside it. The yellow flame he created flickered in my imagination. The faint black mark on the floor he used to light it.
My candle, cold and still. I wanted to light it on fire. I wanted a flame to leap up from the ether and bring me some much-needed light. I pictured it on fire, set the image firmly in my head, and then opened my eyes to draw what I imagined.
I didn’t, though. There was no need to touch my notebook with the pencil. When I opened my eyes, both of the candles were already lit. Peter looked surprised. He wasn’t the one who lit it.
I was.
For the first time in my life, I had used magic. The humming magic inside of me released in a massive wave. It burst from every part of me, not draining me, just relieving a little of the pressure. Quickly, almost unnoticeably, the magic renewed itself at once. Then all of the candles around us, the ones on the tables, on the floor, stacked by color on the shelves along the walls, even the ones lying on their sides in the small storage cabinet. Every single candle burst into flame.
I felt great. I felt whole. I was connected to something vast and wonderful.
Then I panicked. The tables, the cabinet, the drawings tacked onto the walls, all caught fire.
I leaped to my feet. Frantic, I grabbed one of the blankets on the floor and tri
ed to smother some of the flames, but they were already out of control, and it did no good.
Peter grabbed the first candle that I lit and smashed it into the wooden floor, drawing a mark with the wax. The flames engulfing the workshop went out, extinguished by his spell.
I stopped beating at the table and dropped the blanket. In shock, I turned to Peter.
“You did it Lia!” he shouted as he grabbed my hands, spinning me around and around. “You set the world on fire!”
The euphoria, the exhilaration, the joy, all came crashing back and all at once I was laughing and crying and cheering. “It worked! I did it! It worked!”
Peter pulled me to him for a hug, but then leaned down and kissed me, right on my lips, quickly and fiercely and I didn’t stop him. I was too happy. So was he. At that moment, it was completely right. There was too much joy and magic inside of me to be contained.
This was the day I had been waiting for my entire life. I finally had a moment, that amazing, freeing, exciting moment where all of the darkness was chased away, and I was filled with nothing but light.
I did it. I did magic.
FOURTEEN
Preparations and Stories
Peter asked me to wait right where I was as he ran to get Peony. Armageddon wasn’t home. He had a meeting with the Council and planned to be gone overnight. However, I was positive he would change his mind about staying in the City and come home. There was no way Peony would let this slide without a celebration, and he would want to be there.
And goodness knows, I was ready for a party.
My aunt burst into Peter’s workshop. She looked at the scorch marks on the walls and tables surrounding me, and then she ran right at me, grabbing me into a hug.
“You did it, you did it, I knew you would! Oh, Lia, I’m so happy!”
Peony was a little shorter than I was, so her blond hair tickled my face. I didn’t even mind - I was that thrilled. I felt amazing. Like I was floating. Like I had been empty inside, but now I was whole. Complete. The weight of my magical nightmare had finally lifted, and I could have floated right out the window if Peony’s hug hadn’t been anchoring me to the floor.
